


FUBAR

by darenotlove



Series: SNAFUBAR [2]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Hanson, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 123
Words: 577,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darenotlove/pseuds/darenotlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F***ed Up Beyond All Recognition. (Sequel to SNAFU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is! Thank you guys for being so patient, especially those of you who knew I was contemplating writing a sequel since SNAFU ended. And a BIG thank you to @kezinnz and @jammyisawesome for reading this chapter through for me and offering their feedback. <3 And thank you to those of you who voted on what I should call it.
> 
> The story picks up almost 1 year after SNAFU ended (so basically present day). I don't want to give too much away, because where's the fun in that? ;) But I also do want to warn you that there IS a twist in this chapter (yes, already). Some of you might see it coming, some of you might not. Either way... DON'T HURT ME! :p I intentionally didn't go into too much detail about it yet, but I will later.
> 
> My plan with this story is to update on a "write one, post one" schedule. I'm 10 chapters in right now, so once chapter 11 is written, I'll post chapter 2, and so on. 
> 
> I think that's about it! On with the chapter...

  


 

 

 

_ Des Moines, Iowa - July 28th, 2012 _

__

It goes without saying that having a baby changes your life. Even if you already have a child (or four, if you're as crazy as I am), bringing another one into the mix can change everything. It can be a big adjustment or it may only be a subtle difference, but once that new life comes into the world things shift somehow. Hell, it happens before that. From the second that little line appears in the window of the pregnancy test, you know nothing is ever going to be the same again. I knew that before my fifth was born, I'd had plenty of past experience to draw from. I thought I was prepared.

I wasn't.

I had _no_ idea how much my life and the lives of everyone around me would be altered by her birth. _Nothing_ has been the same since, and there's no way to make it the way it was before. The equation has changed, and things just don't add up to what they used to.

"Are you freaking out?"

I look up from my iPhone to find Zac standing in front of me, gazing down at me with an unmistakably concerned look on his face. "I'm not freaking out."

I am. A _little_.

"You're giving off a very 'freak-y out-y' vibe."

"Sorry." I murmur distractedly, turning my attention back to my phone. "Didn't mean to 'vibe'."

He drops down into one of the uncomfortable folding chairs beside me, his shoulder bumping mine a little but failing to break the staring match I'm having with the text message on the screen.

"It's weird, huh?" He continues to press gently. "I mean, it's not like it's the longest we've _ever_ gone without playing a show or anything, but it feels like it's been forever."

He's right, on both points. It does feel like it's been forever since we were on stage, especially in front of an audience this big. In reality it's only been eight months, almost to the day. We've still played music and made music back home in Tulsa, but this is the first time all year that we've performed for other people. I can't remember the last time we've gone this long without playing a _single_ show. It must have been almost a decade ago, back during our stint in Island Def Jam hell.

It _is_ weird to be sitting here, mere moments from taking the stage after being on "hiatus" for so long.

But that's not what I'm worried about. That's barely a blip on my radar right now.

"You okay?"

"Not really..." I sigh tiredly, stuffing my phone into my pocket without responding to the message, because there's nothing I can say or do from here that will fix any of what's going on at home. There's nothing I can say or do while I'm there that will fix it, either. "Ezra's acting up again."

"What'd he do this time?" Zac asks with a distinct note of dread in his tone.

"Threw River's scooter."

"That's not _so_ bad."

"He threw it at the patio doors." I elaborate miserably as I push myself out of my seat and put my ear monitors in. "It broke a few panes of glass."

"Jeez."

"He's mad at me for leaving."

"Did he say that?"

"No, but it makes sense; the first time I leave the state all year, his behavior gets worse. It was one thing when he was just being difficult, you know? I could handle the back-talk and the tantrums, but this... this is different. What if that scooter had hit Penny or River or Viggo? Or what if they'd been standing by that door when the glass broke?" I wasn't really expecting Zac to have any kind of answer for me, but I'll admit that I'm more than a little disheartened by his lack of reply. I appreciate his silent sympathy, but it doesn't solve anything. "He's just so _angry_ all the time."

"Maybe you could take him to see a therapist or something?" He suggests with a helpless shrug.

Helpless is a feeling I'm all too familiar with. "Maybe..."

 "You guys ready?" Isaac asks as he approaches us, his entire demeanor making it obvious that he's probably the most anxious out of the three of us right now. "We're on in five."

"Ready as we'll ever be." Replies Zac, cracking his knuckles for good measure.

I really hate it when he does that.

For the most part, the show goes smoothly. Especially considering the fact that it's been so long since we played outside of the confines of our studio. The audience seems to be made up of a pretty even mix of people who love us and people who aren't really paying any attention at all because we're not the reason they're here. Although there's a noticeable increase in interest when we start playing _MMMBop_ , it's still very much a love-hate situation. The non-fans are the best and worst part about playing festivals like this, in my opinion. It's always a bonus to get to perform for people who wouldn't otherwise listen to your music, and we've never _not_ won over at least a handful of naysayers. But it's always a downer to look out into the crowd and see people standing there with their arms folded and this expression of disdain on their face, like they're waiting in line at the DMV or something.

 I think I hate that even more than Zac's knuckle cracking.

After we're done with our set, and we've been hustled through the whole interview, photo op, meet and greet process that generally proceeds any radio station event like this, Isaac suddenly becomes very eager to get the hell out of Waterworks Park at the earliest opportunity. Normally he'd want to stick around and watch the other acts perform, especially when those acts include musicians that we're friends with. But not today.

Because today, one of the other acts is Adam Lambert. And even though he hasn't said _anything_ about it, I know Isaac wants to avoid any and all possibility that I might run into a certain member of Adam's band.

I've been trying my best to pretend that I don't care ever since we found out that Adam had been added to the roster a few months ago. But, of course, that's bullshit. I haven't seen, spoken to, or otherwise heard from Tommy since last summer in Los Angeles. There was nothing left to say, and even when I dared to think that there might be, I didn't feel I had the right.

As far as I know, this is the first time he and I will have been in the same city, the same state, in eleven months.

I can't help wondering if he's aware of that, too.

He _has_ to know I'll be here.

I wonder if he's hoping to see me... or hoping like hell that he won't.

"Where's the van?" Isaac grumbles, glancing at his watch just in case we weren't all aware that he's annoyed. "How long does it take to load up a drum kit?"

"It's coming." Bex assures him patiently, completely unfazed by his attitude. She's spent enough time around us by now to have developed a very healthy (and necessary) immunity to it.

"I just figured they'd be _done_ by now, you know? We finished playing over an hour ago."

"They must've got caught up with something else." She shrugs indifferently, which is almost enough to make me laugh. I thought Zac and I were the only ones who could get away with that amount of apathy towards Ike. Maybe we should make her an honorary Hanson; she's more than earned it. "Look, here they come now."

"Finally!"

Just as our van comes to a stop in front of us, I realize that I'm missing something. "Shit... I think left my camera backstage."

"Are you kidding me?" My older brother exclaims as he throws his hands up in defeat. " _Every_ time, Taylor!"

I'd flip him the bird, but he's totally justified in his frustration this time; I can't go anywhere without losing _something_. "I'll be _right_ back!"

"Just leave it!"

He must be more desperate to get me out of here before Adam's band shows up than I thought. And he must be totally insane if he thinks I'm gonna leave my Leica behind! It doesn't matter that it's one of the less expensive cameras I own, I love that thing. Besides, you don't just abandon your personal belongings in random places simply to avoid running into your ex; that's a level of pathetic that I hope to never reach. I don't care how completely torturous and upsetting the breakup was, or how much it'd probably hurt to see his face again...

On second thoughts, it _is_ just a camera.

I only took a couple of potentially decent pictures on it today, and I can probably get another one on eBay for next to nothing.

"Lost something?" Inquires a nearby member of the venue security staff as I get up off of my hands and knees and brush the dirt from my pants.

"Nope, thanks." I force a smile, but judging by his quirked eyebrow it's not even slightly convincing. Probably because I was all but crawling under a chair five seconds ago and now I'm acting like I had no reason to. "Just... checking something."

Yup, here I am. Squirming uncomfortably in a level of pathetic I hoped to never reach.

The only way this moment could possibly get _any_ worse is if the person I just backed right into turns out to be-

"Shit, I'm sorry."

I'm already in the process of instinctively turning around when I hear that all too familiar voice, but the second it registers that it's _him_ I freeze. And the second he sees that it's me, _he_ freezes. And now we're just standing here, frozen, staring at each other.

What am I supposed to say?

I know I have to say _something_... but _what_?

The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly, momentarily curling into a half-smile that is almost immediately chased away by obvious uncertainty. "Hey..."

Hey is a good start. Why didn't I think of that?

"Hi..."

Even though we're both clearly more than a little stupefied by what's happening right now, I think it's safe to assume that he was as aware of the possibility that we'd see each other as I was. But I have _no_ clue how he's feeling now that we have. I don't even really know how _I'm_ feeling, to be honest.

Besides entirely overwhelmed.

Technically, it's his turn to speak. I said "hi", so now the ball is in his court. But it looks like he's lost for words, so maybe I should try to think of some. Or one. One word would be better than the none I'm saying right now.

_How's it going?_

_It's good to see you._

_I miss you._

"Tommy."

We both look over at the person who just called his name in a similar tone to the one most pet owners use to summon their dog. It has that unmistakable note of authority to it. But the look on his friend's face isn't that of someone who feels that they have any control over anything, it's the exact opposite. In fact, he looks kind of terrified. If I wasn't so consumed by the multitude of emotions I'm already experiencing, I might be able to find it in me to feel bad for him.

"I gotta go." Tommy tells me, obediently taking a step back towards Isaac, and every cell in my body screams at me to reach out and keep him from leaving.

"Sure..." Words, Taylor. Say words, _any_ words. "Um..." Um is not a word, it's a sound. Try again. "Have a good show."

_Lame._

"Thanks. You too."

"We already played."

"Oh... right."

Damnit. Would it have killed me to just say "thanks" and keep my mouth shut so that he wouldn't feel like an idiot? "I should let you go..."

Why? _Why_?!

"Okay." He takes another step back, that flicker of a smile reappearing on his face and making me feel inexplicably weak. "It was good to see you."

"Yeah..."

I mean to say "you too", but I don't. I'm not sure why, it's like my mouth just refuses to work anymore. Or maybe it's because all of my brain function at this moment is being channeled into keeping my hands at my sides so that I don't do something horribly embarrassing, like throwing myself to the ground and latching on to his feet so that he can't walk away.

Which he does, because what else is he supposed to do?

I remain glued to the spot until he's completely out of sight, and even then the only movement I can manage is an unsteady retreat back to the chairs behind me so I can sit down until my legs work again. It feels so surreal, like maybe I fell asleep in the van on the way back to the hotel and all of that was just a dream. It had to have been a dream, because I had no control over anything I said or did. And I'm _completely_ numb. I was prepared to feel all manner of agonizing things if I saw him again, but I wasn't prepared to feel so... dazed.

So detached.

Eventually I summon the presence of mind to get up and walk back to the van, but I still feel like I'm in some kind of trance (which further reinforces my dream theory). My brothers and Bex watch me in confusion as I make my way over to them and wordlessly climb into the back seat, and it's only a matter of seconds before the questions start.

Where did I go? Why did it take me so long? Where's my camera? Why do I look so weird? What's wrong with me? Why aren't I talking?

"Can we just... go?" I finally interject, offering them no answers whatsoever.

I don't have the energy to give any answers. And if this is just a dream, they don't really need them.

The drive from Waterworks park to our hotel is so short that it seems as though the van barely moves before we're pulling up at the main entrance and the doors are opened again. But my mind is so hazy right now that the journey would have passed in just as much of a blur even if our hotel had been a hundred miles away. I'm vaguely aware of Ike and Bex talking to me as we walk into the lobby and head for the elevators,  but I have no clue what either of them are saying. I nod like I understand, and I think I say "okay", which I'll probably regret later when I figure out what I just agreed to, but luckily I'm still too lost in my own thoughts to care.

Just as I'm about to go into my hotel room, someone grabs me by the elbow and pulls me back. I'm not really surprised to find Zac standing behind me when I turn around, and I'm definitely not surprised by the worry in his eyes.

"What happened?" He asks apprehensively. "Did Ez-"

"I saw Tommy."

He inhales, as though he's about to breathe a sigh of relief over the fact that my son didn't do something else destructive (yet), but that sigh of relief gets stuck in his throat when what I've just said fully registers.

"Oh."

"Do me a favor?"

"Uh... okay."

"Pinch me?"

With an uncertain chuckle, he shakes his head in bewilderment. "What?"

"Pinch me."

"No!"

"Please?"

" _Why_?"

"Just do it!" I reply insistently, and he rolls his eyes as he grudgingly submits to my request. "Fuck."

"What?"

"That hurt."

"Well, duh. That's why I didn't wanna do it."

"It hurt, and I'm still here, which means that I'm awake and I wasn't dreaming." I explain wearily, pushing my keycard into the door lock and waiting for the little light to turn green before I open it. "That means I really _did_ just see Tommy, and it really was weird, and I really did make a total ass of myself."

"Well... what happened?" He asks, following me into my hotel room and watching me flop backwards onto my freshly made bed. "What did you say?"

"God, I don't even remember. I just know it all came out stupid."

"Most of what you say does."

"Not helping." I glare at him as he sits down on the edge of the mattress and playfully nudges my knee with his. "I just... I didn't know what to say to him, Zac. I always thought I knew exactly what I'd say if I ever saw him again, you know? I've had enough time to think about it and play every possible conversation over in my head a million times. But then he was standing _right_ there, and I just... _fuck_ , he probably thinks I couldn't wait to get away from him."

"Why?"

"Because I barely said anything. I was trying so hard not to say something dumb that I didn't say _anything_!"

He laughs softly, like he thinks I'm exaggerating. If only he knew. "It can't have been _that_ bad. You must have said _something_."

"I think I said 'hi'. And maybe something like 'you should probably go'. I don't know, I'm just acutely aware that it was _awful_."

"Well... what did you _want_ to say?" He pries carefully, probably unsure that he even wants to know.

Life hasn't exactly been a piece of cake since Tommy and I broke up, but it's sure as hell been a lot more stable than it was when we were together. At least, it's been stable for my brothers. For me, not so much. But I'm used to that.

"I don't know." I tell him honestly, gazing up at the ceiling above me as I rake my fingers through my unruly hair.

"Do you want to get back together with him?"

Yes. "Of course not."

"Why 'of course not'? You make it sound ridiculous."

"Because it _is_."

He shrugs faintly, offering me a small, sad smile. "You _are_ single now."

Sometimes I honestly think that I'm unaware of that fact. I was married for so long, it became a part of who I was, like my name or the color of my eyes. I haven't been single since I was a teenager, and I became single so suddenly, so unexpectedly... I'm not sure it's actually sunk in yet. Not entirely, at least.

"I'm not single... I'm a widower. There's a difference."

"Which is?"

"Single men can do whatever they want, and see whoever they want, and no one cares. But when a guy whose wife _died_ less than a year ago starts seeing someone else-"

"Tay, you can't spend your whole life worrying what other people think. There are people out there who are _never_ gonna approve, no matter what you do. You could wait ten years to start dating again, and someone out there will probably still think you're being disrespectful to Natalie. _Especially_ if the person you start seeing is a guy."

"But it's only been six months, Zac. It's too soon."

"For other people, maybe. But it's _your_ life. You've spent too much of it trying to do what you thought you _should_ do, and all it's done is make you miserable."

"Why are you pushing this? Do _you_ want me to get back together with Tommy or something?"

"Honestly? Not even a teeny tiny little bit." I can't help but smile at his bluntness, just for a second. I love how he doesn't even _try_ to sugar-coat it, and yet it's still not at all harsh. "But I _do_ want you to be happy. If that means being with The Ambiguously Gay Bassist, then... that's what it means."

"So you're saying that, now that Nat's gone, you think I should just say 'fuck it' and do whatever I want?"

He solemnly shakes his head, giving me a look I've seen a lot of in my life. It's a look that practically screams 'my poor, slow, big brother'. "I'm just saying that... if everything that's happened this year has taught any of us anything, it's that life is _way_ too fucking short. We have no idea what's going to happen from one minute to the next, we can't know. One minute you're celebrating birth and the next minute you're mourning death. But one thing I _do_ know is that if we spend all our time worrying about what _might_ happen, or what people _might_ think of our choices, we'll never do anything. Every day that we're alive and we don't live our lives the way we really want to, we're just wasting time. And who the hell knows how much of it we're gonna get. I understand that you feel guilty for moving on so soon, but... you wanted to move on a long time ago."

"Yeah, and I felt like shit about it then, too."

"Right. So you felt like shit for wanting to move on when she was alive, and you feel like shit for wanting to move on now that she's gone. Do you think you're ever _not_ going to feel like shit for it?"

He makes more sense than he has any right to, way more often than I'm sure most people would probably expect. He's actually always been the most rational and level-headed of the three of us. Well... about most things, anyway. It's kind of completely annoying. He's my little brother, I'm supposed to be the mature, worldly one imparting wisdom and offering advice. Instead, he's always had it together more than I have.

I'm a walking disaster of a human being, and he's... Zac.

"It doesn't even matter what _I_ want or how _I_ feel." I stubbornly dispute, returning my attention to the ceiling. "It's been over a year since Tommy and I broke up. _He's_ moved on. I have _no_ right to just waltz back into his life and try to drag him into my mess of an existence."

"What're you gonna do, then? Pretend like today never happened and you never saw him?"

I don't want to. What I want to do is call him and tell him that I still think about him _every_ day. I want to ask him if he ever thinks about me. I want to tell him that the ten seconds I spent in his presence today made my heart beat faster than any ten seconds I've spent doing _anything_ since the last time I laid eyes on him.

I want to tell him that I miss him. _So_ much.

But I don't know how.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a new chapter already! It won't always be this fast, but chapter 11 came pretty easily, so...

 

  


 

 

_Don't be. I'm not._

It's been eleven months since I last looked at this text message. Eleven months _exactly_ , in fact. I read it once, and I never allowed myself to go back to it again. Not until now.

It seems like so much longer since that night. Since we said goodbye. So much has happened to me, so many things that he probably has no idea about. Or maybe he does. I don't know. I don't know what, if anything, has changed for him. I haven't let myself try to find out. I haven't asked Alex about him, I haven't checked his twitter, I haven't even googled his name. Not once.

I think I was afraid of what I might learn.

But now all of those questions are driving me crazy. I can't stop thinking about what Zac said earlier, about how worrying about the 'what ifs' is a waste of time. I know he's right, but it's so hard to just let it all go and take that leap, cross that line...

What if Tommy has moved on? What if he's happy? What if he's in a great relationship with an amazing person who he's madly in love with?

What if he's not?

I'll never know if I keep my distance.

But what if I _don't_ keep my distance and I end up hurting him again just by attempting to turn our momentary encounter this afternoon into something more? Something it shouldn't be.

But what if it _should_ be?

What if, what if, what if...

My whole fucking life is and always has been one giant "what if", and I'm _so_ fucking sick of it. I'm so sick of _always_ asking that question and _never_ knowing the answer.  

Maybe it would be a mistake for me to send him a text. But maybe it's a mistake I need to make. Maybe this is one "what if" that neither of us should have to live with, and maybe the only way for us to avoid it is for me to do this.

Or maybe that's just what I need to tell myself so that I can go through with pressing 'send'.

_I don't know if you're still in town or if you're busy, but if you are and you're not, do you want to get a drink tonight?_

I'm sure there was a much more coherent way to word that text, but I couldn't think of it at the time. And it's too late now, because I just sent it...

 _Fuck_.

What have I done?!

_Who is this?_

As soon as his reply appears on the screen, my phone almost falls out of my hand. Those three words are like a kick in the stomach, and they stop me dead in my tracks, bringing my anxious pacing to an abrupt halt. If he doesn't know who the text is from, that means he doesn't have my number in his phone any more. Which means that, at some point since the night he sent me that last message, he deleted me from his contacts. And while that's _totally_ understandable and _completely_ fair... it stings more than a little to know that he never wanted to talk to me again.

I'm torn between responding to the text and telling him it's me or just letting the whole thing drop. This is a sign, it has to be. He deleted my number, he wanted to forget  me. I should let him.

_Taylor?_

I guess my text reeked so strongly of pathetic desperation that he figured out who sent it inside of sixty seconds.

_Yeah. Sorry. Never mind._

Shit, shit, _shit_. Why do I do these things? Can't I just _not_ fuck everything up, just _once_? Am I completely incapable of that? Am I just like... allergic to making good choices or something?!

_I am and I'm not. ;) Where are you staying?_

Where am I staying? I don't know.

I don't remember my own name right now!

I think I'm in some kind of shock.

I honestly thought he'd ignore my text or reply and turn me down. But not only did he not ignore me, and then accept my invitation, he seems so... casual about it. I know it's hard to tell via text, he could be freaking out just as badly as I am and I'd have no clue because text messages lack tone.

But I don't think _I_ would have been so bold as to use a winky smilie.

Wait... am I actually standing in the middle of my hotel room analyzing his emoticon use? I think I need help.

_I'm at a Marriott a couple of miles from water works park._

I can't believe this is really happening. I never thought we were going to see each other again. In fact, I was sure that one or both of us would go to great lengths to ensure that we never did, because things would just be easier that way. But that was then. And now...

_Seriously? The downtown Marriott?_

I'm not really sure what to make of that question.

_Seriously._

I'm expecting him to respond with a text that tells me where he's staying so that we can figure out which of us is getting a cab. Or possibly one that suggests a meeting point halfway between here and wherever he happens to be. But the message I receive only seconds later simply reads:

_Lobby in 5?_

So either he's staying somewhere so close by that he can be here in five minutes... or he's staying here, too.

Which would mean that we've been under the same roof all evening.

Sometimes, more often than not, I think the universe has the most disturbingly perverse sense of humor. Something or someone out there just loves to fuck with me and then sit back and enjoy the show. They must be wetting themselves laughing right now.

Well played, universe. Well fucking played.

I resume pacing for the next three minutes, muttering reassurances to myself that this is _not_ a big deal, and that I am more than capable of having a drink with Tommy without it ruining either of our lives. But then somewhere between minutes three and four I catch sight of myself in the mirror at the end of the bed, and a whole new set of problems present themselves. There's not a whole lot I can do about how I look in the next ninety seconds, but I can _at least_ run a comb through my hair and change out of my sweaty concert t-shirt (which I would have done as soon as I got back here had I not been so preoccupied with everything else going on). I briefly consider brushing my teeth, but I'm out of time.

Besides, having minty fresh breath is a little too presumptuous.

I don't want him thinking that I have any expectations about where this drink is going to lead, because I honestly _don't_. I don't believe that we're going to end up doing anything besides saying goodnight and going our separate ways, so there's no need for me to brush my teeth.

But gum, on the other hand, is totally acceptable. Gum is innocent and unassuming.

God bless gum!

Grabbing a stick of Orbit puts me over the five minute mark, which I guess makes me late. But if the knowing smirk on his face as I step out of the elevator in the lobby and approach him is any indication, he was expecting that.

"I was starting to think you got lost." He teases, and I disguise my sigh of relief over his effortless ice-breaker with a soft chuckle.

"Well, it's a big hotel."

The silence that follows is undeniably awkward, but not in the same way that it was earlier. When we saw each other backstage, I was so busy trying to remember how to breathe that I couldn't think of anything to say to him. Breathing is coming a little easier this time. Not much, but it's a start.

"I think the bar is over there." I nod my head towards the other side of the lobby. "Or we could go somewhere else?"

"Here's fine."

As we start to walk, I briefly question whether I should stand beside him or lag behind a little. And if I choose to stand beside him, how much distance should I put between us? I'm aware of how stupid it all is, but it's like I'm on alert. I'm so afraid of scaring him off by unintentionally saying or doing anything to make him uncomfortable. In the end I fall into step beside him, figuring that maintaining a good twelve inches of space between us should be safe enough for now.

"I'm sorry about before." He apologizes just as we reach the open double doors of the hotel bar. "I felt like a total fucking idiot all night."

"No, it was _totally_ my fault. I don't know what the hell was wrong with me, I just..."

"It was like... I knew you were gonna be there, but I was still surprised to see you, you know?"

"Exactly." I smile ruefully, following his example and coming to a stop in front of the bar.

He glances around us at the mostly empty room before his eyes finally settle on my face and he gives a small shrug. "Where do you wanna sit?"

Oh, the agony of choice.

We could sit at one of the booths along the back wall... but their out-of-the-way location and plush leather seats make them look a little too secluded and cozy. Not that I have anything against secluded and cozy, but _he_ might. That narrows it down to one of the tables between the booths and the bar, or a couple of empty bar stools.

"The bar, I guess?"

It seems like the safest place to start, and we can always relocate to a table or a booth later if we decide we need a little more privacy. Not that I foresee us having any need for privacy, I'm just saying... it's an option.

I take a seat at the end of the bar, expecting him to occupy the stool right next to mine, but instead he hops onto the one just around the corner. At first it's a little disconcerting, and I immediately assume that he chose it because of the extra space it left between us. But almost as soon as I look up from my beermat and catch him peering at me before he has chance to avert his eyes, it strikes me how much better this setup is. If we were sitting side by side, we wouldn't be able to look at each other like this.

I wonder if that's why he chose to sit there?

The bartender is quick to take our orders, and we wordlessly watch him pour our beers and set them down in front of us. When he asks if we want to start a tab, there's a distinct moment of hesitation and apprehension on both our parts. Starting a tab implies that we'll be ordering more than one round of drinks, and neither of us seems ready to make that kind of commitment just yet.

"I've got this." Tommy insists, handing the bartender ten bucks and telling him to keep the change.

"Thanks." I smile, resisting the urge to tell him that I'll get the next round as I raise my beer to my lips. There might not _be_ a next round, not if I somehow manage to fuck the first one up. I just need to stay calm and not over-think everything. But I need to not under-think it, either. I can't just let words tumble out of my mouth, that _never_ leads to anything good. "I like your hair."

For example.

He looks completely confused and taken aback by my out-of-nowhere compliment, and I mentally kick myself for not going with something that couldn't be construed as a come-on in any way. But he quickly remembers that his hair is pink, and he exhales a quiet chuckle as he self-consciously reaches up and runs his hand through it.

"Thanks. It _was_ a lot darker, but it's fading now."

"Are you gonna dye it again?"

Casually shrugging one shoulder, he slowly sips his beer. "I don't know. I'm thinking about just letting it go back to blond for a while. I kinda miss it."

"Well blonds do have more fun."

"Yeah?"

"That's what I hear."

"You do know that _you're_ blond, right?" He ask playfully, leaving me momentarily dazed by that adorable smile of his.

"Are you kidding? It's my excuse for _everything_."

With every passing second, and every word of this light-hearted back and forth we're sharing, I can actually _feel_ the weight lifting from my shoulders. It really is gradually getting easier just to draw breath around him, and I can sense him relaxing more and more, too. As long as I can manage to keep the conversation from wandering into off limits territory, we should be able to make it through this evening without adding to our already impressive collection of war wounds.

"So..." I probably should've thought of something to follow that "so" with before I opened my mouth and said it. But I didn't. "Uh... how was the show?"

"Good." He nods, trailing his chipped-polished fingernail around the edge of his beermat. "We've been having _so_ much fun together so far, next year is gonna be fucking _insane_."

"Next year?"

"Yeah, that's when the real tour starts."

"Oh. So was tonight just like a random, one-off show or something?"

"Not exactly. We've done a bunch of shows this week, but it's just like... promo stuff, you know?" I nod in understanding. I know all about promo tours, I've done more than my share of them. Not that they aren't fun, but it's not the same as doing your own tour. There's a lot more stopping and starting, the set lists are never as long as you want them to be, and you never know how reliable the crew is going to be from one venue to the next. "How about you?"

"Me?" I practically squeak in surprise, licking a smudge of foam from my top lip and trying to ignore the way he's looking at me right now. Damn that smirk. "What about me?"

"Was this just a one-off show or are you touring now?"

"One-off. We've kinda been... on a break for a while."

"Right. I figured..."

Shit. There's that look. That look of pity that I've been getting from everyone everywhere I turn for the last six months. I hate it. I understand that no one means anything bad by it, they might not even realize they're doing it. But I'm so sick of seeing it; I don't deserve pity, and I don't _want_ it.

 _Especially_ not from him.

"We're gonna start playing more shows soon, though. We're actually touring Australia in September." I continue in a hopeless attempt to redirect his attention back to our previous conversation. I can already tell that it's probably not going to work, but I have to _try_. "Isaac's been desperate to get back on the road for months, we can't put it off any longer. He'd probably go off and start a one man band if we tried."

"You don't wanna tour?" He asks, clearly surprised by the idea.

When we were together, I was always itching to be on the road. I hated being stuck in Tulsa, I didn't know how to be home day in and day out without getting claustrophobic. And it's not like that's changed completely; I _do_ miss touring. But my desire to be close to my kids is _so_ much stronger than it's ever been. Isaac and Zac practically had to separate me from them with a crowbar in order to get me to this show, I even considered bringing them all with us.

Until now, I hadn't spent a single night away from them all year.

"It's not that I don't _want_ to... it's just difficult." Please let me change the subject, Tommy. _Please_? "But we've still been working. We've been in the studio _a lot_ , we probably have enough new material at this point to put out a five disc album."

He nods and smiles, but it's still forced. And that sympathy is still present in his dark brown eyes. It's so obvious, I can't even look at him. I can never look people in the eyes and accept their sincerest condolences. I can't say "thank you" when they tell me that they're sorry for my loss, it just makes me want to _scream_.

Yes, I loved her, and she was a huge part of my life. And yes, I lost her, and I do miss her terribly. But she was never my soul mate, and I am _not_ the grieving widower that everyone assumes I am. It's just another role I have to play. I spent ten years playing the faithful husband and family man, pretending to be happily married. I was a fake, a fraud.

And I _still_ am.

Because as much as I miss her, and as much as I wish she was still here for the sake of our kids... part of me feels free. Like the life sentence I was serving as someone I never wanted to be has been revoked by her death.

How fucked up is that?

It's _sick_. _I'm_ sick for thinking that way for even a second, but I can't help it! It's how I feel. When I'm at home now, I can breathe. I'm not constantly staring at the door and trying to think up excuses to leave. I _want_ to be there, I _want_ to be with my kids. Even though the world is still oblivious to who I really am, I feel more like myself in my own home than I ever have before.

And I loathe myself for it.

I think I feel _more_ guilty now that she's gone and I'm not even seeing anyone than I ever did when she was still here and I was being unfaithful.

Somehow... this is _worse_.

"I um... I heard..." He begins quietly, almost cautiously, and I brace myself for what I know is coming next. "About Natalie, I mean. I saw something on the cover of one of those gossip magazines, and I called Alex..."

Ugh. I remember those. It'd been a long time since I'd seen myself on the cover of a magazine, and suddenly I couldn't go to the damn store without seeing myself everywhere. I wanted to snatch every last copy off of the shelves and burn them. We told everyone "no comment" and asked them to please respect our privacy, but apparently that translates to "please speculate about how my wife died and post pictures of my kids in your shitty magazine". They didn't need to know what really happened to Natalie in order to get the attention of bored housewives. They just needed to splash pictures of us arriving for her fucking _funeral_  all over the front page.

"I'm _really_ sorry, Taylor." As soon as the words leave his mouth, he chuckles quietly, mirthlessly. "I know that probably sounds like total bullshit coming from me-"

"No, it doesn't."

"It does, though. I never gave a fuck about her. Sometimes I wished she wasn't around, I wished she didn't exist... but I honestly _never_ wished that she-"

"I know." I assure him sincerely. "I know you'd never wish that on anyone."

"I wanted to call or text or... something. Just to like... see if you were okay. But half of my contacts got deleted somehow and... I lost your number."

"It's okay."

It's an excuse, and we both know it. He could have gotten my number if he'd wanted to, he could have just asked Alex for it, but he didn't. And I don't blame him for that in the slightest.

We stare into our drinks, unsure of what to say next. There's always an awkwardness that accompanies the topic of Natalie's death, no matter who I'm discussing it with. Sometimes talking about it feels like walking down a dead end street; there's no point to it. But once you've started, you're kind of stuck. You could try to backtrack, but it would be just as fruitless as going forward, just as difficult.

"So... what happened?" He eventually questions, his voice timid, like he's not sure he should even be asking. "Alex just said it was... something to do with the baby?"

I nod slowly, my eyes still trained on what remains of my beer, studying the patterns that the foam left on the side of the glass. "Complications during childbirth."

I wonder if I sound as cold and mechanical to him as I do in my head. I've spoken those words, that explanation, so many times at this point, it's as if they've lost their meaning. If they ever had any to begin with. They sounded meaningless the first time anyone ever said them to me. But it's the simplest way to explain it. I can either tell people that she died of hypovolemic shock due to massive hemorrhaging during an emergency c-section, which would just lead to even more questions I don't want to answer, or I can spit three empty little words at them and be done with it. People generally seem to understand that such a vague, useless answer _isn't_ an invitation for further inquiry.

It just has that "don't ask" ring to it.

"And... the baby? Is it..."

" _She's_ totally fine." I smile fondly, noting the relieved expression on his face as he smiles back at me. "She's perfect."

My next move is pure instinct, I don't give it a second thought. But I probably should have, because as soon as I pull my phone out of my pocket and open the camera roll to show him some pictures of my kids, I realize that he might not want to see them. Through no fault of their own, they're basically the reason we're not together. They're the reason he let me go.

But whether he wants to see them or not, he takes the phone from my outstretched hand and leisurely flips through the photos, his eyes drifting slowly over each one before he lightly drags his finger across the screen to move on to the next. Eventually he comes to a picture of my youngest, and he glances up at me with a genuine grin on his lips.

"That's her?"

I nod proudly, leaning a little closer so that I can see her smiling face for myself; I never get tired of it. "That's her."

"She's adorable."

"I tend to think so. But I'm a little biased."

"What's her name?"

"Well, her full name is Natalie Asta, but we just call her Asta."

"Asta..." He muses thoughtfully, testing the feel of the name on his tongue. "Like in _The Thin Man_?"

"Huh?"

"You know, _The Thin Man_? Nick and Nora?" I don't know, and judging by the look I'm getting right now, I should feel incredibly ashamed about that. "It's this movie about a guy who used to be a cop and his wife, and they solve murders. And they have a dog named Asta." He explains, already shaking his head dismissively. "I doubt you guys would've named your kid after a dog, though."

"No." I laugh softly. "Natalie chose it because it means 'bright as a star'. I'm pretty sure that if she'd known there was a dog with the same name, she would've gone with something else."

"How old is Asta now?"

"Six months. She's _almost_ crawling already, it's gonna happen any day now. I'm totally paranoid that Natalie's mom is going to text me at any minute and tell me I missed it."

"It must be rough to be away from her... from all of them."

"Yeah..." I accept the phone as he turns it off and passes it back to me. "It was never exactly easy before, but now... I don't know. It's harder on them now, so it's harder on me."

"How're you doing?" He asks seriously, his eyes burning into mine, their search for the truth so intense that I can only stand to hold his stare for a second or two before looking back down at the bar. " _Really_."

He didn't need to add the 'really', his serious expression made it perfectly clear that he wants me to be honest. But I don't particularly want to get into all of the new and exciting ways that my life has become more chaotic since he last saw me. This little reunion has already gotten way more somber than I wanted it to, and I'd rather steer it back to a more casual topic than waste what's left of the evening by depressing us both.

"I'm fine. _Really_."

I can tell that he doesn't believe me. It may have been a year since we last saw each other, but he still knows me too well. He can still see right through me, just like he always could before. Which means that he can see how desperate I am for him to let the subject drop, and so he's kind enough not to push it any further.

"Want another drink?"

More than anything. "Sure, but this round's on me."

"We'll see."

For the next hour or so, we stick to talking about music and nothing more. He tells me about how he's been "promoted", basically, to lead guitarist in Adam's band. I kind of hate myself for not sticking around to watch the show earlier. I may have only seen him perform on guitar once before, but once was enough to know that it's not something you want to miss if you ever have the chance to witness it. It's hard to be disappointed for long, though, because he promises me that the next time they play a show anywhere near Tulsa he'll be sure to send me tickets.

If that offer alone hadn't been enough to perk up my mood, the flirtatious smile that accompanied it would have been.

I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't hoping that he'd suggest a third round of drinks, but I'm not at all surprised when he doesn't. He grudgingly says something about having to be up early for his flight home, which is just as true for me, and we head back out into the lobby side by side. The knowledge that we're mere moments away from saying goodbye is hanging heavily over both of us, and neither of us says much as the elevator doors close behind us and we each hit the button for our respective floors.

His room is on the seventh floor and mine is on the fourth, which means that I have to be the one to walk away first. It's a little too familiar, and it never gets any easier to do.

"I guess... I'll see you around sometime?"

He nods, forcing a flicker of a smile. "Yeah."

"Have a safe flight tomorrow."

"You too."

With one last look, I step out of the elevator and begin walking towards my room. The sound of the doors sliding shut behind me seems heightened, so much louder than it should be, so final. But no sooner have they shut then I hear them jolt apart again, and when I look over my shoulder I see Tommy standing between them, holding them open.

"I lied about losing your number." He admits suddenly and somewhat regretfully. "My contacts didn't get deleted. It wasn't an accident, I deleted it on purpose."

"Oh..."

I don't even know what to do with that information. I assumed it was a lie when he said it, it just felt so half-hearted, like he didn't even expect me to believe it. But I certainly didn't think he'd ever come right out and confess to it like this.

"I just... I needed to, you know? I came way too close to calling you one too many times... I needed to let it go."

That's something I never really figured out how to do, not entirely. I accepted that it was over, but I never really moved on. I never stopped thinking about him. But I understand why he felt he had let go. He couldn't hold on forever; there was nothing to hold on to. No hope, not even the faintest glimmer of a possibility that something might change, that we might get one last chance.

But that was then.

Neither of us could have ever predicted how much things would change.

"G'night, Taylor."

"Goodnight."

As I watch him disappear from view behind the elevator doors, I'm left with nothing but unanswered questions for company. I have no idea where we stand with one another, if anything is any different today than it was yesterday.

But at least he said goodnight and not goodbye.


	3. Chapter 3

  


 

 

_ Tulsa, Oklahoma - August 4th, 2012 _

__

In the seven days since Tommy and I literally bumped into one another in Des Moines, my thoughts have been drifting to him about ten times more frequently than before. Maybe even more than that. Basically any time my mind isn't focused on something specific, it defaults to thinking about him. I don't know how to make it stop, and quite honestly I don't want to. Remembering our conversation in the hotel bar gives me a feeling of hope and possibility that I didn't have a week ago. I wasn't sure I was ever going to feel the way I felt that night again. I don't know that it necessarily means anything for us, but thinking about his laugh, his smile, the way he looked at me... it meant _so_ much more to me than I can put into words.

It was a breath of fresh air.

We've texted back and forth a few times this past week. Nothing significant, just a bit of light banter. I sent him a message before our flight back to Tulsa thanking him for the drink, and he sent one back telling me that he had fun and we should do it again sometime. Which left me in such a good mood for the rest of the day that Ike and Bex kept looking at me like I'd drained my mini-bar before we left the hotel. I'm pretty sure Zac knew what I was so happy about, but thankfully he kept his mouth shut about it in front of everyone else.

Then a couple of days later, Tommy sent me a text to tell me that _MMMBop_ was playing at the grocery store, and he didn't know whether to laugh or throw eggs at the store employees until they turned it off. I told him that I voted for him throwing eggs, and he responded with a simple "haha", which pretty much ended that conversation. But yesterday I was out with my kids, and we drove past a Taco Bell. Normally I wouldn't have given it a second glance, but with Tommy on my mind I couldn't help myself. I pulled up to the drive-thru and ordered us all Crunch Wrap Supremes, and then I took a picture of them chowing down and sent it to him. He informed me that it was basically child abuse because "that shit will kill you". Before I had a chance to come up with a witty response of some kind, he sent another message noting how much older my kids looked since the time he met them, and how crazy it was. All I could do was agree with him, because it _is_ crazy how quickly they're growing up. Just thinking about it makes my head spin; time passes so fast, and with five children to chase after it's so difficult to find a moment to stop and truly take it all in.

Sometimes it scares me.

I already felt as though I missed so much while I was on the road, but now I'm home all the time and I still can't keep up with them! I don't know how to slow things down even a little, and I want to be able to remember it all. I want to remember the little things. But there are _so_ many of them... it's overwhelming.

This is one of those moments, though. There's nothing outstanding about it, it's something I do all the time. But that doesn't mean it's not special. It doesn't mean that I don't want to hold on to everything about it. From the way Viggo's hair smells like bubblegum, to the way he fits so perfectly on my lap, to the way his little fingers fumble to turn the pages of the book we're reading together. I'm painfully aware that all-too-soon he won't fit perfectly on my lap like this, and he won't smell like candy anymore.

"What's this one?" I ask him, resting my chin gently on the top of his head and smiling at the way my jaw vibrates as he 'ummms'  for a second in contemplation.

"It's a blue horse."

"Blue horse, blue horse, what do you see?" I read, as he follows along word for word. "I see a..."

"Green frog looking at me!" He exclaims even before he's finished turning the next page.

"Green frog, green frog, what do you-"

"Daddy, how come there's blue horses in the book but not really?"

I can't count how many times we've read this book together, and yet this is the first time he's become concerned by the factual inaccuracies of it. _This_ is exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about! I want to remember that he asked me this. I want to remember that he thought about it enough to actually notice that the book depicted something that doesn't exist in reality. It wasn't just another read through of his favorite book, it was something more.

"Well..." I begin, taking a deep breath as I try to think of a good way to explain it. "Sometimes things we see in books aren't real, because if we only read stories about real things... it wouldn't be as fun."

"Like cleaning my room?"

"Exactly! Would you want to read a book about cleaning your room?"

His little eyes widen, appalled that I would suggest such a thing. "No way!"

"Well, there ya go then. And I wouldn't wanna read a book where all the animals were boring colors."

"Me too."

I'm about to tell him to turn the page when my attention is pulled from our little lesson in animals and colors. I look up from the book we're holding, my gaze instantly going to Penny as she points the remote control at the TV screen and turns the volume up significantly on the Disney movie that she's watching. It's nothing unusual, not anymore at least. But whenever I'm present for it, it's as though the sight and the sound of it holds me captive.

She kneels submissively in front of the TV, singing softly along to the song in the movie, almost as though she's praying. I'm sure she's probably much too close to the screen for it to be healthy, but I just don't have the heart to disturb her and tell her to move back a bit.

She looks so much smaller than she actually is.

To say that I feel as though my heart is being torn to shreds in moments like this one would be a ridiculous understatement. All I want to do is go over there, wrap her in my arms and keep her safe, protect her. But it's too late. I _can't_ protect her from what's already happened, and I can't protect her from the heartache she's feeling because of it. I can be here twenty-four-seven, I could hug her all day, every day, and it won't fix it. I could be the most amazing father on the planet, I could give her everything, but it won't be enough to make up for what she's lost.

It won't bring her mom back.

 

A few months ago, she became obsessed with Disney princess movies. She went through a phase a year or two ago where they were _all_ she wanted to watch, and she had to have _every_ Disney Princess doll, and dress, and coloring book she saw. But she was starting to grow out of it...

 

Then Natalie died, and suddenly the obsession was back. Except it was only an obsession with certain princesses, not all of them. Gone was her interest in Rapunzel, Aurora and Tiana, she only cared about Belle, Ariel and Cindrella. It took me a while to figure it out, but one day, as she sat down to watch _The Little Mermaid_ for the thousandth time, it hit me.

 

None of those princesses have mothers.

 

At least, not mothers who are present in their lives. They're beautiful, strong, independent, intelligent young girls who all grew up without a mother. I think she's looking for some kind of role model, someone who's going through or has gone through the same thing as her, who can show her how to be okay. I guess cartoon princesses are better than nothing, I just wish I could give her something real. Real hope. Real happiness. But there's no magic and no Fairy Godmothers to be found here, just me. And I'm so afraid that I'm not going to be enough for her.

 

For any of them.

 

"Daddy?"

 

Viggo's voice snaps me out of my thoughts and brings my focus back to him, and I do my best to smile down at him despite the lingering sadness I feel. "Sorry, bud. Where were we?"

 

"Purple cat, purple cat, what do you see? I see a-"

 

A shriek of horror and misery slices through the air and interrupts Viggo's proud recitation. I instantly recognize it as River's voice, and in a split second I've lifted Viggo off of my lap and onto the couch so that I can jump up and make a mad dash towards the stairs. I can hear River crying and yelling at someone to "stop it", and I know before I even get to their shared bedroom that it's Ezra he's fighting with. At this point I just assume that if one of my kids is being tormented, it's my eldest doing the tormenting.

 

But no assumptions, and no amount of trying to prepare myself can buffer the shock I feel as I come to a stop in the doorway of their bedroom and take in the sight before me. River and Ezra are both standing on River's bed, and River has his arms outstretched in a desperate attempt to protect the wall behind him as Ezra mercilessly scribbles all over it with a black Sharpie marker.

  
"Jordan Ezra!" I bark at him in my sternest tone, but he doesn't so much as flinch let alone stop. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

 

He may be getting bigger faster than I know how to handle, but he's still small enough that I can wrap one arm around his waist and pull him off of the bed with one swift tug. As soon as his feet are off of the mattress he starts flailing wildly, screeching at me to get off of him, kicking his legs at me until I have little choice but to set him down on the ground.

 

"Look what you did!" I point at the sky blue walls around us, with their freshly scrawled border of angry black lines. "What were you _thinking_?!"

 

"I'm not a baby anymore!" He yells back at me. "It's _my_ room and I don't want _stupid_ pictures of _stupid_ zoo animals on the walls! I _hate_ them!"

 

"Ez-"

 

"I hate them, I hate this room, I hate him," He points condemningly at his weeping little brother, his former best friend. "I hate this house, and I hate _you_!"

 

Even if I had the words, I don't know that I'd be capable of speaking them right now. And I'm too emotionally pummeled to stop him before he turns and runs down the hall to lock himself in the bathroom.

 

That's his answer to everything lately.

 

I stand in the middle of his bedroom, with River's heartbroken sobs ringing in my ears and Asta's sleepy cries slowly beginning to build from down the hall as I dazedly survey the damage around me. A good two thirds of the hand-painted border is completely ruined. The border that Ezra helped Natalie to paint a few years ago when River moved out of the nursery and into his bedroom just before Viggo was born. It's still there, but it's irreparably tainted by vicious marker strokes. I could try to fix it, but it's never going to be the same as it was.

 

"I'm so sorry, kiddo." I sigh regretfully, crouching down and opening my arms to River, who immediately runs into them and clings to me. "We'll figure out a way to fix it, okay?"

 

"Mommy wanted him to stop, but he wouldn't!"

 

"I know."

 

"Why'd he ruin it like that? It was mommy's painting, and now she's sad!"

 

Forget trying to explain to River that "mommy" is just a figment of his imagination, and that no one else can see or hear her...

 

How do I explain to him that his big brother is deeply entrenched in one of the five stages of grief when he doesn't even understand what grief _is_? How do I promise him that Ezra won't get away with what he's done when I have no idea how to hold him responsible for it? No matter what punishment I throw at him, it doesn't stop him from turning right around and doing something else he needs to be told off for the next day. And half the time, I can't get him to do whatever chore it is I've punished him with anyway. He's either locked in the bathroom or he simply flat out refuses to move a muscle and do as he's told. I feel like all I do is scold him and argue with him, and I _hate_ it.

 

I have _no_ idea how to do this.

 

Once River has calmed down and Asta has been placated with some soothing and a bowl of applesauce, I settle her in her rainforest Jumperoo in the kitchen with me while I make dinner. There are many, _many_ things that Natalie was always better at than me, and that I feel as though I will never be able to do adequately enough to keep my children from wishing she'd done it instead. Cooking, however, is not one of them. Not that she wasn't good at it, but with food being something I have a passion for, I always tended to put a little more effort into the meals I prepared. And as a result, she would often tell me that the kids would whine about how they wished I was the one cooking dinner when I was away on tour. Then again, perhaps that had less to do with them preferring my food to hers, and more to do with them simply wanting their dad to come home for dinner.

 

Ezra refuses to come down to eat, insisting that he's not hungry and that he hates fried chicken and mashed potatoes (even though I _know_ he doesn't). I've wasted a lot of time and energy fighting him on this over the past couple of months, but as difficult as it is to leave him to sulk in his room while the rest of us eat, I've realized that it's better for both of us. I can either spend more time arguing with him than I already do, and have the end result be his reluctant presence at the dinner table and an untouched meal at the end of the evening, or I can leave him where he is. As my mom has repeatedly reassured me, he's not going to starve himself; he'll eat if he's hungry. And I know that he _does_ eat, because I've noticed things missing here and there from the fridge and pantry.

 

I guess him smuggling food up to his bedroom is better than him not eating at all.

 

After dinner, I drop Penny, River and Viggo off at Natalie's mom's house for the night, and then drive out to Jenks to deliver a sleepy Asta and surly Ezra to my parents. I feel almost guilty leaving him with them when he's in such a shitty mood, but they were aware of it when they volunteered. Who knows, maybe hanging out and watching movies with his Auntie Zoe for the evening will actually put a smile on his face for once.

 

As for me, I have a ruined mural to repair and one night to do it in. Luckily, I'm not completely useless with a paintbrush, and my little brother is not only extremely artistic, but also extremely eager and willing to help out.

 

"Holy crap!" I glance up from the coat of blue paint I'm half-way through applying to Ezra and River's bedroom walls as Zac appears in the doorway and gazes around the room in open mouthed astonishment. " _Ez_ did this?"

 

"Yup."

 

"Jeez... he's really on a roll lately, huh?"

 

"That's one way to put it." With a groan of discomfort, I push myself up off of the floor and stretch my back a little, taking in my handiwork for a moment. "Thanks for coming over. There's no way I could've gotten this done by myself in one night, and I didn't want River to have to sleep in here with it looking like this."

 

"No problem. It's been a long time since you and I pulled an all-nighter, it actually sounded kinda fun."

 

"Well, here's hoping your enthusiasm is infectious, 'cause right now I'm not feeling it. We've still gotta finish painting over the rest of the border, and then that's gotta dry before we can even _start_ on the new one."

 

"We've got at least fourteen hours, and I'm sure mom and dad and Pam will keep the kids a little longer if you need them to."

 

"I know they will, I just feel bad asking." I sigh, handing him a roller so that he can get to work. "Besides, I'm already exhausted and we're just getting started."

 

"So why don't you go and make some coffee, and I'll try to finish this last part? I'll meet you downstairs when I'm done and we can brainstorm ideas for the new border."

 

"But I don't wanna leave you with all the-"

 

"Get!" He commands playfully, snatching the roller out of my hand and pushing me towards the door. "And don't come back now, ya hear!"

 

"You're so fucking crazy." I snort in weary amusement.

 

"And sexy." He beams before adopting his most over-the-top sultry expression and blowing me a kiss. "Don't forget that."

 

Half an hour later, he finds me sitting out on the steps of the back deck, watching the sun set with a cup of what may be the world's strongest black coffee... and a cigarette. I don't smoke very often anymore, in fact I was never a big smoker to begin with. It's always been more of a social thing for me, but I've been known to indulge when I'm stressed, too. It was just a lot harder to do when Natalie was here because she didn't want the kids around it (and neither did I, honestly).

 

"Sorry." I offer him a sheepish smile as he takes a seat beside me. "I can put it out if you want."

 

"Damage is done. You're gonna smell gross for the rest of the night now whether you finish smoking it or not."

 

"I just needed one, especially after today."

 

"Well, you know what they say. If you can't beat 'em..." He reaches for my tin of cigarette papers and my lighter, much to my confusion. Zac _hates_ smoking.

 

But it all makes sense when he pulls a small bag of pot out of his pocket, and I can't help laughing.

 

I guess there's an exception to every rule.

 

"Do you mind?"

 

"Only if you don't intend to share."

 

I haven't watched him do this in so long, I wasn't even sure he still smoked. We did it pretty frequently in our late teens, and still indulged from time to time on tour, especially when Carrick was on the road with us. But during our painfully protracted rocky period the last couple of years, we didn't exactly spend a lot of time together socially, at least not without other members of our family around. And pretty much _none_ of them would approve of this. They wouldn't approve of a lot of the things we've done together, though, and I'd say that smoking a little weed is probably the least sinful of all.

 

As I watch him raise it to his lips and inhale deeply, my phone starts to ring. I really, _really_ just want to ignore it, but I know I can't. I'd never forgive myself if I switched my phone off to get high and it turned out that Ezra was giving my parents hell.

 

But it's not my parents, or Pam, it's Alex.

 

"Hey," I greet him in surprise, a genuine smile playing on my lips. "What's up?"

 

"Nothing much. Just wanted to hear your voice."

 

"You make that sound so fucking creepy."  His only response is to make exaggerated heavy breathing noises down the phone at me, leaving Zac frowning as I proceed to crack up. "You have problems."

 

"You're tellin' me! I haven't seen you in like... fuck, I don't even know. It's been _too_ long."

 

"It has. I'm sorry, I just... things here haven't exactly been going smoothly lately, and-"

 

"Hey, don't apologize. I'm not blaming you _at all_. I've been busy, too, and I know you've got a lot going on there."

 

"Yeah..."

 

"How's it going?" He asks gently, fretfully. "You holdin' up okay?"

 

Depends which day of the week (or hour of the day) you ask. "Uh... I'm okay, I guess. Could be better, but..."

 

"Well, I might be able to help with that."

 

"Oh yeah?"

 

"What're you doing in ten days?"

 

I chuckle softly, stubbing my now entirely spent cigarette out on the deck.  "I have no idea."

 

"So how about you come out here for a couple of days?"

 

I wish.

 

"I don't know, Alex... it's not that I don't want to, _believe_ me, it's just not a great time for it. My kids aren't doing so great, and they did even worse on the one day I actually did leave them this year... I just don't think that me disappearing for a few days right now is what they need."

 

"Okay, so then just come for _one_ night." He pleads hopefully. "I'm doing a show with JJAMZ on the fourteenth, you can fly in that morning, come to the show, hang out, and head home the next day. They'll barely have time to miss you."

 

"I know, I just-"

 

"You deserve a night off every now and then, Tay. You _need_ it."

 

"I _know_ , I just-"

 

Next thing I know, Zac has taken the phone out of my hand. "Hey, Alex? Yeah, hi, how's it goin'?"

  
"Zac, give me my-" His palm clamps down over my mouth and I stare at him in disbelief as he easily continues chatting away like I'm not even sitting here.

 

"Speaking on behalf of my brother's mental health, I'm delighted to report that he'll be wherever the hell it is you asked him to be, whenever the hell it is you asked him to be there."

 

"Zac!"

 

"No problem. Yeah, you too."

 

He ends the call and holds my phone back out to me, his expression almost entirely blank, as though he didn't just sign me up to do something I'm still not sure I should be doing. "I can't believe you did that!"

 

"Remember after Nat died, you went and got your will and stuff changed?"

 

"Yeah, but I don't see what the hell that has to do with this."

 

"You put me down as like... the person who makes your decisions for you if you're ever incapable of doing it yourself." He elaborates before taking another long hit. "So that's what I'm doing."

 

"I chose you to make my _medical_ decisions for me if I ever wind up in a coma or something! I didn't put your in charge of my whole fucking life!"

 

"Whatever. What _I_ got from it is that I'm supposed to act in your best interests when you can't do it yourself for whatever reason. And right now, I honestly don't think you know what's best for you because you're so busy worrying about your kids. And that's totally understandable and everything, but someone has to look out for _you_."

 

"What if it's _not_ in my best interests to go to L.A. right now? With Ez acting up the way he has been lately, I'm likely to come back and find he's burned the damn house down!"

 

"Let me worry  about Ezra, okay? At least for _one_ night. You need a break, Tay, you can't deny that." He's right, I can't. The mere idea of spending even twenty-four-hours in California has me on the verge of _tears_. It's like being told that in ten days I'm going to be allowed to _breathe_. "Go, see Alex, have fun."

 

"What're you gonna do if I say no?"

 

"Leave you here to finish painting that bedroom on your own. Good luck with that, by the way."

 

Asshole.

 

"Okay, fine." I concede finally, taking a deep, slightly anxious breath. "I'll go to Los Angeles."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a while to update. I've been busy all week and didn't have much time to write, and then my Tommy muse was giving me hell today. :p But if it helps, there will be 2 Tommy chapters in the near...ish future (chapter 12 & 13, to be precise). Forgive me? :p

  


 

 

_ Los Angeles, California - August 14th, 2012 _

__

I didn't realize just how much I'd missed L.A. until I looked out of the window of the airplane as it descended into LAX. You know that feeling you get when you've been on a long trip, and you've been driving for what feels like years, and everything finally starts to look more and more familiar the closer you get to being home? That's the best way I can think of to describe it. Los Angeles feels familiar to me, it feels like being back where I belong. A sense of immense relief washed over me as the plane touched down, and for the first time in a _long_ time I felt completely calm. But at the same time, I was so excited to be back that I could barely stay in my seat!

It was a nice change after spending the entire flight worrying. Worrying about what trouble Ezra might cause in my absence. Worrying about how hysterical Viggo probably  got when he woke up this morning and realized I wasn't there.

Worrying about seeing Tommy again.

Obviously, within minutes of my decision to go to L.A. (or rather, Zac and Alex's decision), the thought of Tommy crossed my mind. Before I met him, I associated Los Angeles with lots of things. If someone said "L.A.", I'd immediately picture the beach, and palm trees, and the Hollywood Hills. But now when someone says "L.A.", I immediately picture Tommy.

At first I wasn't sure if I should even mention to him that I was going to be in town. Our relationship, if you can even call it that, has been relegated to text messaging. I wouldn't even go so far as to label it talking, because it's not like we really converse. We just randomly message each other every other day or so, text back and forth for a few minutes, and then it's radio silence all over again. It's as though we're both trying not to push things too far, too fast.

Or maybe that's just me?

Maybe he doesn't over-think every text he sends me.

It took me a week to work up the nerve to broach the subject of my trip with him, trying to think of some casual way to bring it up that wouldn't automatically make him feel obligated to suggest that we get together. In the end I decided to very subtly ask him if he'd heard any of JJAMZ's music. He told me that he hadn't... but that he was going to one of their shows in a few days. Apparently Alex had _begged_ him. In the moment that I read that text, I couldn't decide if I was going to kiss Alex when he picked me up at the airport or smack him upside the head.

I'm sure Tommy was probably weighing the same options after I told him that Alex had invited me to L.A. for the same show. It was obvious to me that Alex was playing matchmaker in his own special way, and there's no doubt in my mind that Tommy knew it, too. We didn't acknowledge that fact to one another, though. He said he'd "probably see me there", and I said "yeah, probably", and that was it. It wasn't exactly an enthusiastic "awesome! Let's meet up!", but if he's being as cautious with his texting as I am, maybe he was trying not to seem over-eager.

Or maybe he _isn't_ over-eager. Or even just eager.

Maybe he doesn't _want_ to see me again.

But we probably _will_ see each other, because The Federal Bar isn't exactly Madison Square Garden. And it's not like he can just ignore me if we _do_ cross paths, he'll feel like he has to at least say hi and exchange pleasantries.

I don't want him to feel trapped.

He was finally free of me, he'd moved on. But due to a crazy twist of scheduling fate that landed us at the same festival, I'm back in his life. He probably feels as though he can't push me out again because, in his mind, I'm this sad, pathetic widower. And he's not a jerk who would ignore a sad, pathetic widower's texts. That would be as heartless as ignoring a box of abandoned, neglected kittens on the side of the road just because you have bad allergies.

Damnit, _why_ did I text him that night in Des Moines?

What was I thinking?

It was so fucking selfish! Just because I missed him, that didn't give me the right to force this on him. There was a _reason_ I hadn't contacted him since Natalie's death. A damn good one. I just... couldn't remember it once I actually saw him. But now that a little space has been put between us again, I know why I kept my distance all this time; I did it for him.

So _why_ am I trying to fuck it up now?!

"Well it's about fucking time!" Alex greets me exuberantly as I walk out into the arrivals lounge at the airport, and my mouth immediately curls into a smile at the sight of him. "What, were you the last one off of the plane or something?"

"Fuck you." I retort, gladly returning the embrace he has me wrapped in as soon as I'm close enough to grab.

"It's good to see you, man."

"You too."

"And not just 'cause you're pretty."

I guess I should've seen that one coming. "God, I missed you."

"'Cause I'm pretty, right?"

"You have _no_ idea."

Apparently I not only under-estimated how good it would feel to be back in L.A., I also under-estimated how good it would feel to see Alex. We only hung out once or twice between when Tommy and I broke up last summer and when Asta was born in January, and I haven't seen him _at all_ since then. We call each other every couple of weeks or so, and text to check in every now and again, but it never feels like enough. It's _not_ enough.

Unfortunately, with the way things are right now, it's all I have time for.

"Here, let me get that." He insists chivalrously, lifting my bag off of my shoulder and hoisting it onto his as we make our way towards the exit.

"My hero."

 Once we've located his car in the parking garage, we fight our way through the airport traffic and out onto Sepulveda Boulevard. Normally the mass of slow moving cars would irritate me, but I'm so happy to be here that I don't even care. The stop-and-go lasts all the way to West Hollywood, and rather than growing impatient with it the way Alex is, I look at it as an opportunity to relax and appreciate this place I've missed so much. I haven't spent nearly as much time in Los Angeles as I have in Tulsa and New York over the course of my life, but I still feel like I know it like the back of my hand. I can name every street before we get to it, I know where every In-N-Out and Poquito Mas can be found, and I know all the best shortcuts between all the parts of the city worth visiting.

The first time I ever came here, I felt like Dorothy waking up in Oz. The only difference is, I never wanted to click my heels and go back to Kansas.

Or Oklahoma, I guess.

You get the point.

(And no, I couldn't come up with a less gay comparison.)

Even though I knew that Alex had moved since the last time I spent the night, it's still a strange feeling to take a "wrong" turn and pull over outside of a different building to the one I used to visit ten years ago. To see him in a house rather than an apartment. It's definitely an upgrade, and I know he had to grow up eventually, but I still kind of miss his old place.

"It doesn't look it, but the couch is really comfy. Believe me, I've spent a few nights on it." He tells me, unlocking the front door and letting us into the hall. "But if you get lonely, you're more than welcome to come and snuggle with me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I sleep in the nude, though, just to warn you."

I raise an eyebrow at him as he sets my bag down at the foot of the stairs and I slowly take inventory of my new surroundings. "You sure your girlfriend won't mind you nude snuggling with me?"

"Nah, she's cool like that." He grins mischievously. "She might wanna watch, though."

"Seems fair."

"Well... this is it. Casa de Greenwald! There's a bathroom just down the hall, first door on the left, and the kitchen's through there. Help yourself to anything that hasn't passed its expiration date."

"Thanks."

"You won't be thanking me when you look in the fridge and realize that the only even slightly edible thing in there is a block of tofu."

"No, I mean it. If you hadn't called and invited me out here, I'd be in Tulsa right now going stir-crazy."

His mouth curls into a weak, commiserative smile, and I can practically hear the sympathetic "how's everything going?" before he asks it. It's written all over his face. But thankfully, that's where it stays. Somehow, he knows without me having to say a word that I _don't_ want to get into it right now. I came out here to relax and have fun. It's impossible for me to do either of those things when my mind is on everything that's been happening at home.

"I'm glad you came." He tells me sincerely. "I promise you're gonna have a fucking _awesome_ night."

"Oh yeah?"

" _Hell_ yeah! You'll have a few drinks, listen to some kickass music, catch up with some old friends..."

Now we're getting somewhere. "Old friends?"

"Well you know the rest of the band already, and a couple of the Phantom guys'll probably show up... oh, and Mark said he _might_ put in an appearance."

"And Tommy?"

"Who?" He asks, drawing from his very brief stint as an actor in order to adopt the most innocent expression in his repertoire. "I don't think I know anyone by that name..."

"Really? Blond, yay high, plays guitar... you once said he looked like a hot elf, if I remember rightly."

"Hmm... nope, not ringing any bells."

Obviously, I know he's lying. And _he_ knows that I know he's lying. But before I can continue badgering him about it, he throws an arm around my shoulders and leads me back over to the door.

"Come on. I'll buy you lunch, and then you can either hang out in WeHo for the afternoon or come to sound check with me. You can be my VIP guest."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be! The VIP guest gets to stand in the front row and throw roses at my feet."

" _Wow_. Next you'll be telling me that I get to man the merch table!" I exclaim with unmistakably feigned enthusiasm.

He sighs dramatically and shakes his head in dismay. "See, now you've gone and ruined the surprise."

After treating me to some amazing pizza at a little Italian restaurant in his neighborhood, Alex drives us out to the venue in North Hollywood so that we can help the rest of the band unload equipment and get set up. There are a handful of eager fans milling around on the sidewalk outside, because Alex thought it would be _hilarious_ to tweet that I was hanging out with him at the bar and see what happened. I'm sure word will soon spread to my fans, too, and then there will be all manner of flailing all over twitter. When Zac posted that picture of Alex at Fools Banquet last year, those old, familiar rumors about us started up again. But since the picture wasn't of us together, the excitement died down almost instantly and everyone soon forgot about it.

The excitement lasted a little longer when a picture I took of the two of us made it into a tour blog I put together for an online magazine last summer. And I can already tell that the photos these girls are taking on their phones right now are about to be uploaded and over-analyzed by fangirls the world over just like that one was. We're making teenage dreams come true merely by standing on a street corner together. He knows it, too, which is probably why he's being especially touchy-feely with me all of a sudden. One minute he has his hand on my shoulder, the next his arm is around my waist, and then he's whispering to me...

And I have to admit, the fact that it's obvious that our little group of observers are struggling not to have a collective squeeing fit right now is pretty amusing.

Until I realize how much trouble this could all get me into.

I may not have to worry about Natalie freaking out over Alex's presence in my life anymore, but if these pictures were somehow seen by my family _or_ hers, they could still raise a lot of eyebrows and a lot of questions. I feel as though I need to be just as careful now as I always was before.

"I think they have enough fodder for the rest of the year." I tell him as nonchalantly as I can, stepping out from the easy curl of his lithe arm. "We should help carry stuff."

"You okay?" He frowns worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just feel bad standing around while everyone else does all the work."

Z winks at me over the top of the snare drum in her arms. "You can carry me, if you want."

"Hey! Put your panties back on, Berg, this one's mine." Alex shouts playfully back at her as he and I pick up a large amp sitting on the sidewalk and follow her into the building.

I try to make myself as useful as possible for the rest of setup, but honestly the most useful thing I can do once we're done unloading the van is stay out of the way and let them work. I pass the time texting with Zac, who is being extremely vague about how things are going back in Tulsa, which only makes me more worried than I already was. He repeatedly tells me that everything is under control (which _isn't_ the same as 'okay' or 'fine'), and insists that I stop texting him and have fun.

But how am I supposed to have fun when I can't stop wondering what's going on there?

After sound check we order some food from the bar and hang out on the stage. Alex quickly seems to sense how on edge I am, and subsequently insists that we all do a shot of something strong to settle our nerves. Everyone quickly agrees, even though I'm clearly the only one experiencing any kind of anxiety, and soon Michael is returning from the bar with a tray of tequila shots in hand.

"You know what I think we should do tonight?" Z asks, tossing her lime wedge aside before sucking the lingering juice off of her finger tips. "We should totally play _MMMBop_."

Her fellow band mates laugh at the suggestion, but not one of them disagrees. I may not be a member of JJAMZ, but since _MMMBop_ is _my_ song, I think I should get a say. "No."

"It'll be fun!" She insists with a pitiful pout. "You could even come on stage and perform it with us! I bet the audience would eat it up."

"Or they'll throw beer bottles at me and demand a refund." I retort semi-seriously. "I think you guys should stick to your own stuff. You've got an albums worth of really awesome material, you don't need to resort to playing mine."

"Hey, don't knock the Bop! That song is _classic_." Protests Jason.

"I lost my virginity to _MMMBop_." Sam chimes in, earning looks of disbelief from everyone present as he shrugs unconcernedly and raises his Corona to his lips. "My girlfriend was a huge Hanson fan, she had that song on repeat twenty-four-seven. I either had to bang her to _MMMBop_ or not at all."

Alex smirks in amusement. "How was it?"

"It was alright." Replies his sometimes-bandmate sincerely before offering me a teasing smile. "I think _your_ moaning got her more excited than any noises I made, though."

"God, I hope not." I chuckle, well aware that my cheeks have probably turned a noticeable shade of pink. Time to change the subject! "Anyone want another shot? I'm buying."

Thankfully, by the time I've returned with our second round of drinks, they seem to have moved on from not only discussing my MMMmoaning, but all other things _MMMBop_ related as well. Don't get me wrong, I _do_ love that song, and I'll always be grateful for everything that it helped us to achieve. I'm proud of it for what it was at that particular time in our careers, but I'm much prouder of so many of the songs I've written since then. Sometimes it feels like the rest of the world is never going to be able to get far enough past that _one_ song to see any of the others.

I guess, at this point, it doesn't even really matter.

It's not long before the band needs to start getting ready for the show. As Alex puts it, he needs to "make himself look unpresentable". Sometimes I wonder if anyone realizes that he actually makes an effort to look as though he doesn't give a fuck. And the stupid thing is, no matter how disheveled he appears, even when he looks like he's spent the last year living in a cave eating road kill, there's still something insanely sexy about him. He has this natural allure that no amount of greasy hair hanging in his face or unflatteringly baggy clothing hanging off of his thin frame can disguise.

As soon as people start filtering into the venue, I have to try my hardest not to spend every last second staring at the doors from my bar stool. I don't want my unabashed desperation to be the first thing that Tommy (or anyone else, for that matter) sees when he walks in here. I don't care how much I want to see him, I just need to play it cool.

Or at least lukewarm.

Just before JJAMZ are supposed to take the stage, Jeff and Darren finally arrive. I'm not only grateful for the distraction but also for the company. It's been so long since we last saw each other that we have plenty to catch up on in the small amount of time left for us to make conversation before it's too loud to hear ourselves think. Despite the fact that so much has changed for all of us, it feels almost exactly like it used to when I'd come and hang out with them at Phantom Planet shows around Los Angeles. It's crazy to think how stressed out I was back then, how difficult I thought my life was. If only I'd been able to glimpse what the next ten years had in store for me.

There's no sign of Tommy even as the lights dim and the band takes the stage amid enthusiastic whistling, cheers and applause from everyone gathered. I hate to think it, but I can't help wondering if maybe he's decided not to show up after all. He never said that he would _definitely_ be here, he just said that Alex begged him to be. Maybe he changed his mind.

Maybe he changed it because of me.

I should've known there was no way he'd want to risk getting sucked back into all of the confusion and heartache he suffered through because of me last year. One pity drink in a Marriott bar and a few friendly text messages did not add up to an attempt to rekindle what we had. And I shouldn't be trying to rekindle anything anyway! It's not what he needs _or_ wants. He was just being kind, because that's who he is. I _knew_ that, just like I _knew_ that I was an idiot to get my hopes up about seeing him tonight.

But up they are anyway.

And there he is.

As soon as I see him walk through the doors by the bar I'm torn between looking away so that he doesn't notice my anxious staring, or following his every move so that I don't lose sight of him in the crowd. I settle for something halfway between the two, stealing glances in his direction every few seconds as he gradually makes his way further into the room before finally setting course towards me. Just as his eyes drift in my direction, I quickly turn my attention back to the stage and will myself not to look over my shoulder again to see if he's getting any closer. It's _so_ stupid; we should be so far beyond all of this after everything we've been through. And yet, here we are, back at square one all over again.

Although I swear we must have started at square two when we first met, because I don't remember _ever_ feeling this unsure of myself around him before. It was always so much simpler.

Only a moment later, I distinctly hear the words "can a get a Pabst?" right behind me, and I can't help but smile as I turn on my bar stool to look at him. At first he appears oblivious to my presence, but I know that can't be the case. He could have chosen any other person to stand beside at this bar, so it'd have to be one hell of a big coincidence if he stood beside me without even realizing it. Sure enough, I notice his lips curl into a smirk, and he finally looks up at me with an almost innocent expression on his impeccably made-up face.

"Oh, hey, I _totally_ didn't see you there."

Cute. "Well, I was trying to blend in, so..."

"That explains it."

"You're late." I tease as the bartender places his beer in front of him and takes the five dollar bill from his outstretched hand. "You missed two whole songs."

" _Two_?" He sighs, shaking his head in dismay. "Fuck. Now I owe Alex a handjob."

"Excuse me?"

"We have an... understanding. If one of us says we're gonna be at the others show but we're late, we have to perform sexual favors to make up for it." He explains as seriously as he can when we both know that, even if they _did_ make a deal like that, neither of them have ever or would ever abide by it. "One song is first base, two is second, three is third. Any later than that and..."

"You're screwed?"

"Literally."

It's funny how discussing him fucking one of my best friends as a form of punishment can feel so much like flirting. "I guess it's a good thing you got here when you did, huh?"

"Guess so."

On second thoughts, I think it might be that wicked gleam in his eyes that makes this feel so much like flirting...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's giving this sequel a shot, especially to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback. <3 It's more motivational than you know. 
> 
> I think I forgot to tell you guys that there's a twitter for this fic. @SNAFUFIC. I tweet whenever there's an update, and sometimes I post updates on how chapters are going and even snippets of future chapters if you're the kind of person who likes slight spoilers. ;)

 

 

Being on a date at a concert is kind of like being on a date at the movies.

Not that this is a date.

My point is, going to the movies is a great date option if you're especially nervous about finding things to talk about with the other person. It takes the pressure off. But if and when those nerves eventually settle down and you feel like striking up a conversation, it's not easy to do. The other movie-goers tend to frown on people chatting in the middle of the film. And at a concert, you either have to yell at one another regardless of how close you're standing, or you have to wait for a song to end and then try to squeeze everything you want to say into the brief, relative quiet before the next song begins.

After our initial flirtation when he first arrived at the bar, I couldn't really come up with anything to say. I was too busy internally bickering with myself over whether or not Tommy even was flirting with me to come up with any kind of small talk. And by the time I thought of something innocuous to talk about, the next song had started and it was too loud to say anything. I spent the whole song trying to find a witty way to word what I wanted to say, so that when the music stopped I'd have the perfect line all cued up and ready to go. But when I finally turned to him and opened my mouth to speak, my mind when blank. I looked at him and all I could think was " _fuck_ , he's beautiful".

Thankfully, I managed to refrain from simply spewing that sentiment out loud (but only just).

Another song comes and goes, and as it draws to a close the only thing I've come up with is "do you want another drink?" And apparently, it's the only thing he could think of to say, too. We both laugh somewhat bashfully, enjoying the break in the tension even if it does come with a side order of embarrassment over how _lame_ we are.

"How about I get this one and you get the next one?" I propose hopefully.

"Or how about _I_ get this one and _you_ get the next one?"

I give it a moment of fake consideration before presenting him with my counter offer. "How about I get this one and I _don't_ tell Alex you got here late?"

Ha! That should do it.

He's about to give in, I can see the look of resignation in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak. But before he can concede, the room is filled with the opening bars of an all too familiar song...

"Oh shit."

"What's wrong?" He asks as I quickly turn away from the stage and make a futile attempt to shield my face from the rest of the room.

"Those _fuckers_."

"This next song," Begins Alex in an almost taunting tone that I know is solely for my benefit. "Is one we think you guys will probably recognize. Whether you like it or not."

I can hear several people in the room cheering and applauding, but I refuse to look. I really, _really_ just want to vanish into thin air right now. But, of course, that would be too kind a fate for me. The universe has seen an opportunity to fuck with me, and it can _never_ pass up one of those. It's like an addict.

It needs to join a damn twelve step program!

"But I'm gonna need a little help remembering how that chorus goes..." No, no, no, no, no, no- "Taylor," Z's sultry voice beckons me. "We know you're out there..."

"I think she's talking to _you_."

"Shut up!" I command Tommy, shooting him a playful glare as he snickers in amusement.

Would it be completely ridiculous for me to literally _crawl_ to the men's room right now?

"Aww, it looks like he needs a little encouragement." Alex continues, bringing himself one step closer to a kick in the nuts. "Everybody, repeat after me: Tay-lor, Tay-lor, Tay-lor..."

Within seconds the entire room is chanting my name, clapping and stomping with every syllable. And Tommy is no exception. There's no way I'm getting out of this one, I've been in enough hopeless situations to know when I'm well and truly cornered. If I hold off on going up there any longer, I'm gonna look like an even bigger ass than I inevitably will anyway.

Once people notice me making my way towards the front of the room, the chanting stops and the rhythmic clapping becomes boisterous applause. My eyes are fixed on Alex as I pull myself up onto the stage, and it's so tempting to smack that self-satisfied smile right off of his face.

Maybe later.

"Sounds like you've got a few fans out there!" Z observes as she snakes an arm around my waist, inciting some suggestive cheering and one or two high pitched whistles. "How about we give them a treat?"

Ugh. I was _so_ hoping that Stage!Taylor would actually get to take the night off. Luckily, my stage persona isn't a challenge to summon; he's like a pair of shades that I can slip on whenever the lights get too bright. Speaking of which, I'm glad that the lighting up here prevents me from seeing all the way to the bar, because I _know_ there's no way in hell I'd be able to get through this if I had to look at Tommy's face the entire time.

 "How's anyone supposed to say no to this girl?" I ask the audience, offering them my most charming smile as I drape an arm around Z's tiny shoulders. "I mean, look at her! No one stands a chance."

Z giggles and gives me a squeeze, which abruptly ends when Alex leans over her other shoulder and stage-mutters into the microphone that he's "pretty too, damnit."

With introductions, compliments, and comedy hour out of the way, the only thing left to do is sing the one song I've sung more than any other over the course of my career. My life. It's a little strange performing it with a band that doesn't include either of my brothers; I'm extremely aware of every little mistake in JJAMZ's rendition, but I try to shrug it off and focus on playing my part. Despite the fact that it's obvious the song hasn't been rehearsed, the crowd seems to thoroughly enjoy it. Some are more into it than others, but I don't see a single bored face in front of me (which is always a big plus). A lot of people sing along with the chorus, others have their hands raised in the air and are clapping along, and even those who are doing neither look moderately entertained.

I'm honestly kind of surprised; I was expecting at least one "boo!", or possibly a belligerent "you suck!"

As much as I was hoping to remain an audience member tonight, and as grudgingly as I came up here, I'll admit that it _is_ a pretty cool experience in the end. The band are obviously enjoying themselves, which makes it easy for me to enjoy myself. And since we're all having such a good time, the audience gets really into it too, and that never fails to make performing more fun. And yes, okay, I do get a kick out of the fact that when the lights sweep across the crowd and illuminate the bar, I catch a brief glimpse of Tommy up on his feet, clapping and singing along. I fully intend to hold the fact that he knows the words to the chorus against him for all eternity.

After they're done playing one of my songs, they invite me to remain on stage with them and provide some unnecessary tambourine accompaniment to the last song in their set. And anyone who knows me knows that I never turn down an opportunity to shake some redundant tambourine; I'm damn good at it! The band's work isn't done when the music dies out, though. They still have a lot of signing and schmoozing to do before their night is over. I, on the other hand, am free to navigate my way back through the crowd (mostly) unhindered.

"You know, I was on the fence about coming tonight." Tommy tells me as I rejoin him at the bar, silently noting the fact that he's bought me another drink in my absence. "I'm glad I dragged myself out here, though, 'cause I would've been fucking _pissed_ if I'd missed that."

"Shut up."

"What?!" He exclaims defensively. "I'm serious!"

"Seriously full of it."

"Whatever. I thought it was awesome."

As he picks up his beer and takes sip, I can't help wondering if he really _is_ serious. I automatically assumed that he was teasing me, but maybe he actually did like the performance. "So why weren't you gonna come tonight?"

Duh, Taylor.

He wasn't going to come because he probably didn't want to deal with _you_.

"I have a ton of shit to do. We're flying out to Japan tomorrow afternoon and I left _all_ my packing till last minute. As usual."

Oh. "Right... Japan. I totally forgot you said you had some shows coming up there."

"Yeah." He sighs, resting his elbows on the bar and allowing his shoulders to sag tiredly. "Don't get me wrong, I _love_ getting to play all over the world and everything, but I fucking _hate_ the actual traveling part. Being on the bus isn't so bad, but like... the packing and the flying... if I could just have my bags pack themselves, and magically be wherever I need to be, that'd make things _so_ much fucking easier."

"Amen."

We share a knowing smile as the rims of our glasses clink together in agreement, but the longer we hold one another's stares, the faster the smiles begin to fall from our faces. I don't think we know _how_ to look at each other without it meaning _something_. It's like every tiny glance could be an attempt to say one of the hundreds of things we don't know how to say out loud. I guess that's how it goes when a relationship is as unfinished as ours.

But the stupid thing is, it _was_ finished. We said our goodbyes, we went our separate ways, we bitterly accepted the tragic fact that we couldn't be together.

And then everything changed _again_.

It's as though someone took a Sharpie to the book of us and turned that full stop at the end of our story into an ellipsis. It's no longer done, but neither of us has any idea what the hell comes next.

In a desperate attempt to outrun the apprehension that seems to have caught up with us, we start making harmless small talk about Japan. Japanese fans, to be more specific (God bless them). We both agree that there really are no other group of fans like them anywhere else in the world. It doesn't matter how excited fans get in America and Europe, Japanese fans will always, _always_ have them beat. But the main difference is, they're insanely polite about it. Yes, they will greet you off of your plane in the most overly-enthusiastic manner imaginable, and ask you to sign CDs and T-shirts before you've even had chance to get your bearings and figure out where the hell you're going. But they're so damn _sweet_ about it that you can't possibly refuse them anything!

We're still exchanging crazy fan stories (because, let's face it, that topic could last for weeks) when we each suddenly feel the weight of an arm around our shoulders, and Alex's head appears between us.

"Anyone need their boobs signed?"

"No, thanks." Replies Tommy as stoically as he can. "I'm good."

"How about you?" Alex beams at me, dropping his hand a little lower and grabbing at my chest.

"Tempting... but I already have Steven Tyler's autograph tattooed on my left boob and Weird Al's on my right. I just don't want it to look too crowded, you know?"

"I sign other body parts, too..."            

"Lemme get back to you on that one."

With a playful wink in my direction, he turns his attention back to Tommy. "Flying solo tonight, Beautiful?"

"Looks like."

"Where's the wife?"

Wait... _what_?!

"She couldn't make it." Tommy explains, raising his beer to his lips before adding, "And for the last time, she's _not_ my wife."

"Does _she_ know that?" Teases Alex, earning himself a very stern scowl in response. It doesn't seem to faze him very much, though. "I'll take that as a no."

"You'll take it as a kick in the junk if you don't shut the fuck up."

"Ooh, testy." He smirks, looking back and forth between us expectantly and eventually frowning at our lack of hysterical laughter. "Get it? Testy... _testes_... junk? No? Jeez, ball humor is just lost on some people."

Despite my best efforts, I can't help but crack a smile at his forlorn expression. "Our palettes obviously aren't as refined as yours."

"Maybe if you spent more time hanging out with me, my class and sophistication would rub off on you."

Tommy snorts derisively. "Yeah, _that's_ what would be rubbing off on him."

"I'd be offended, but you're totally right."

"Are you done being a rock star already?" I frown, glancing behind us in search of lurking fan girls clutching cameras. "That was fast."

"I provide swift and highly satisfying fan-service." He winks at me suggestively. "We're probably gonna hang out for a little longer and take advantage of all the drinks people are waiting to buy us, though."

"Okay."

"I take it you two are more than capable of entertaining each other?"

Subtlety has never been Alex Greenwald's strong suit, but sometimes I still stupidly expect him to exercise a little anyway. And then I'm somehow always surprised when he doesn't. He may as well have just come right out and asked if we're gonna go and get each other off in the bathroom.

"Actually, before you came over here and stuck your big head in, we were having a very interesting conversation." Tommy informs him, still managing to keep a straight face even as I have to bite my lip to do the same.

"About me?"

"I said _interesting_."

Alex smirks, effortlessly rising to the occasion. "Ya know, one of these days, you and me are gonna have to do something about all of this _unbearable_ sexual tension between us."

"Can't wait." Deadpans Tommy.

Without another word, Alex takes Tommy's beer out of his unsuspecting hand and finishes what's left of it in one long gulp before walking back over to join the rest of his band on the other side of the room. I half expect Tommy to order himself another drink, but he seems far more preoccupied with staring at the foamy remnants in the bottom of his glass. I can't tell what he's thinking, and as badly as I want to ask him, I'm not entirely sure I want to know.

"Wanna get out of here?" He suddenly asks, apparently surprising himself as well as me. "I mean... I skipped dinner, so I'm starving. We could grab something to eat... if you want?"

Do I want to leave this crowded bar and spend some time alone with him? Hmm, let me think about that for a minute. "Sure. What did you have in mind?"

" _No_ fucking clue. But there has to be something within walking distance."

"Okay." I shrug, doing my utmost to appear nonchalant about the whole thing when really all I want to do right now is grin like a total fool. "Let me just go and tell Alex; I'm staying at his place tonight and he's my ride."

"Tell him I can drive you. He doesn't need to wait around here if he's ready to go before we get back."

"Are you sure? It's totally out of your way."

This time it's his turn to shrug and act casual, and I can't help wondering if I failed at it as completely as he just did. "Yeah, it's no biggie."

I don't remember the last time I was this excited about grabbing a late night snack with someone (probably because the only person I've really had late night snacks with this year is a baby). In fact, I don't remember the last time I was this excited about _anything_. And what makes it even better is that _he_ was the one who suggested it. We could've just stayed here for the rest of the night, had a couple more beers, spent some time with Alex, and then gone our separate ways. I honestly had no expectations that we would do anything else, and that was _more_ than fine by me.

Alex is, of course, thrilled by the idea of Tommy and I "sneaking off" by ourselves. But he teasingly warns me that curfew is at midnight, and if I'm not home by then I'll have to sleep in the front yard like the "dirty little man-whore" I am. He also advises me to play hard to get because "guys find it hot", and then he very kindly offers me a condom. I take that as my cue to turn and walk away from him before he can stuff a prophylactic into the pocket of my jeans. I honestly wouldn't put it past him.

I can tell that Tommy is feeling self-conscious as we leave the noise of the bar behind and step out onto the dark, almost empty street. I wish I could think of something to say to ease whatever nerves he's feeling, but I'm a little busy trying to calm my own fears. Besides, the only thing I can think of to say is "so what was that whole 'wife' thing about?", and I _refuse_ to come right out and ask him that. I can't do it, I don't have a right to know. If he chooses to tell me who he's seeing and how serious it is without me bringing the subject up, fine. But until then, I'm just going to have to live with the uncertainty and nagging questions.

"I think there's a taco place somewhere around here." He blurts out, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket as we walk. "Or maybe like a pizza place..."

"Okay." Keep talking, Taylor! Use your words. "I ate earlier, so I'm not too picky. Whatever you feel like is fine."

"I'm hungry enough that I could eat pretty much anything right now."

"That makes life easier."

"Yeah."

Aaand that topic is officially dead.

"So..." I was so confident that if I just opened my mouth and started talking, a full sentence would come out.

But apparently not.

Why can't I think of _anything_ to say? There are a million things we could be discussing right now! We could talk about the show, or what we've been up to since we saw each other a few weeks ago, or the Olympics, or politics... hell, we could even talk about the damn weather. But instead we're just walking along in total and utter silen-

"I'm not married."

I guess those nagging questions I had are about to be answered a lot sooner than I anticipated. "Oh?"

"Alex was just being a dick."

"Sometimes he excels in that department." I acknowledge, coaxing a small smile onto his face as he nods.

"He just likes to give me shit because Liz is always coming out to shows with me and stuff." Right. Liz. Fuck. "It's so stupid. I mean she's my girlfriend, we do stuff together... it's not like it's weird for her to wanna spend time with me."

No, it's not. She'd have to be an idiot not to want to spend time with him. If I were her, I'd spend every minute of every day with him.

Damn it, I wish I was her.

I _hate_ her.

"Totally."

"Alex thinks she's too possessive or whatever." He shrugs, but once again I can tell he cares more than he wants to let on. "I don't know..."

"He thought the same thing about Natalie." I remark unthinkingly, instantly wanting to take it back as soon as I hear myself say her name.

I _don't_ want to talk about her. Not with him. Not tonight. And I don't want to talk about Liz, either. I don't want to know that he's in a long term relationship. I just want to pretend that everything is simple. Just for fucking _once_.

"If you're happy, that's all that matters." I continue quickly, keeping my eyes trained on the sidewalk underfoot so that I don't have to look at him. "Alex always thinks he knows best." And more often than not, he does. I hate that. "He's not _always_ right."

"I guess." Tommy sighs glumly, kicking an empty soda can off of the curb.

It's a very odd feeling to want to reassure the guy you're crazy about that he's not in a relationship with the wrong person, and that he shouldn't listen to the ranting of a mutual friend who obviously doesn't approve of the aforementioned relationship. But he looks so downhearted, and all I want to do is cheer him up. Even if that does mean telling him that I'm sure his relationship with Liz is great and that Alex is just being a jackass (which he is, but like I said, that usually means he's right). Besides, isn't that what a friend would say? And friends is all we are now.

Maybe not even that.

Thankfully, just as I open my mouth in an attempt to force the words out, Tommy comes to an abrupt stop and I look up to find that we're standing in front of a little Mexican restaurant called Taco Manzano.

"How about this place?" He asks, gazing up at the sign above the door. "It looks kinda shady, but whatever it is they're making in there smells pretty fucking good."

"Well, I see nachos, so it works for me. Besides, some of the best Mexican restaurants I've ever been to were pretty shady looking on the outside."

He wrinkles his nose at me in disapproval and shakes his head. "I don't think you should use that word."

"What, shady?"

"It just sounds fucking _weird_ when you say it."

"What?!" I exclaim in exaggerated outrage, following him into the brightly lit interior of the restaurant. "It does not!"

"I'm just not feelin' it. You say 'shady' and I picture you like... sitting in a meadow under a big weeping willow tree on a sunny day." He snickers as I stare at him in open mouthed disgrace. "Hand feeding baby bunnies and making daisy chains and shit."

"Fuck you!" I laugh despite my best efforts to scowl at him. "I'm not a Disney princess! I can be totally shady when I wanna be."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say." He turns his back on me, ignoring my protests completely as he addresses the young girl behind the counter. "One order of nachos, an order of chicken tacos, and two waters."

She quickly rings up our total and accepts the money he's holding out to her before I can even pull my wallet out of my pocket. We take our waters and head back towards the dining room, which is almost like stepping into another world compared to the stark, white, fast-food-chain restaurant decor of the entrance. The Mexican themed decor is bordering on over-the-top, and the lighting is much less bright. In fact, the main light in the room is coming from a wall-mounted TV in the corner, which is broadcasting some sports game on mute that I know neither of us will so much as glance at.

"Where do you want to sit?" He asks over the cheerful Latin music pumping through the wall speakers. "I'm assuming you'll wanna sit at the table in the back."

"Why?"

"Because it's in such a shady corner."

"Seriously, fuck off."

This is the dumbest argument two people have probably ever had, it's completely pointless, and I don't even care if he's right (because I'm sure he is). All I care about is the fact that he's smiling, and this feels _so_ easy. So familiar.

It reminds me of how things used to be between us, when we'd laugh together and tease each other about meaningless little things. We'd name-call like children and get into petty little bickering matches over absolutely nothing at all. There was a constant _spark_ , and when we taunted one another it was like stoking a fire, fanning the flames. We drove each other crazy in the best way possible.

I guess some things never change.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

  


 

 

As predicted, the food isn't bad at all. They're not the best nachos I've ever had, but they're not the worst, either (and telling Tommy that Taco Bell still holds the number one spot in that category earns me a kick in the shin). But even if the food had been completely terrible, I think I'd still be having a good time. I'd forgotten how good it feels to simply _talk_ to him. To just sit opposite him at a restaurant and chat about whatever the hell happens to pop into our heads.

And, if I'm being honest, I kinda love watching him eat, too.

I know that sounds crazy and pathetic, and probably even a little creepy. It's just that I grew up in a family of face-stuffers. Not to say that my parents and siblings have no table manners, because that's not true at all (well... Zac and Mac aren't quite as well-mannered as the rest of us). But when you live in a house with 8 other people, you have to eat fast or someone else will eat it for you! There was no such thing as "leftovers", no matter how much food my mom made. And "seconds" were some fabled thing that we only ever heard about on TV.

Tommy takes his time when he eats, especially when it's food that he has to eat with his hands. He won't just stuff a tortilla chip (or five) in his mouth like most guys I know, he breaks the corners off one by one and eats it piece by piece. And yeah, okay, he talks with food in his mouth sometimes, but because he eats such small mouthfuls, you can hardly tell. I spend half my time telling my kids not to talk with their mouths full, but when he does it, somehow it's... _charming._

I guess that shouldn't be surprising. A lot about him is charming, including his adamant atheism. Though I doubt the rest of my family would agree with me on that...

"I'm serious!" He chuckles softly, as I try not to choke on the mouthful of water I just drank. "If I could go back to any time in history, I'd go back to when Jesus was alive, _if_ he ever was alive, and I'd follow that motherfucker around with a video camera and film him _not_ performing miracles and just being a decent human being who like took pity on lepers and told people to love each other. And then I'd come back to the present and force all of those Westboro Baptist Cunts to watch every last second of it."

"Wow..."

" _Or_ ," He continues thoughtfully, popping another piece of tortilla chip into his mouth and chewing as he speaks (which leaves me grinning like an utter fool). "I'd go back to when Kurt Cobain was alive, and I'd buy him a drink and tell him that I think he's a fucking genius."

"That's a little closer to the answer I was expecting." I smile knowingly, dipping a chip into the tub of salsa between us. "I gotta admit, though... I never really got into Nirvana."

"Yeah, well, you and your brothers are responsible for putting grunge music to death."

"We are not! We never tried to 'kill' any other kind of music, we just wanted to make our music and play if for anyone who would listen." I explain with a pout, trying to wipe the scowl off of his face. "Besides, I think the whole reason we were so popular was because people were tired of all the... darker music that was around before we came out. They wanted to listen to something that made them feel good."

"You're probably right. But some of us were quite happy being fucked up little grunge kids with greasy hair and black nail polish, thank you very much."

"I can't even imagine what you were like back then."

"Good." He snorts into his glass of water before taking a long sip. "Don't."

"It's almost not fair, though!" I whine pitifully. "You know what I was like, _everyone_ knows. And if they don't, all they'd have to do to find out is google me."

That gets a cheeky smirk from him, and I can already guess what he's about to say before the words even leave his mouth. We've been here before. "I remember the first time I googled you."

"How was it?"

I'm fully expecting some snarky little answer about how he's had better, or how it wasn't very memorable. But as I watch the sassy smile on his face slowly fade, I become more and more convinced that he's about to say something much more sincere.

"It was..." He begins quietly, staring down into his almost empty glass and prodding at the ice cubes in the bottom with his straw. "Unreal."

I can tell he regrets saying it almost as soon as the last syllable has left his mouth. He sighs and maybe even mutters some profanity under his breath. If I could pretend not to have heard him, or to have misheard him, I would. But we both know that I'm completely aware of exactly what he said, and I'm aware that he was completely serious about it, too. There's no point in trying to pretend otherwise.

That doesn't mean we have to dissect it, though.

"So what about you?" He asks, forcing a smile as he looks me bravely in the eyes again. "If you could go back to any time in history, when would you choose?"

God, where do I even start?

I'd go back to nineteen-ninety-six, right before we got famous, and I'd pull thirteen-year-old me aside and tell me that it's okay to like boys, and that I'm not going to be alone forever, and that latching on to the first sweet girl I feel any kind of connection with in a desperate attempt to straighten myself out is the worst thing I could _possibly_ do.

But then again... I wouldn't.

I wouldn't tell myself not to date her, or sleep with her, or marry her. Because if I took my own advice, I wouldn't have five beautiful children who I love more than anything. And maybe I wouldn't even be sitting here with Tommy right now.

Maybe if I'd done _anything_ differently, we never would have met at all.

But maybe if I could warn myself to steer clear of Natalie, she'd still be alive. She'd be happily married to some decent guy who actually loved her. She'd be the same amazing wife and mother she always was, but she'd be appreciated for it the way she should have been. In a way that made her feel so fulfilled that she didn't want to get pregnant every couple of years just to feel needed and noticed.

I don't know which wish is less selfish. I can either wish that we'd never met, and wish my children away. Or I can wish that everything had played out exactly the way it did, and she'd still be dead.

Or I guess I could wish that she was still here... and consequently this conversation wouldn't even be happening.

Tommy stares at me from across the table, his perfectly shaped and shaded eyebrows knit together faintly. He's probably trying to figure out what I'm thinking, why it's taking me so damn long to answer a question it took him all of ten second to think of a response to. On second thoughts, he probably knows _exactly_ what I'm thinking, and it's giving him a similar headache to the one I now have.

"Well... I guess..."

Before I'm forced to think up some bullshit answer, like "I'd go back to the sixties and go to a Beatles concert", my phone starts ringing. If it was any other ringtone, I'd just ignore it. But it's Zac's. And since Zac is looking after my kids, and it's currently after one o'clock in the morning in Tulsa, there's no way I'm not answering.

"Sorry, I have to get this."

"Sure."

I offer him an apologetic smile as I get out of my chair and answer the call on my way towards exit. "Zac?"

"Hey, sorry, I know it's late-"

"It's later there than it is here. What's going on?"

He sighs wearily, and I'm practically holding my breath as I wait for him to tell me what happened. "Penny had a nightmare."

"Oh." Not exactly something to celebrate, but at least Ezra didn't vandalize any more bedrooms or break any more windows. "Is she's okay?"

"Kate calmed her down a lot, but we've been trying to get her back to sleep for like an hour now and _nothing's_ working. She won't stop crying, she says she needs to talk to you."

"Okay."

"I'm _really_ sorry, Tay. I know it's supposed to be your 'night off' and everything-"

"You know as well as I do that there's no such thing when you have kids."

"True." He laughs softly.

"Is she there?"

"Yeah, hold on a second."

As I listen to the distant sounds of movement and indecipherable voices on the other end of the line, I make my way over to some covered metal picnic tables beside the restaurant and take a seat on the cold benches. Penny has been having nightmares ever since Natalie died. She never really remembers what they're about (if she does, she won't tell me), all I know is that she wakes up sobbing and calling out for her mom. It used to happen every other night, but it gradually dwindled down to once or twice a week. It's left her almost afraid of sleep, though, and practically the only way for her to even get to sleep in the first place is for me to sing to her. It's the same song, _every_ single night. The song Natalie used to sing to her when she was a baby. I've even recorded it onto a CD so that she can listen to it whenever she wants to; it was how my parents got her to sleep when we were in Des Moines last month.

But I guess it's not doing the trick tonight.

"Daddy?"

"Hey, baby girl." I feel silly as tears immediately spring to my eyes, but the sound of her broken little voice is enough to shatter my heart. "Are you okay? Uncle Zac said you had a bad dream."

"Yeah." She sniffles sadly, and I can practically _see_ her lip trembling and those big brown eyes filling with tears. "I w-want mommy."

"I know, sweetie. If I could get her for you, I would in a heartbeat."

"When are you coming h-home?"

"Soon, I _promise_. I'll be back before bedtime tomorrow, okay? We can even go to Dilly Deli and have breakfast for dinner if you want."

"Okay." There's a very slight hint of a smile in her voice. _Very_ slight, but at least it's there. "Can Uncle Zac have b-breakfast for dinner with us?"

"I bet if you ask him to come, he will." Because Uncle Zac hasn't been able to tell Penny 'no' even once since the day she was born. "But first you have to get some sleep, okay?"

"I _can't_."

"You can." I assure her gently, trying my very best to keep my voice even so that I can finish comforting my bereft little girl instead of breaking down into a useless heap on a bench in North Hollywood. "Just think, the faster you go back to sleep, the faster tomorrow will come, and the sooner I'll be home."

"O-okay." She agrees weakly. "Will you s-sing my s-song first?"

"Sure. Just let me know when you're back in bed."

There's a quiet rustling noise as she climbs  into bed and slips beneath the comforter, and a few seconds later I hear her softly tell me that she's ready. Whether or not _I'm_ ready remains to be seen. I've gotten so used to singing this song, I barely even have to think about it anymore. But tonight, sitting in the dark, a thousand miles away from my daughter as she cries down the phone to me, it feels almost impossible.

" _When you’re hurt, you heal others._

_When you’re in need, you give._

_Because of you, I am living_

_The most that I can live._

_Oh, sweet darling girl,_

_I’m so glad you found me._

_Oh, sweet darling girl,_

_Your power surrounds me."_

I should probably be embarrassed. I'm singing into my phone by the side of the road, where anyone can walk by and hear me. But I honestly don't care what anyone thinks. It makes Penny feel better, it calms her and makes her feel safe. If she needed me to, I'd sing this song anywhere, anytime, at the top of my lungs. Honestly, I think it's as important to me as it is to her; it's something I can do to lessen the pain that one of my children is in, even if it's only a fraction. There's so much I can't change or fix, too much. When something comes along that I'm actually capable of doing for any of them, I cling to it.

" _You speak to me without speaking,_

_You touch so I can feel._

_With your strength, I am stronger,_

_At last I know I’m real._

_Oh, sweet darling girl,_

_I’m so glad you found me._

_Oh, sweet darling girl,_

_Your power surrounds me._ "

 

A moment or two after I've finished the song, someone picks the phone up, and then Zac's hushed voice is back on the line. "Hey, it's me."

"Did it work?" I ask hopefully, swallowing the tears I was struggling with.

"Out like a light."

"Good."

"Go enjoy the rest of your 'night off'." Somehow, I doubt I'm going to be able to do that anymore. "I'll pick you up tomorrow. Your flight gets in at three, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll text you the flight info in the morning."

"Okay, cool. Goodnight."

"Night."

What am I doing here?

I feel like I'm pretending to be someone I'm not, running around like I don't have a care in the world when nothing could be further from the truth. And I'm doing it at my children's expense. I should have been there to put them to bed tonight. I should have been there to hug Penny when she woke up from her nightmare, and I should have watched her drift back to sleep as I sang to her. I shouldn't be sitting outside of some cheap Mexican restaurant in the middle of the night while my little brother takes care of my kids so that I can have a "night off". I don't care how badly I needed one, I shouldn't _get_ one.

I was absent for too much of their lives already, the least I can do is be there for them now.

"Since when do you smoke?"

I'm not sure which comes as more of a surprise: Tommy's presence, or the fact that I do indeed have a lit cigarette in my hand. I don't remember how it got there.

"Since I was seventeen, on and off." I reply matter-of-factly, raising it to my lips. I can feel him watching me intently as I take a drag and slowly exhale a long trail of smoke before stubbing it out, and I try not to think too much about how long he might have been standing there. "I pretty much quit after Ez was born, but lately... sometimes I just need one."

"It's gross."

"It helps. Kind of."

"Everything okay?" He asks concernedly, taking a seat on the bench beside me.

I want to tell him yes. Because that's what I do, that's the answer I give whenever I'm asked any form of that question. _Is everything okay?_ Yes. _Are you okay?_ Yes. Am I lying every time I say that? Yes, but I'm damn good at it. I've always found it easier to hide the truth from everyone, to keep everything inside and pretend everything is fine.

But with him, it's different. He sees right through me.

"No." I hear myself say. A momentary jolt of panic over my own honesty hits me square in the chest. But rather than scaring me into silence, it forces more truths out of me. "Everything's not okay, and I don't know how to _make_ anything okay. My kids are a mess, and I don't know how to help them. I feel like I'm failing. I can't do anything right, and I'm _failing_ them. And I _can't_ fail them right now. I _can't_ fuck this up!"

"Hey, come on... take a breath." His hand comes to rest gently on my shoulder, but for some reason I feel myself flinch away from this touch as though he just jabbed me with a cattle prod. "Sorry-"

"No, _I'm_ sorry." I shake my head sadly, unable to explain to him what just happened because _I_ don't even understand it myself. I think it might have something to do with the fact that, once again, he knows more about what's going on in my head than anyone else in my life. I'm telling him things I haven't told anyone else. And it's terrifying. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You're being too hard on yourself. As usual."

"I'm not, though. Everything is _so_ screwed up, Tommy, and I feel like I'm fucking _drowning_ in it all and I'm pulling my kids down with me. I don't know how to help them, I don't know how to get them through this. I mean... _how_ do I get them through this?"

"I don't know." He admits quietly, apologetically. "I wish I could tell you."

"Penny can't sleep unless I sing to her, and even when she does sleep, she has nightmares. And Viggo throws a fit whenever I try to leave the house. I can't even go out to the fucking mailbox without him, he follows me _everywhere,_ he won't let me out of his sight _._ River seems okay most of the time, but I'm pretty sure that's only because he still talks to her."

Tommy frowns bemusedly. "Talks to who?"

"Natalie." He raises his brows in surprise, a blatantly troubled look appearing in his eyes before he can so much as attempt to disguise it. It's the same look everyone gets when they witness River communicating with the dead, but I don't know how to make him stop. I don't even know if I _should_ make him stop. "He talks to her _all_ the time, like she's still here and nothing's changed. I don't know if he really believes he can see her or if it's like an imaginary friend kind of thing, but either way... it's _not_ normal. And it makes Ezra _so_ fucking angry. Not that it takes much to upset him anymore, he's out of control, and he just keeps getting worse. He's mad at the whole world, and he wants the whole world to know it. He doesn't want _anything_ to do with me most days. I think he blames me, and I _know_ he blames Asta. He never goes near her, he hasn't since the day she came home from the hospital, he acts like she doesn't even exist. And I'm so fucking scared that he's not going to get over it, and that she's going to grow up with a big brother who hates her and blames her for his mom's death. I don't want her to _blame_ herself for that, Tommy!"

This time when he attempts to console me, I don't shy away. In fact, my whole body immediately leans into his, welcoming the shoulder that he's offering me and the arm that he wraps around me. I haven't cried since the night Asta was born. I've come close, but it always felt as though something was stopping me. Probably myself. I couldn't _let_ myself breakdown. I had too many people depending on me to be strong, and I had no right to feel sorry for myself.

I don't know whether it all finally got to be too much, or if being so far away from it all somehow makes it easier to allow myself a moment of weakness... or if it's because it's Tommy who's sitting beside me while I cry helplessly into my hands, and I've always been able to say _anything_ to him.

Whatever the reason, I can't keep it in anymore.

"It just... takes time." He assures me softly, his warm breath ghosting across my forehead as he speaks. It's somehow even more soothing than the way his hand is compassionately caressing my arm. "It _will_ get better. You're not failing anyone, Taylor. Everyone deals with this stuff differently, even kids. No one knows how to do this, you just have to like... figure it out as you go, you know? But you _will_ figure it out, I swear."

I'm about to ask him how he can be so sure, but before the words can leave my mouth, I remember. He lost his father. He's been through this. No, he wasn't a child when it happened, and he didn't have any children to counsel through it all. But that doesn't mean that he didn't experience the same feelings that they have been dealing with. It doesn't mean that he wasn't hurt, or confused, or even scared. He didn't know how to handle it, and he tried for a long time to avoid facing the reality of it. But eventually he was forced to accept it, and he did. He's been through it, and he's come out of it, and he's telling me that I can do the same. He's telling me that I can help my children do the same.

And for the first time, I think I might actually _believe_ it.

I wish I could just enjoy this newfound sense of hope, I wish I could let him comfort me for as long as he's willing to. But it's only a matter of seconds before that judgmental, condemning voice in my head interrupts to remind me that this isn't fair. It isn't fair for me to cry on his shoulder about my problems. Even if I never intended to use him to make myself feel better, that's basically what I'm doing, and it's the last thing I want. It's the last thing _either_ of us needs.

Actually, the last thing either of us needs is for me to fuck this up even more by kissing him.

But as I start to pull out of his embrace, we find ourselves dangerously close to doing just that. It's my fault (of course). I shouldn't have looked at him until I'd put a little more distance between us. I shouldn't have froze when his eyes locked onto mine. But I did, and now we're just sitting here, with his arm still loosely draped around my shoulders, and we're both holding our breath as we stare at each other in a way that makes it clear that we're both thinking the same thing.

We're both thinking that all it would take for our lips to meet is for one of us to lean in.

Just a _little_...

I _can't_ let it happen, though.

Yes, I miss him, and _yes_ , I want him so badly that I want to _scream_. But it's not about what I want. And even if he thinks he wants me right now, he doesn't really. He doesn't want who I've become, he wants who I used to be. I'm not that guy anymore. I'm a mess. And while I realize that's pretty much a constant, the train wreck my life has become this year is so much worse than he probably realizes. I don't want him to have to "save" me, and I don't want to use him to escape my problems.

Besides, if I kiss him now, it'll be way too easy for me to endlessly second guess whether or not he even wanted to kiss me or whether he did it out of pity. I don't want to walk away from tonight wondering if he regrets asking me to leave that club with him.

I definitely don't want _him_ to walk away from tonight regretting asking me to leave that club with him.

"Sorry." I sigh, turning my face away from his and wiping at my damp cheeks. I hear him exhale, but I can't tell if it's a sigh of relief or disappointment. "I didn't mean to freak out like that."

"Stop apologizing." He chuckles softly, almost sadly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I feel like I did."

"You always do. You're always blaming yourself for everything, it's like you don't know how to _not_ feel guilty."

He's got a point there. But I've never _not_ had something to feel guilty about. Whether it was being gay, or being with Zac, or cheating on my wife, or lying to everyone I love, or hurting Tommy... there's always been something for me to hate myself for.

Right now I hate myself for putting that crestfallen look on his face.

"I think I should just... go."

He immediately follows me as I push myself up off of the bench. "Back to the bar?"

"I guess."

"You think Alex will still be there?"

"I don't know." I shrug indifferently, my gaze fixed on the sidewalk at our feet so that I won't have to look at him. Because if I look at him, I'm going to want to stay. "Probably."

"Maybe I should just drive you to his place. That way, if he's not there, you won't be stuck without a ride."

"I can just get a cab, it won't cost that much."

"Yeah, and it won't cost _anything_ if you let me-"

"It's totally out of your way." I cut him off quickly, momentarily forgetting myself and making the mistake of glancing up at his face. God, I wish he wouldn't look at me like that. "Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate the offer and everything, I just..." I just don't trust myself around him right now. "I think I should be by myself."

"Oh... okay."

Great.

Now he not only looks completely dejected, he sounds it, too.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I get it."

I doubt he actually does. I doubt he understands that I'm trying to get out of here without saying or doing anything to damage the tentative friendship we've started to piece together from the ruins of our past relationship. Probably because all I seem to be doing at the moment is saying and doing things to damage it. How is it that even when I'm trying my hardest to do the right thing, I still always get it completely wrong?

I want to stay and fix this, or at least let him drive me back to Fairfax, but I think the chances of me making things worse by doing so are a hell of a lot higher.

"I hope you have a good trip."

He frowns uncertainly. "What?"

"Japan?" I remind him, smiling fondly as he rolls his eyes at his own absentmindedness.

"Thanks."

"I guess... I'll talk to you when you get back?"

"Sure." Funny how he can say the word so easily while not sounding sure of anything at all. "I'll text you or something."

"Okay."

As I take a step away from him, I'm fighting the urge I have to make him promise that he really will text me. I'm afraid that I messed tonight up so badly that he's not going to want to see or speak to me again anytime soon. And honestly, it'd probably be better for him if he did have as little contact with me as possible. His life seems pretty uncomplicated right now. He has a job he loves, he's in a relationship... having me around is basically guaranteed to cause him nothing but problems.

"Bye, Tommy."


	7. Chapter 7

  


 

 

_ Tulsa, Oklahoma - August 30th, 2012 _

__

After the way things ended between Tommy and I during my trip to California a couple of weeks ago, I really wasn't expecting to hear from him. I _hoped_ , but I was prepared for the worst. And I was also preparing myself to have to resist the desire to contact him. I told myself that if he wanted to talk to me, he would. And if he didn't, I needed to respect that and walk away. I didn't _want_ to let him go _again_ , but it wasn't my choice to make. It wasn't about me.

Thankfully, it turned out that he _did_ still want to talk to me.

I got a text from him when he arrived in Japan. It was one of those mass texts people send to large groups of people when they need to tell them all the same thing, but it was better than nothing. And at least I knew that he'd arrived in Tokyo safely. I sent him a quick message back telling him to have a good time, and he said "thanks", and that was pretty much it...

Until last week, that is, when I was included in another mass text to let his friends and family know that he was back on US soil. Having learned from my previous mistake (yes, sometimes I actually do), I sent him a question, something he'd have to answer with more than one word. At least, I hoped so. And it actually worked. I asked him how his trip had been, and he told me that it'd been awesome, that they'd all had a lot of fun, and that he was completely exhausted. Then he asked me how I was doing. I lied and told him things were going okay. I'm sure he _knew_ it was a lie, having witnessed my mini-meltdown in L.A., but he didn't push it.

After that, things kind of went back to how they had been before I went out there. We texted meaningless little things to each other a couple of times a day, but we never really had anything that could be considered a conversation. I'll admit, it felt a little... empty. But I was just grateful that he was still talking to me at all.

Things changed a few nights ago, though; he called me.

He didn't have a reason, he just "felt like it". After stammering my way through my first few uncertain sentences, we managed to settle into a surprisingly easy back and forth. I was cooking dinner at the time, the phone wedged between my shoulder and my ear as I stirred spaghetti sauce and toasted garlic bread, and he whined about how all he had to eat in his fridge was wilted lettuce. I jokingly invited him over, but we both agreed that the food would probably be cold (and eaten) by the time he arrived. He filled me in on his trip in more detail while I worked, and the smile never left my face as I listened to him excitedly recount the most memorable events from his time away.

Once dinner was ready and it was time for me to call my kids to the table, we said our reluctant goodbyes and I told him I'd call him back once I'd put them to bed. And I did. And we talked _all_ night. I'm not even exaggerating, we literally talked from ten pm through till three am. We even had to plug our iPhones into wall chargers while we were talking so that the batteries wouldn't die mid-conversation. The only reason we decided to call it a night (or morning) was because I knew that I wouldn't be able to keep up with five kids on less than three hours of sleep.

We'd already made a "date" to talk again at the very beginning of the call; it was why it lasted so long. He'd mentioned that he'd just gotten the first disc of the show "Dexter" from Netflix, and I told him that my brother-in-law was always raving about it, and I kept meaning to watch it but never had time. So he proposed that he'd hold off on watching it, and if I could get my hands on the first season before the next evening, we could watch it "together". But it was on the condition that I entertain him for the rest of the night since he had nothing to watch, which I was more than happy to do.

I borrowed season one from Joe first thing the next morning, and Tommy and I watched three episodes together that night. I'd never watched anything with someone over the phone before, and at first it was very strange. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to stay quiet so that he could pay attention to the show, or if we were supposed to keep talking. But by the end of the first episode, it was like he was sitting right there beside me. We laughed at the same things, gasped at the plot twists we didn't see coming, and shared our theories and ideas about how the storylines might unfold. It felt good. I'd become so used to spending my nights alone once my kids were asleep. I'd become so used to feeling lonely, but I didn't anymore.

I _don't_ anymore.

Tonight will be our third "Dexter" date, which I'm stupidly excited about. And not just because the last episode we watched ended on a cliff-hanger. It's been a long time since I've had something to look forward to this way, even if it is something relatively small. I think I've spent the past few days walking around with a near-constant smile on my face. People keep giving me odd looks and asking what's gotten into me, and all I can do is shrug and tell them that I'm just in a good mood.

"Daddy?" River begins curiously as I rub no-tears shampoo into his short hair.

"Yeah?"

"Who do you talk to?" My fingers come to a slow stop, and he turns his head to look at me. "I heard you talking to someone last night."

"When?"

He shrugs unconcernedly, focusing his attention on the small, plastic boat that he's pushing around the bathtub. "I woke up and came to see you, but I heard you talking to someone in your room, so I went back to bed."

"Oh..."

"Was it mommy?"

"No, kiddo." I sigh sadly, filling a cup with bathwater and carefully pouring it over his head. "I can't talk to mommy... she's not here anymore."

"I know."

"You do?"

He nods, smiling up at me with the most breathtakingly innocent light in his eyes. Her eyes. "She had to go for a while, but she'll be back later."

What do I say to that? _No, she won't. She's just a figment of your imagination. Your mom is dead and you'll never see her again._ I can't tell a six-year-old little boy that. I can't tell _my_ six-year-old little boy that. I don't know if it's dangerous to let him believe that he's really talking to her, but I'm not a strong enough person to look him in the eyes and tell him that he's not. So I guess I'm just going to have to let him keep talking to his dead mother, and hope that one day he'll grow out of it on his own.

"So if it's not mommy, who is it?" He asks again, navigating his toy boat around a pile of bubbles.

"You remember my friend Tommy, from California?"

A grin immediately spreads across his face as he looks up at me again. "With the cool tattoos?"

"Yeah."

"He was fun!"

"Well... that's who I was talking to." I explain, helping him to stand up before I wrap a towel around him. "We talk on the phone sometimes."

"I like how you were laughing when you were on the phone." He smiles over a wall of fluffy fabric. "You don't laugh anymore."

Oh jeez... _please_ tell me he didn't just say that.

"I laugh!"

"Not a lot. You need to laugh _more_."

"I do?" He nods definitively, and after pretending to think it over for a few seconds, I nod back. "Okay then. If you think I need to laugh more, I'll laugh more."

"Good!" Laughing isn't difficult right now as he giggles and squirms while I help him to dry off. "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Can Tommy come to my party?"

My hands freeze, grasping the towel a little more tightly as I try to process his request. "Um... I-I don't know, buddy. He's pretty busy."

"But will you still ask him? _Pleeease_?"

How do you say no to that? "Sure... I'll ask him."

" _Yes_!"

"But he might not be able to, so don't get your hopes up, okay?" Without a word, he flees the confines of the towel and darts off naked down the hall towards his bedroom, yelling to no one in particular that his birthday is going to be _awesome_. So much for not getting his hopes up. "Slow down, Riv! Your feet are still wet!"

With a tired groan, I use the edge of the tub to push myself up off of my knees. I swear I can hear them creak as I stand; I'm twenty-nine going on ninety-two. I'm tired. I'm _always_ tired. I'm up at six o'clock every morning, because that's when Asta wakes up. If I'm lucky, I get an hour to change her, feed her, play with her, and possibly get myself a coffee and check my e-mail with her in my arms before Viggo wakes up. And then it's like a line of dominos falling as one by one the rest of my children get out of bed and come in search of their breakfast.

It's non-stop from there.

Some days I'll have some help. One of my siblings might come over, or my parents might offer to take them for the day so that I can get into the studio. Tonight, for example, Natalie's mom came over for dinner and stayed to help get them all to bed. But most of the time, it's me. From dawn till dusk, breakfast, lunch and dinner... it's just me.

And it's _exhausting_.

But knowing that in less than an hour from now I'll be talking to Tommy is enough to keep me awake and keep me going. It keeps me going so that I can tuck River in and read him a story, and sing Penny to sleep the way I always do. Viggo and Asta are already fast asleep, so all I have to do is look in on them and lightly kiss their foreheads. Ezra has taken to rolling onto his side so that his back is to me whenever I try to kiss him goodnight. I tell him that I love him, but he refuses to return the sentiment. He won't so much as mutter it. I try to remind myself that it's not personal; he doesn't mean it when he says he hates me, and he still loves me even though he never says it anymore. 

Some nights I do a better job of convincing myself than others.

"I think we finally defeated them." Pam chuckles softly as she pulls Penny's bedroom door closed behind her and meets me in the hallway. "Is it just me, or were they a little more rambunctious than usual tonight?"

"No, they were in top form." I assure her, following her over to the stairs. "Maybe I should start fixing dinner a little earlier so that they're not eating dessert so close to their bedtimes."

"Well it's worth a try, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're just as lively no matter what you feed them _or_ what time."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"Honestly, I think it has less to do with their individual energy levels and more to do with their collective energy." She points out. "Natalie always said that it stopped being a fair fight after River was born. Once Viggo came along, she accepted that the two of you were always going to be completely outnumbered."

The silence that follows is the same silence that always accompanies any mention or memory of Natalie. We talk about her, we reminisce, and then we take a moment to let it sink in a little more that she's gone. That she's not coming back.

"Are you sure you don't want any help tomorrow?" She eventually asks as she pulls her jacket on and picks up her purse from the console table by the front door. "I'm free as a bird all day."

"I should be fine, thanks. But I'll give you a call if I need anything."

I don't know why I'm so reluctant to accept help, especially from Pam. I feel like I need to do this by myself as much as I possibly can, which is stupid because not even Natalie did this single-handedly. That's why Pam moved to Tulsa to begin with; to be closer to Natalie and to help out with the kids while I was on tour. Not to mention Kate, and my parents and siblings, and all the babysitters and mother's helpers we've had in and out of here over the last ten years.

I think I feel some need to make up for all the time I was gone, even though rationally I know that I can't.

I never can.

"Okay, well... if I don't hear from you tomorrow, I'll see you all at the airport Friday morning?"

I force a small smile, doing my best to sound enthusiastic about it. "Bright and early."

Almost as soon as she's gone and I've locked the door behind her, I'm pulling my phone out of my pocket and heading back up to my bedroom.

Natalie never wanted to have a television in the bedroom, and I never fought her on it because it wasn't a big deal to me. Over the years I've gotten used to falling asleep in hotel rooms with the TV on, the volume barely a couple of notches above mute. I'll be watching a movie, and the next thing I know I'll be waking up to some stupid infomercial or the morning news. But when I was home from tour, Natalie and I would lay in bed in the dark and discuss whatever was on our minds that we hadn't been able to talk about in front of the kids. And I'd wake up in the morning to her humming as she got dressed, or the sound of her electric toothbrush coming from the adjoining bathroom.

After she died it was just too quiet at night, and I found that I missed the "background noise".

So, after a lot of back and forth, I caved and bought a small TV with a built in DVD player, and I put it on the dresser at the foot of the bed. I felt bad about it at first. She wouldn't have approved, and I felt as though I was thumbing my nose at her in some way, as if I was saying "Haha, you're dead, so now I can do whatever I want!" It wasn't like that _at all_. Nothing I've done since her death has been an act of rebellion on my part. I've tried so hard to do what I thought she would have wanted. To be respectful of her wishes, of _her_.

And yet, no matter what I do, all I feel is guilty.

The guilt I felt over putting a TV in our bedroom is nothing compared to the guilt I feel over talking to Tommy again, though. Only, just like before, the guilt is _completely_ overshadowed by everything else he makes me feel. The voice in my head telling me that I shouldn't talk to him, whether it's because of Natalie or Liz or any number of reasons, can't be heard over the sound of my heart pounding with exhilaration whenever I so much as _think_ about talking to him.

Just like it is right now.

"Finally!" He addresses me impatiently as soon as he answers his phone. "I've been sitting here for like an hour!"

"The brat pack were being especially difficult tonight, it took longer than usual to get them all to sleep."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. All in a day's work." I chuckle quietly, flopping down onto my bed and reaching for the remote on the nightstand beside me. "How was your day?"

"Pretty dull. All I could think about was that fucking cliffhanger!"

"Oh my God, I _know_! Do you think whoever was in the trunk actually saw him?"

"Of course they saw him!" Tommy exclaims fervently. "They were right there, they saw everything!"

"Maybe they didn't, though. Maybe the writers just want us to _think_ they did."

"And maybe we should stop talking about it and hit play so we can find out!"

"Okay, ready when you are."

We go through our now nightly ritual of cueing up our DVDs and making sure that we press play at the exact same time so that neither of us is a single second ahead of the other as we watch. He always complains that the show has the "longest fucking  opening credits fucking _ever_ ", but so far I've managed to talk him out of fast-forwarding through them every time because I want to make sure that we're still in sync when the actual episode begins. Besides, if I let him skip the credits I wouldn't get to listen to him bitch about their length for the entire duration. And for some odd reason, I really enjoy listening to him bitch about it.

The episode begins with Dexter's girlfriend and her daughter discussing which birthday cake she's going to make for her, which reminds me that there's a question I promised my son I'd ask Tommy. But before I can think of a way to casually drop it into the conversation that we're not even having right now, he suddenly speaks.

" _Damn,_ shit's about to get real!"

"What?" I should probably be a bit more focused on the TV, but it's a little difficult to do when I have so much of my own drama on my mind.

"They just called him to analyze his own fucking crime scene."

"Oh, right... I didn't get that at first." I laugh quietly, hoping it doesn't sound as fake as it felt. "I guess I'm more brain dead than I realized."

"You wanna do this another night instead?"

"No, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" He asks concernedly. "I know I was being an ass about it before, but I totally don't mind waiting to watch it."

"Honestly, I'm okay." I assure him confidently. "But Dexter's not..."

Okay, so it's totally cheating to deflect his attention back to the show so that he'll stop worrying about me, but sometimes it's necessary to cheat. And it's hard to feel too bad about it when it works like a charm. I can vividly imagine the look on Tommy's face as Dexter returns to his most recent crime scene only to find that the body he just disposed of has been laid out for all of his co-workers to see and scrutinize. I anticipate Tommy's hushed "fuck" before it even passes his lips, and whatever the characters are saying on screen comes a far second in importance to the astonished diatribe he's just launched into.

I could listen to him rant about plot twists all night long.

The episode ends an hour later with Dexter free to kill another day, and Tommy points out that _obviously_ he's not going to get caught yet because we still have six more seasons to get through (although his confidence that Dexter won't get caught doesn't seem to stop him from fretting for entire episodes that he will). One of the closing scenes before the credits roll is the birthday party that was being planned at the very beginning, and once again I'm reminded of the potentially awkward task ahead of me. And, once again, Tommy cuts me off just as I'm summoning the nerve to ask him.

"You know, in a weird way, Dexter kinda reminds me of you."

"Gee, thanks!" I laugh, my mouth hanging open in flabbergasted indignation. "Nice to know I resemble a sociopathic _serial killer_ to you."

"I don't mean it like that." He snickers playfully, the sound making my whole body buzz. "I just mean how he's like... always so worried about people finding out who he really is, you know? He's pretended to be this perfect guy his whole life just so that he can fit in and be what he thinks everyone expects him to be, and he always tries to do the right thing in his own fucked up way. And he's constantly terrified that if his family and friends find out the truth, they'll all turn on him."

That actually does hit close to home. Way too close. "He's still a serial killer, and I'm still _deeply_ offended by the insinuation that we have anything in common."

"Aw, I'm sorry! What can I do to make it up to you?" He asks, and despite the fact that I _know_ he wasn't trying to be suggestive, and I'm probably imagining that hint of flirtatiousness in his tone, my throat goes completely dry anyway.

"Well... since you're offering..." This isn't a bad time to do this... right? "River wanted me to ask you if you'd come to his birthday party." He's entirely silent. So, naturally, I commence babbling. "Don't worry, you don't have to come to Tulsa or anything crazy like that. We have that show this weekend in Mission Viejo, the one I was telling you about the other night, and then we're gonna spend a few days at Disneyland for River's birthday. The party's gonna be at the Rainforest Cafe in Downtown Disney, it's his favorite." More silence. "I know it'll be kinda weird with my family there and everything, and if you don't wanna come to a six-year-old's birthday party, I _totally_ understand. But I told him I'd ask, so..."

He takes a breath, it's quiet but I can still clearly hear it. "River wants me there?"

"Yeah."

"How does he even remember me? He hasn't seen me in like a year."

"You make an impression." I reply lightly, but I can tell it didn't break the tension for either one of us. "He heard me on the phone with you the other night, and he asked me who I was talking to... so I told him."

"Oh."

"And then he asked me if you could come to his party."

"Right..." Another breath. This one was louder and longer than the last. He's anxious, I can tell. "Um... I guess."

"You guess?" I repeat guardedly, trying not to get my own hopes up just as I told River not to get his up. And just like River, I'm failing. "Does that mean you'll be there?"

He hesitates, and suddenly I'm overwhelmed by the urge to tell him it was a stupid idea (because it was) and to forget I said anything. "I can try to stop by... if I'm not busy."

"Okay." Is it bad that I feel like shouting 'Yes!' and running up and down the hall just like my son did earlier (only not naked)? "If you can't make it, that's fine."

"Sure."

"And you're more than welcome to bring someone with you if you want. Liz..." Fuck. I need to quit while I'm ahead. "Or... someone."

"Thanks... I'll think about it."

"Okay."

Now what?

Are we just supposed to go back to watching "Dexter" like nothing happened, even though we both feel totally uncomfortable and we'll probably be too wrapped up in thinking about the party to follow the storyline? Or should I just make up some excuse to end the call now, before I say or do anything to make him feel even weirder?

"Mind if we save the next episode for another night?" He blurts out. Apparently _he's_ decided to make up an excuse. "I'm kinda beat and I have to be up pretty early tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, of course." Despite the fact that I was just contemplating saying goodnight, I'm undeniably disappointed that he's doing so instead. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Actually, I have... plans."

I'm pretty sure that's code for "I'm seeing Liz."

And I have no right to be upset about that.

"Okay... well... I've got that show on Saturday, and then I'll probably be busy with the kids and my family and everything..."

"No worries."

The fact that he doesn't say anything about us finding another time to watch makes my heart sink, and I wish I could rewind the conversation to five minutes ago and _not_ invite him to River's party. What was I thinking?! I know I said I'd ask, but it's not like River would've ever known if I hadn't. And if I hadn't, I could've spared Tommy from feeling like he had to make a choice between hanging out with my family at Disneyland or being the jerk who refuses a little kid's request to attend their birthday party.

I suck.

"So... I guess I'll talk to you later?" I ask hopefully.

"Yeah."

"Goodnight."

"Night."

I waited all day for that phone call and it lasted all of one hour before I said the wrong thing and sent him running in the opposite direction. All I had to do was sit here and watch a TV show about a strangely likeable serial killer, and not say anything to make things weird. That was _all_. How is it possible that I couldn't even do something as simple as that?!

I started the night off exhausted, but talking to Tommy perked me up. Now I'm exhausted again. I don't even really want to get off of the bed and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth. But I made burgers for dinner, and I had a lot of onion on mine, and now my own breath is bugging me.

This evening has just been _full_ of stellar choices on my part.

Scraping together the last remnants of energy I posses, I rolls off of the mattress and drag myself into the bathroom. I try my hardest not to look at myself in the mirror, but eventually I catch sight of my reflection. And all I can think as I look myself in the eyes is: _idiot_. The word echoes in my head as I spit the  toothpaste out and rinse it down the drain. It's like a broken record that I can't silence while I strip off my jeans and t-shirt and climb into bed. No amount of tossing and turning can shake it.

It feels as though I've only been asleep for five minutes when I'm awoken by my phone ringing. But as my blurry eyes blink and try to focus on my alarm clock, I realize it's almost two o'clock in the morning. My hand clumsily reaches out in search of my iPhone, and I blindly accept the call as I raise it to my ear.

"Hello?" Nothing. " _Hello_?"

There's still no response, which would be irritating enough under normal circumstances, but at two o'clock in the fucking morning?! I pull the phone back to look at the screen and see if I even recognize the number, but instead I see Tommy's name glowing back at me in the darkness of my bedroom.

"Tommy?" I ask quietly, cautiously, unsure if I can hear him breathing or not... maybe his phone called mine by accident. "Tommy, are you-"

"Why didn't you call me?"

Between my still sleepy mind, the out-of-nowhereness of the question, and my uncertainty about exactly what it is he's asking, I don't know how to give him any kind of answer. I just lay in the dark, opening and closing my mouth as I struggle to form a thought, a sentence, or even a single word.

But I can't.

"After she died, why didn't you call?"

"I... I couldn't." I stammer helplessly.

" _Why_?" He impatiently demands.

"What was I supposed to _say_? 'Hey, my wife's dead and I'm single now, so do you wanna give it another shot?' I didn't have the words, Tommy. And I... I didn't think I had the right, either."

For a long time, he's silent. I don't know whether my answer was good enough for him, but it's the truth. I didn't try to contact him before our encounter in Des Moines because, after everything I'd put him through, I didn't think I had _any_ right to a second chance. Especially not under those circumstances, and not when there was a good chance that he was with someone else.

"Did you wanna call me?" He eventually counters, his voice wavering with emotion, his breathing unsteady and his words slightly slurred. He's drunk. "Did you think about me?"

"I haven't gone a single day without thinking about you since the night I met you." I tell him calmly, honestly.

"Then... why..." He pauses, drawing in a slow, shuddering breath as he tries to hold himself together. " _Fuck_ , I don't get it."

"Tommy-"

"What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?" I ask dumbly, instantly regretting the question when I know precisely what it is he wants to know.

"What the fuck _is_ this? Are we friends?"

"Yes." Fuck. "No." _Fuck._ "I... I don't know. I..."

I don't know.

"Because one minute it feels like you're into me, and the next it feels like you're pushing me away."

" _What_? When have I-"

"You act like you're gonna kiss me, and then you won't even get in a damn car with me!"

"That's not-"

"We've spent fucking _hours_ on the phone _every_ night this week, and then you invite me to your kid's birthday but you tell me to bring my _girlfriend_! I mean, what the _fuck_ , Taylor? What do you _want_?"

"I want _you_ , that's all I _ever_ wanted!" I snap thoughtlessly, desperately trying to rein in my rapidly escalating emotions. "But I... I don't think that..."

God, how do I even put this without upsetting him even more than I already have?

"What?" He asks warily, as though he can already tell that he doesn't want to hear what I'm about to say anymore than I want to say it.

"I don't think that _you_ want _this_."

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"Things are different. Before, when Natalie was still here... if I'd left her to be with you, I would have been a part-time dad to four kids. We would've had our life together, and I would've seen them on holidays and birthdays..." I rake my fingers through my messy hair, curling them tightly into a fist as I squeeze my eyes shut and silently curse how fucking _fucked up_ this all is. "Everything's different now. I'm a full-time dad to five kids. I'm the only parent they've got... it's _non-stop_. I'm either at home or in the studio, and that's it. I don't have free time, I don't go out unless they're with me. The other week, when I came to Los Angeles, it was the first time I'd left Tulsa for non-work related reasons in eight months. I haven't spent this much time in one place since I was thirteen-"

"What're you trying to say?"

"I'm saying... it would've been different. What we could've had before... it would've been... simpler, maybe. I don't know. I just know that it wouldn't have been _this_. And... you don't want this, Tommy. It's too much."

I'm expecting him to protest. I'm expecting him to tell me that I'm wrong, that I don't know what the fuck he wants, and that he still wants me no matter how much more difficult a relationship with me now would be compared to before. I'm preparing myself for a tiring battle of wills with the drunk and over-emotional love of my life.

So when I merely get a "you're probably right", I have no idea what to say.

"Forget I called."

"Wait-"

"No, it's fine. I get it." If he thinks there's anything to "get", then clearly he _doesn't_ get it. "Sorry I woke you."

"Tommy?" Nothing. " _Tommy_?"

He's gone.


	8. Chapter 8

  


 

 

_ Disneyland, California - September 4th, 2012 _

 

I suck at this.

Until this year, I never imagined that throwing a birthday party for a little kid could be so stressful. I mean... it's just cake and balloons and presents, right?

Wrong!

For some reason, it's far more complicated than that! It takes planning. Planning that goes _way_ beyond what color candles to buy and what party games to play.

Natalie always made it look so easy.

She didn't just throw our kids generic, run-of-the-mill parties. She threw theme parties. Everything from the invitations to the decorations to the music would be worked around the theme of their choosing, whether it was princesses, pirates, or ponies. She knew how to spell all of their friend's names correctly, she remembered to get an allergy list ahead of time so that she could plan what food to serve without killing any innocent children. She was even on a first name basis with all of the other parents!

Penny's birthday in April was the first time I'd ever been in charge of organizing a birthday party for one of my kids. I was always given jobs to do for the other parties, but I wasn't ever the one delegating and decision making. I was so used to just showing up and doing whatever I was asked to do with a smile on my face. But the smile on my face at Penny's party was entirely forced. I couldn't remember half of the other parent's names, and everyone was still giving me that damn "sorry your wife died" look that I _hate_. One of her friends was allergic to gluten, but we didn't have any gluten-free cake or cookies, so they were the only kid at the whole party who couldn't have any dessert. I tried offering them ice cream, but they wanted cake. They were _very_ clear on that.

And when they couldn't have cake, they cried.

_Loudly._

I got regular balloons instead of helium, I made pepperoni pizza instead of ham and pineapple, and I couldn't seem to keep one little game of musical chairs from crumbling into total chaos!

I felt like shit. It was already a difficult enough day for Penny as it was; her first birthday without her mom. And then I went and made a mess of her party. But at the end of the evening, after everyone had gone home, she came over to me, kissed me goodnight and said, "It's okay, daddy. I didn't want a birthday anyway."

I swear I almost burst into tears in the middle of picking up burst balloons off of the floor.

I thought that having River's birthday party at Disneyland would be a lot simpler. Just close family, no unfamiliar faces to put names to, no allergies I'm unaware of. You just pick a restaurant, show up with a cake and some (helium) balloons, and have a blast. Right?

Wrong again!

Having noted my inability to throw a decent birthday party, all of the women in the family have taken over on the organization front. Which would be fine if they weren't all total control freaks. Watching them try to decide whether we should do presents or cake first is like watching a team of surgeons trying to decide where to start operating on a car crash victim! Pam thinks we should open presents first, so that River doesn't get sticky cake fingers all over his new toys. But my mom thinks we should have cake first, and then we can just clean all the kid's fingers with baby wipes if we need to. And Kate thinks we should wait to do the presents back at the hotel so that we don't have to worry about leaving a pile of wrapping paper at the restaurant or disrupting the other diners.

I personally think that's a stupid idea, because River has already seen all of the presents. You can't show a six-year-old a pile of gifts and then say "you can't have them yet", that's just cruel. Besides, I actually remembered to bring a garbage bag to put all of the wrapping paper in. I'm not always _entirely_ useless.

But alas, no one gives a crap what I think.

I'm just the sperm donor.

"Hey, Riv," I murmur to him quietly as I lean in closer. "Do you want your cake first or your presents?"

His eyes widen with the agony of choice, but after a few seconds he turns to me and eagerly declares "presents!"

"Presents first." I announce to the bickering women across the table from me. "The birthday boy has spoken."

"But the waiter is about to bring the cake over." Argues Kate peevishly. "We told him we were ready for it now."

"It's okay." Zac assures her in that soothing tone he uses whenever he wants her to unbunch her panties. "We can ask him to take it back and wait a while."

She rolls her eyes and huffily turns her face away from his, and I cringe as I mouth "sorry" across the table to him. But he just smiles and shrugs; he's used to it. And yet somehow he still loves her.

Okay, that's not fair. Kate and I have always gotten along well... mostly. We had to. But she refuses to forgive me for what I did to Natalie last summer, even though Natalie repeatedly insisted that she wanted to pretend it had never happened. Zac and Kate are still the only two people in our family who know that I left Natalie before she found out that she was pregnant.

And Kate is still the only person in our family, besides my brothers, who knows that I'm gay.

Or _was_ gay, since months of therapy supposedly "cured" me of that "undesirable urge"...

"Alright, which one are we starting with?" I ask River, bouncing Asta lightly on my knee as his eyes scan the pile of presents on the table behind us.

"The green one!"

"Can I have the one with the fire trucks on it?" Viggo pleads from the other end of the table. "I don't have _any_ presents."

"You'll get plenty of presents on your birthday, buddy." My dad assures him as he ruffles his hair, ignoring his pouting. "These are your brother's."

"River, honey, don't forget to open the card first so you know who to say thank you to." Kate reminds him just as he's poised to tear into the wrapping on his first present. "Like mommy always taught you, remember?"

I have to literally bite my tongue so hard that I'm convinced it's probably bleeding, but a bleeding tongue is better than calling my sister-in-law a stupid bitch in front of my kids _and_ hers. I know she _thinks_ she's doing the right thing, I know she _thinks_ that my kids need a Natalie replacement, but all she's really doing whenever she reminds them of what their mom would have wanted, or how she used to like them to do things, is reminding them that she's gone and making them feel like crap. River was doing _so_ well today; he was having fun, he was excited. And most importantly, he hasn't needed to resort  to his coping method of talking to his imaginary mother even once.

Now he looks miserable.

"Can we have cake first?" He asks me quietly, almost ashamedly.

"I thought you wanted your presents, sweetie." Frowns Pam worriedly. "Don't you at least want to unwrap the one you already have?"

River shakes his head, pushing the present away from him gently. "Maybe later."

Thankfully, the waiter chooses this exact moment to return with the cake. There's lots of requisite oohing and ahhing from all around the table as he sets it down in front of River, whose smile has started to make a bit of a comeback. I slip my lighter out of my pocket (trying my best to pretend I don't see the disapproving looks I'm getting from everyone over the age of ten) and carefully light the six candles on top of his bright red Lightning McQueen cake.

"Okay... everyone ready?" I ask, putting my lighter away. As I briefly glance around at my family, I notice that Ezra is engrossed in his Nintendo 3DS and blatantly disregarding everyone and everything around him. "Ez, I need you to put that away for a minute and sing to your brother."

"I'm in the middle of a game."

I wish he wouldn't do this. Especially not today. "It's his birthday."

"So?"

"Ezra, give that to me, please." My mom commands in that familiar no-nonsense tone she used with me when I was a kid. With a grudging sigh, he drops it into her out-stretched hand and slumps in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. "Thank you."

I'm sure the sound of over a dozen people singing "Happy Birthday" turns plenty of heads in the restaurant, but I'm entirely focused on my little boy, on the gap-toothed grin on his face as he gazes down at the flickering candles on his cake. He looks up at me, almost as though he's waiting for approval or making sure that I'm watching before he leans over, takes a deep breath, and blows out four of the six candles with one puff. The last two take a little more effort, but the smile never leaves his face as we all applaud. And that smile gets even bigger as his eyes rise from the cake and light up at something he's spotted across the room.

Or, to be more accurate, some _one_.

"He came!" River exclaims excitedly, instantly redirecting everyone's attention to an extremely uncomfortable looking Tommy. "And his hair is _purple_!"

I'm vaguely aware of the rest of my kids chattering excitedly about Tommy and his hair, but I'm a little too dazed and confused to really pay attention to anything but him. We've only spoken once since the night he drunk dialed me. Well, I say "spoken", it was a text conversation. And a brief one at that. He apologized, he asked me to pretend it had never happened (like I could), and he asked for the date and time of River's birthday dinner "in case he could make it". I never really thought he'd show up, though. Especially not this late in the proceedings.

"Hey!" I try to smile, doing my best to side-step my shock (and my mother-in-law) as I scoot out from behind the table with Asta in my arms and walk over to him. "Wow... your hair really _is_ purple."

"Yeah, well... I needed a change."

"I was starting to think you couldn't come after all."

"Yeah..." He looks down guiltily for a moment, collecting himself before meeting my eyes again. "Sorry I'm late, I got held up."

"It's fine. You're actually just in time for cake."

"I can't stay long, I just wanted to bring this." He holds up the gift in his hands, which isn't in any way small, and yet somehow I didn't even notice it until now. "Should I put it with the others, or-"

"Is that for me?" Asks River excitedly as he suddenly appears at my side.

"Well, I heard it was your birthday, so I figured you might want a present." Tommy replies playfully. "But it looks like you've got a whole bunch of them over there, so maybe you don't need this one-"

"No, I do!"

River's hands are practically twitching at his sides, trying to resist the urge to reach out and snatch the gift right out of Tommy's hands, and the second Tommy gives it to him he darts back over to his seat and places it on the table like some kind of trophy.

"You didn't have to get him anything."

Tommy shrugs as we follow River back to the rest of my family. "I didn't wanna be the jerk who showed up to a kids party without a gift. I just hope he likes it; I don't have a lot of experience buying stuff for kids his age."

"Is there a card?" River asks politely, his fingers already curled underneath one of the folds of wrapping paper, waiting to rip it off.

"Oh..."Tommy blushes faintly as he looks around at all of the curious (or in Ike's case furious) faces staring back at him. "No, sorry."

"Don't be." I assure him while River rips wildly into his present. "The only purpose of a card is so you know  who the gift is from, right Kate?" I smile sweetly at her as she scowls back at me. "And I think River knows who gave him this one."

"Daddy, look what I got!"

I think some part of me already knew what the gift was before River opened it. But even though I shouldn't be surprised, I still can't quite believe it. "You got him a mini strat?"

"Is that okay?"

"Okay? It's _awesome_! You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, well, you're never too young for your first Fender." Tommy smirks slightly, inclining his head towards me just enough for it to be clear that he's telling me a 'secret'. "And I have a few connections."

"Connections or not, thank you." I tell him sincerely. "Riv, did you say thank you?"

"Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!" River beams at him, tearing himself away from his brand new electric guitar just long enough to wrap his arms around Tommy's waist and hug him tightly. "It's _so_ cool!"

"Uh... you're welcome." Chuckles Tommy a little shyly, giving River a small squeeze in return. "I'm glad you like it."

"Taylor, are you going to introduce us to your friend?" My mom calls out from a few seats down, smiling at me in that way that so very pleasantly tells me I'd better do as I'm told or else.

"Oh, right... sorry. Everyone, this is Tommy. Tommy... everyone." He nods in greeting, forcing a small smile as almost everyone present says hi. "That's my mom and dad, and my sister and brother-in-law... and you know Ike and Zac."

"Yeah..."

His eyes shift from Isaac, who is giving us both the most disapproving look I think he's capable of, to Zac... who is pretending to help Kate with the cake cutting process, but really he's just getting in the way. I can tell he's doing his best to avoid looking at Tommy, and for a moment Tommy can't seem to take his eyes off of him. That's when it hits me that they haven't been in a room together since the day Tommy walked in on Zac and I kissing.

This just got even more awkward than I'd anticipated.

I need to distract him.

"Oh, and this is Asta."

I know, I know. Using the cute baby to is evil and underhanded. But I was already going to hell anyway, so I doubt it really matters at this point.

"Hey Asta." He smiles at her, holding his finger out for her to grab a hold of, which she gleefully does. "You're cute as hell, you know that?"

She babbles something as she stares down at his hand with great interest, trying to pull it towards her face. "That's 'nice to meet you' in baby."

"Really? Seems more like 'nice to _eat_ you'." He laughs, pulling his finger free of her grip just before she can put it in her mouth.

"Speaking of eating, do you want some cake?"

"It's Lightning McQueen!" Viggo chimes in animatedly. "With _chocolate_!"

"Wow! You know, that sounds pretty good, but I'm actually not much of a cake person."

Penny  narrows her eyes at him skeptically, which makes her looks so much like Natalie. Too much. "You don't like _cake_?"

"I don't _dis_ like it." He smiles back at her. "But I like other things a lot more."

"More than _cake_?" She persists in disbelief, as though she's never heard anything so crazy in her whole, short life. "Like what?"

"Like... sushi?"

"Ew!"

"Don't knock it till you've tried it." I admonish her teasingly.

"I'm _never_ gonna try it; it's _cold_ fish." She sticks her tongue out and cringes dramatically. " _Yuck_!"

"She's so sassy." Tommy snorts as she turns away from us and reaches out for one of the paper plates Kate is serving cake onto. "It's awesome."

"Yeah, most of the time." I smile fondly, watching her feed Junia a bite of cake. "You definitely bring it out in her, though."

"Really?"

"Don't worry, it means she likes you. If she didn't, she wouldn't find you so intriguing."

"What's intriguing?" Asks my dad, his hand landing heavily on my shoulder as he appears out of nowhere.

"Nothing." Just the guy I'm in love with. Have you met him? He's extraordinary. "Are you gonna get some cake?"

"Why'd you think I came over here?" He winks at me before turning to Tommy. "You're a brave man, showing up to an all Hanson gathering. No one who attempts it ever lives to tell the tale. Not unless they end up marrying into it, then we tend to show a little mercy."

"Ignore him. He's exaggerating."

"Right, right. There was that one time someone made it out with all of their limbs _mostly_ intact."

"You're _hilarious_."

"Keeps me young." He notes smugly, reaching out and prying Asta from my arms. "Hand over my granddaughter, she's got that 'feed me birthday cake' gleam in her eyes."

"You're _not_ giving her cake."

"I raised seven babies with no input from you, and six of them turned out just fine." Nice, Dad. _Real_ nice. "I'll give her as much cake as I want."

And with that, he takes my daughter, picks up a plate of chocolate Lightning McQueen cake and heads back over to his seat.

"I like your dad." Tommy laughs softly, a distinctly wistful look in his eyes as he watches my parents fussing over Asta. I'm almost certain that he's thinking about his own father right now, but even if I did think that asking him about it was a good idea, this definitely isn't the time _or_ the place. "He seems pretty cool."

"He is. He's a big kid, always has been. I'm pretty sure that's where Zac gets it from."

His gaze immediately shifts from my father to my younger brother again, and the smile fades from his face for a moment before he looks at me and pastes it back on. "I should get going."

"But you only just got here."

"Yeah, I know, but I have this thing I have to get back to L.A. for, and the traffic is like..." His voice trails off as he shakes his head and takes a few steps away from me. "I just wanted to come by and give River his present."

I follow him as he starts to leave, lowering my voice as much as I can without resorting to whispering. "I thought you said we were okay."

"We are." He insists, but he still won't stop and look me in the face when he says it. "I just have to be somewhere."

"Tommy-"

"Seriously, we're good. Tell River I said 'happy birthday'."

I wish I could think of something to say to make him change his mind and hang out a little longer, but I can't. And maybe it's better for him if he doesn't. I want him here because I'm selfish, and I miss him, and I feel better when he's around. But that doesn't mean it's good for _him_. If it was, he wouldn't be trying to make a run for the nearest exit already. Besides, the longer he stays, the higher the chances are that someone in my family (namely Isaac) is going to be a total jerk to him and make him feel like shit.

Sure enough, the second Tommy disappears from view, my older brother is hovering like a hawk just waiting to attack. I already know what he's going to say before he so much as opens his mouth; it's the same shit he's spouted at me a million times before, and I'm sick of it.

"Don't." I order him impatiently, holding my hand up to silence his lecture. "I don't wanna hear it."

"You never do."

"Because it's _none_ of your business!" I snap. "I'm not fourteen anymore Ike, I'm not a child, I don't need you telling me how you think I should behave every five seconds. I _never_ did! And I'm not married anymore, either, so even if I had invited Tommy here as anything more than a friend, which I didn't, but _if_ I had, it wouldn't be the end of the fucking world."

"It's totally inappropriate, Taylor."

"River wanted him here."

"Bullshit!"

"He did! He asked me to invite him, so I invited him. He came, he gave River a gift, and he left. It's not a big deal, so don't try to make it into one just so you have something to bitch me out for."

He narrows his eyes at me incredulously. "He met him _once_ more than a year ago, and you seriously expect me to believe that he actually remembered him without _any_ help from you? It's bad enough you pulled this crap once, Taylor. How do you think Natalie would feel?! They _never_ should've met him, it was so far beyond screwed up!"

He's right. I knew it then and I know it now. No matter how good it felt at the time, no matter how right it felt to see Tommy with my kids, I knew I shouldn't have done it. But I still don't feel that I owe Isaac an apology for it. Tommy? Probably. Natalie? Definitely. But not Isaac.

"Look, it's done now, okay? It happened, it didn't hurt anyone, and it's done. So just drop it."

"Taylor-"

"No, Ike. I'm not gonna stand here and debate how fucked up I am with you right now. It's my kid's birthday party for God's sake, so back off!"

I leave him standing in a speechless rage as I push past him and return to our table. I'm sure this is a conversation he's going to want to resume at some point in the very near future, because Ike has never been very good at letting things go, but I'll worry about that when the time comes. The only thing I care about right now is making sure that River's birthday continues to go as smoothly as possible. Everything and everyone else will just have to wait.

After the party finally winds down, Pam and my parents help me to herd the kids and carry the presents back to our hotel room. The rest of our family decide to go on the Finding Nemo Submarine Voyage, but my little litter is well and truly party pooped. Our plans for the evening consist of lounging on a plush, king-size bed and watching _The Lorax_ on pay-per-view while eating left over birthday cake and room service sundaes.

I never would've guessed that this would be my idea of heaven, but it's actually not far off.

It might be a little more like heaven if Ezra would put his 3DS down and acknowledge the rest of us with so much as a grunt when we talk to him. His siblings seem somewhat used to his attitude by now, it doesn't make them as sad as it used to. I wish I could accept it as easily, but I still want my son back.

By nine o'clock, Ezra is asleep alone on the fold-out sofa bed in our suite, and I have a snoozing seven month old on my chest, a seven-year-old using my shoulder as a pillow, and two little boys snuggled up under the duvet beside me. And my phone is ringing. It takes me so long to retrieve it from my pocket that I'm sure I'll miss the call before I can answer it, but apparently the person calling me is either incredibly patient or incredibly determined...

Or it's Tommy.

"Hey." I whisper into the phone, casting a cautious glance at each of my sleeping children, who are all miraculously still unconscious.

"Hey, did I wake you?"

"No, I just... have a sleeping baby about five inches from my phone right now."

"Want me to call tomorrow instead?"

"No!" Wow. That didn't sound over-eager or anything. "It's fine, I just have to whisper."

"Okay." He laughs softly, apprehensively. "Um... I was just calling 'cause I wanted to apologize for this afternoon."

"Oh... it's okay. I mean... you had to be somewhere."

"Right..." I think we both know that's a lie, but I'm not going to call him on it. I don't blame him one bit for wanting to get the hell out of there as soon as he possibly could. "I just felt bad for leaving like that."

"Don't. I totally understand."

There's nothing but quiet on his end of the line, and I don't know what I should say. Maybe I shouldn't say anything at all. As long as we're both silent, neither of us can say the wrong thing. We can sit here on the phone indefinitely, together but... not. It's better than nothing.

"Did River enjoy the rest of his party?" He eventually asks.

"Yeah, he did. He ate too much cake and got pretty much every gift he asked for, so I'd say it was a success."

"Good."

"He's obsessed with that strat, though. He was totally into the drums before today, but now he's decided that he wants to be a guitarist."

"It's a valid life choice. He's a smart kid."

"Well, he's gonna need some lessons. I mean, I'm his dad and I love him more than anything, but... he's not very good."

He laughs again, louder this time, and I instantly feel my whole body relax. "I'm sure Isaac can help him with that."

"I guess."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic about that idea."

"Yeah, well, I'm not very enthusiastic about anything concerning my big brother right now."

"Did he give you shit about me coming to the party?" He asks, his tone making it clear that he already knows the answer.

Of course he knows; he's met Isaac.

"Ike lives to give me a hard time. It'd be weird if he didn't."

"Maybe I shouldn't have come-"

"You didn't do anything wrong." I object earnestly. "Neither of us did. River wanted you there, he was glad you came. Ike's the only one who had a problem with it, and he's just gonna have to deal."

"Yeah, but River probably wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't there."

"I would have."

If I hadn't been aware of the fact that I'd just said something inappropriate the moment the words left my mouth, the lengthy pause that follows would have quickly clued me into it. During our text "conversation" last week, we agreed to start over. Again. As friends. Only what I just said wasn't very "friendly", at least not for us.

I should've known I'd be the first one to cross the line.

"Do you really think this is gonna work?" He asks miserably. "The whole thing where we're supposed to be friends?"

"It'll work." It has to. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." I did mean it. I would have noticed if he wasn't at the party because I wanted him there. I want him to be everywhere I am, because when he's not there I'm not whole. "It's just gonna take some getting used to."

"Yeah..."

He doesn't sound at all convinced, and the fact that he's so unsure of our ability to maintain an entirely platonic relationship is undeniably troubling. The last time we tried to be friends, we failed. We failed completely within a matter of days, _hours_. He said that he couldn't just be my friend, which left us with a choice between cutting ties all together or going back to our undefined relationship. The other night he agreed that being with me, dealing with everything that comes along with being with me, probably isn't something he wants. So that means that if we can't be friends... we can't be anything.

"I _want_ it to work." He admits finally, and I can't help wondering if he was just thinking the same thing as I was. "I want us to be friends."

"Me too."

"So like... how do we do that?"

"I don't know." I sigh helplessly, fighting to come up with some semblance of a plan, some course of action that will somehow make this transition easier on us both. But I don't have a clue. "I guess we just... keep trying."

"Okay."

The idea that just popped into my head is a crazy one (as most of my ideas tend to be). But at the same time, it makes so much sense. If we're going to be friends, we need to act like friends. We need to spend time together and get used to being around each other. But so far we haven't been able to spend time together without it inevitably ending in confusion and heartache. We can't be alone together; we're not ready for that, it's too much of a test. We cope better when we have a buffer, another person in the mix to take the pressure off.

So if we have _five_ other people, there should be no room for error... right?

"Listen... I'm taking the kids to the beach tomorrow. "

He takes an apprehensive breath, clearly already aware of what I'm about to say. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Do you wanna come with us...?"

...

...

Silence.

 


	9. Chapter 9

  


 

 

I don't need to be told that I'm a terrible father for using my kids as a buffer between myself and Tommy. I know it, I knew it before I even made the suggestion. But they really like him, so having him tag along with us to the beach is going to be a treat for them! I know it doesn't make me any less selfish and horrible, but it's still... kind of a silver lining.

He was definitely a little hesitant about it at first. Maybe more than a little. It's not like I begged him, though. I didn't want to pressure him into it, I wanted him to _want_ to spend time with us. And I could tell that he honestly did, but he was... afraid, I guess is the best word for it. Anxious. Even after I assured him that the rest of my family wouldn't be there, he was still uncertain.

Hell, _I'm_ uncertain.

Our first outing with the kids went better than I ever could have dreamed, but things are so different now. My kids are different, Tommy and I are different. It might not go as smoothly, and even if it does, even if it goes better than last time... what if it's still the wrong thing to do?

I haven't intentionally kept them in a bubble since Natalie died, but they _have_ been cut off from other people in a lot of ways. I tried to make things as normal as possible for them, but it wasn't as simple as going back to business as usual. Somehow it's gotten to the point where they hardly ever spend time with anyone they're not related to. And despite everything we've been through this year, despite the fact that they lost their mother, it still feels safer to surround them with family. Letting someone else into our little bubble _doesn't_ feel safe.

They really like him.

I don't want them to get closer to him only to lose him; they've lost too much already.

 _I_ don't want to get closer to him only to lose him....

But it's too late for second thoughts now.

He's sitting on the steps of his apartment building as I pull the minivan over at the curb. I didn't tell the kids he was coming, I told them I had a surprise for them. And when they realize that Tommy is the surprise, there is considerable rejoicing from the back seat. Tommy's enthusiasm is a little more tentative, a little less obvious, but it's not like he's the only one of us who's nervous about this.

"Hey, sorry we're late."

He smiles as he gets into the passenger seat beside me and closes the door. "No problem. I'm sure you have five good excuses."

"Always."

"Hi Tommy!" River calls out to him, and Tommy turns in his seat to properly greet him. "We're going to the beach!"

"Awesome! You guys mind if I tag along?"

"You're already in the car." Ezra points out huffily. "You're gonna come with us whether we want you to or not."

Shit. "Ezra, don't be rude."

"Is it better if I just sit this one out?" Tommy asks me quietly.

"I want you to come with us!" Announces Penny.

"Me, too!" Viggo agrees.

"Me three." I chime in, offering him an encouraging smile. "Majority rules."

"Why couldn't I just stay at the hotel with Uncle Zac?"

"Ez-"

"I don't _want_ to go to the beach!"

"That's enough." I bark in my most authoritative tone. I _hate_ using this tone with him, with any of them. I know sometimes it's necessary, but it never used to be necessary on such a regular basis. It makes me feel like crap. "We're going to have a nice day at the beach, so you need to check that attitude _right_ now."

"You better check yourself before you wreck yourself!" Penny tells him brazenly, a saying I can only imagine she picked up from one of her uncles.

"Shut up!"

"Be nice to each other, please." I sigh, trying to let these relatively little things run off of my back so that I can reserve my strength for the rest of the day. God knows I'll probably need it. "I'd hate to have to leave one of you by the side of the road."

"I don't care." Ezra mutters, folding his arms across his chest sullenly. "I'd rather be on the side of the road than at the stupid beach with _you_."

Oh, this is going to be _fun_.

I'm sure Tommy's wondering what the hell he's gotten himself into. He probably thought it would be like last time, that they'd be all cute and inquisitive, and everything would feel really comfortable and... right. And I'm sure River, Penny and Viggo will be cute and inquisitive, but it looks like Ezra is going to make it as difficult as possible for any of us to have a good time. He's decided that he doesn't want to go to the beach, but I'm making him go anyway, so now he's got one more thing to add to his list of reasons to hate me.

Maybe I _should_ have left him with Zac and Kate today.

But we're already all the way out in Burbank, we're closer to the coast than we are to Disneyland, and I don't want to drag everyone all the way back to Anaheim just to stop Ezra from sulking all day. Besides, he shouldn't get rewarded for being a brat. I don't want to teach him that talking back and acting out will get him whatever he wants.

My original plan for the day was to head out towards Malibu and find a nice, secluded spot somewhere near Leo Carillo Beach. But given Ezra's complete disdain for everyone in the car, I think the sooner we get out of this metal box on wheels, the better. The more room he has to pout and mope, the less everyone else will be negatively impacted by it. So, instead of Malibu, I drive us out to Santa Monica. Not that I don't love Santa Monica, it's just a hell of a lot more crowded. But it's also a lot closer, and right now I'm willing to compromise.

Taking my kids out for the day is _way_ more involved now than it was a year ago; it always is when you have a baby. It's not just a matter of making sure everyone is holding a hand and staying away from the edge of the sidewalk, although that is still a major concern and takes way more organization than it seems like it should (especially with Ezra refusing to cooperate). There are diaper bags, and beach bags, and beach toys... it looks more like we're moving to the damn beach rather than merely spending a few hours there.

While I'm busy loading myself up with every bag in sight, to the point where I look like a pack mule, Tommy is doing his best to keep Viggo and River from playing tag around the cars in the parking garage. However, an unforeseen side-effect of getting them to hold his hands is that he ends up being used as a human maypole. At least Penny can be trusted to stay out of trouble while I struggle to get her sister's car seat out of the minivan.

"Okay, I think we're ready to go." I announce as triumphantly as I can when I'm already feeling exhausted. "Do you need me to take those two off of your hands, or have you got them?"

"Uh..." Tommy looks down at River and Viggo for a second before laughing softly and giving a small shrug. "I'm not sure who has who here, but I think we're good either way."

"Ez, hold Penny's hand." I'm not surprised when he pretends he didn't hear me, but it takes a lot of restraint not to snap at him. "Ezra, I need you to hold Penny's hand until we get to the beach, please."

"I don't want to."

If I had a free hand right now, I'd be using it to tear my hair out. "I'm not asking you, I'm _telling_ you-"

"I can walk by myself, daddy."

"I know you can, baby, but I want you to hold his hand anyway."

Ezra rolls his eyes and folds his arms defiantly over his chest. "I didn't even want to come!"

"Yeah, well, sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do. And unfortunately for you, today those things include going to the beach and holding your sister's hand."

He takes another moment to stare off into the distance and glower at absolutely nothing before heaving an incredibly grudging sigh and grabbing Penny's hand. I would tell him to be gentle, but that will probably only lead to him letting go of it again, and I don't particularly want to spend the rest of the morning standing in a parking garage arguing with a ten-year-old.

The beach is only a few blocks away, and even with bags of baby necessities and kids hanging off of us, Tommy and I manage to get them all there safely in a respectable amount of time. Our feet have barely touched sand before Viggo is tearing into the cheap buckets and shovels we bought on the way to pick Tommy up, and he and River begin making plans to build the biggest castle _ever._ Penny waits patiently for me to spread out the bath towels that I "borrowed" from the hotel, and then she takes a seat on one, retrieves her hot pink, heart-shaped shades from her backpack, and pulls out a book that I wasn't even aware she had with her. For a second, I flash-forward ten years and imagine her as a teenager, lounging by a pool somewhere with her friends, reading the latest issue of CosmoGirl or Teen Vogue...

Until I notice that her book is called _God's Wisdom for Little Girls_.

No doubt a gift from Auntie Kate or Nana Pam. I l _ove_ it when they run these things by me first.

My attention is pulled from Penny to Ezra when, in another grand display of rebellion, he drops down heavily onto the sand beside the towels I've laid out, even though there's more than enough space for us all to share them. He turns his back on the rest of us and pulls his 3DS out of his pocket. I told him to leave it in the hotel room, but I guess he chose not to hear me.

And I, in kind, am going to choose to pretend that I don't care.

Kneeling down in front of Asta's car seat, I do my best to smile for her while I unbuckle her and carefully lift her out. "Welcome to the beach, munchkin."

She coos and babbles happily, testing the warm sand with her tiny, bare toes as I hold her above it. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Tommy take a seat on the towel beside me, but honestly I'm too ashamed to even look at him right now.

"I think she likes it." He notes hopefully, the smile evident in his tone. "She sounds happy."

"I guess."

"You okay?"

I sigh tiredly, steadying Asta as she sits down in a pile of sand and kicks her chubby little legs back and forth, making small ditches with her feet. "I shouldn't have brought you out here."

"Why not?"

"Because..." I lower my voice a little, though I'm sure Penny and Ezra are too immersed in their own little worlds to care what we're talking about. "Ez has obviously decided to be as difficult as possible, and I don't want you to have to deal with that. I didn't ask you to come with us today so you could watch me bicker with him the whole time."

"It's fine." He insists, shrugging off his leather jacket and gently throwing it onto the mountain of other belongings we brought with us. "Kids are kinda like wild animals, you know? They won't always do what you want, but..."

"But?" I smirk as his train of thought appears to come to an abrupt dead end.

"I don't know." He chuckles softly. "I guess I didn't have one."

"So 'kids are like wild animals' was it? That was _all_ you could come up with?"

"Apparently."

A genuine smile curls my lips as I quickly reach out and intercept Asta's hand before it has a chance to deposit a fistful of sand into her mouth. "Well, you're definitely not wrong."

Just as I'd hoped, being out on an endless expanse of sand seems to lessen the tension. As much as I hate to just let Ezra sit there and ignore everyone, at least he's not griping and arguing with me or his siblings, so I reluctantly accept that it's better to leave him be. River and Viggo spend more time working on their castle (with a little help from us) than I think I've ever seen them dedicate to doing _anything_ before, and once Penny has finished looking at the illustrations in her book, she joins them. Tommy and I, on the other hand, hang out on the towels and keep an eye on Asta as she conducts an in depth (for an eight month old) exploration of her surroundings. Eventually she gets bored of burying her toes and having us pour handfuls of sand on her legs, and she starts throwing her toys around and expecting us to fetch them like dogs.

"Daddy, we need to get water for our mode!" Penny informs me.

"Your what?" I frown at her as she and her younger brothers grab their buckets and get to their feet.

"Our _mode_ around the castle." River replies, pointing desperately at the circular trench they've carved out all the way around their planet of a palace.

"The moat?"

"Yeah, the mode! Can we go get water from the sea?"

I turn to Tommy as I brush sand off of my legs and prepare to vacate the comfy patch of towel I've been sitting on for the past hour or two. "Are you okay here? I can stay with Asta if you wanna take them down to the water-"

"I can hang here." He shrugs, offering me an easy smile. "I don't think Asta's done throwing stuff at me yet."

With one last wary glance at Ezra, I decide not to warn him to listen to Tommy while I'm gone. Chances are he won't even notice that I'm not here, but if I make a point of giving him an order he'll probably make a point of intentionally not following it.

Once we get down to the shore, Penny, River and Viggo are instantly distracted from their water-gathering by wave jumping. Despite my concern over Ezra giving Tommy a hard time while I'm gone, I can't bring myself to rush them. I can't remember the last time I saw them have this much fun, not even over the last few days at Disneyland. Our family has been so fractured this year, so strained, everyone has dealt with losing Natalie in their own way. But right now it's like they're remembering what it's like to live without that cloud over their heads.

Even if it is just for today.

When they're done playing in the surf and have filled their buckets with sea water, we head back up the beach to find their castle. The sight of Tommy and Asta together almost stops my heart. He's lying on his side on one of the towels, dangling what looks like one of his bracelets in front of her. She makes an uncoordinated grab for it and he pulls it away quickly, which leaves her giggling hysterically as he does it again and again.

I'm so distracted by it that it takes me a moment to realize that Ezra's not here anymore.

"Where's Ezra?" I asks worriedly, my eyes scanning the crowded beach so rapidly that I can't even focus on anything. "Tommy-"

"It's okay." He assures me calmly, knowingly, nodding to one of the families a few feet away. "He made a friend."

He... what?

Sure enough, Ezra is busy digging a giant, seemingly pointless hole with another little boy who appears to be about the same age as him. And all I can do is stare at them in shock. A year ago, this wouldn't have been unusual to me. But this year he hasn't wanted to play with the friends he already had, let alone make any new ones.

"Sorry, should I have  kept him over here until you came back?" Tommy asks worriedly. "I made sure I could still see him-"

"No, it's fine." I cut him off quickly, not wanting him to feel guilty over nothing. "It's not that."

He frowns as I reclaim my seat on the towels and lift Asta onto my lap. "So what's wrong?"

"Nothing's _wrong_ , exactly... he just hasn't been the most sociable kid for a while now." I explain, watching Ezra and his new friend diligently shoveling sand. "He never wants to go out, he stopped playing with other kids in the neighborhood. I basically had to pull him out of school a couple of months before summer break because the teachers couldn't handle him and he got in a couple of fights with other boys. I've been homeschooling him ever since. Or _trying_ to. It's kinda hard when he won't listen to a word I say. I mean, he doesn't even play with his brothers anymore, he just wants to play video games and be left alone."

"Maybe he's like... starting to come around?"

"Maybe."

I doubt it. But I'll take any small miracle I can get.

With all five of my kids seemingly content for the first time in a _very_ long time, I take the rare opportunity to catch my breath and try to relax. It's not easy at first; it's not something I get the chance to do often enough for it to feel natural. But as we lounge in the sun, and I listen to the mingled sounds of waves crashing on the shore and families (including my own) enjoying the beach, I slowly feel myself begin to unwind.

That is, until I notice Tommy studying my every move as I snap a few pictures of Asta.

At first I think he's watching _me_ , and I don't want him to know that I've noticed, so I do my best not to stare right back at him. But eventually I realize that he's not really looking at me at all, he's looking at my camera. It takes me a while to figure out what about it is so interesting to him, and when I finally realize what it is, I feel like an idiot for even bringing it with me in the first place. As our eyes meet for a moment, I can tell that he knows he's been caught. And we both know what's on his mind.

"Is that... the camera you had the first time we..."

I nod in confirmation, a flood of nostalgia washing over me as we both gaze down at the Nikon in my hands. "Yeah."

"Huh." He exhales a small breath of laughter, reclining onto his elbows on the towel beside me, staring at his feet in an effort to avoid making eye contact again. "Thought it looked familiar."

"I'm kinda surprised you remember."

He gives a faint shrug, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips. Just for a second. "Kinda hard to forget. I mean... no one else has ever taken pictures of me like that."

I want to tell him that I've never taken pictures of anyone else the way I took pictures of him that afternoon. I've never been so passionate about someone that I used an entire roll of film on them in the space of ten minutes. I've never looked at someone after making love with them and wanted to commit _every_ tiny detail of their body to film so that there was no way I'd ever be able to forget any of it.

"Do you still have the pictures?"

"I never developed them." I admit regretfully. "There was no way I was going to hand them over to some stranger, but I never had the time to learn to develop film myself the way I wanted to."

"But you still have the film?"

"Yeah." It's in my night stand. It has been since the day I came home from tour two years ago. I pushed it right to the back and hid it under some old letters, because every time I saw it I wanted to develop it _so_ badly. I wanted to relive the hours we spent locked in that hotel room. I wanted to see him staring back at me through the lens with that lustful look in his eyes... "I still have it."

I don't know what I thought he'd say to that, I just know that I was expecting him to say _something_. But he doesn't. He gazes off at the horizon, here but somewhere else entirely, and doesn't utter a single word. Maybe it's better that he has nothing more to say on the subject.

Maybe we've already said too much.

It's not long before the lure of the beach is no match for my kid's appetites, and one by one they start complaining about being hungry and wanting hotdogs. I hate to make Ezra say goodbye to his new friend when he actually seems to be having fun, but I know from experience that hungry, over-heated children can get _very_ cranky _very_ quickly. We pack up our things and head back to the car just long enough to drop off the beach toys and towels, and then it's off to Santa Monica Pier for lunch.

I know there's no way we're getting off of the pier without going on at least a few rides, and as soon as they start begging and pleading to go on the ferris wheel and the pirate ship, Tommy very graciously offers to stay behind with Asta while I accompany them. I know he just wants to get out of going on anything that goes up in the air, but I don't mention it in front of the kids because I know it will only make them _more_ insistent about him going on at least one ride with them.

We end up spending a good couple of hours hanging out on the pier, riding the rides, playing Wac-A-Mole and Break A Plate, and eating too much funnel cake and cotton candy. By four o'clock we're all full of junk food and completely exhausted, so despite Ezra's protests about how we "only just got here" and how I "always ruin everything", we traipse back to the parking garage and pile into the minivan to take Tommy home. At first, Penny, River and Viggo kick up a fuss about Tommy leaving, demanding to know why he can't come back to our hotel for the rest of the day and have dinner with us. But somewhere between Santa Monica and Burbank, every last one of my kids falls unconscious, and I hear Tommy echo my sigh of relief as I turn the radio on low and we enjoy the quiet.

I'm not going to pretend that I'm not just as disappointed about having to drop Tommy off as they are. I was secretly hoping that maybe their begging for him to stay might result in him agreeing to come back to the resort with us, but he just laughed off every last one of their over-zealous pleas and told them that he'd hang out with them again some other time.

"When do you guys fly back to Tulsa?" He asks, finally breaking the twenty minute silence as I turn onto his street.

"Tomorrow morning."

He's quiet again, but just as I'm working up the nerve to ask him why he wants to know, hoping he was about to suggest we get together again before I leave, he speaks. "Do you think you could get someone to watch the kids for a few hours tonight?"

"Um... possibly. What did you have in mind?"

"Well..." For a moment I'd swear he was blushing, but he looks away before I can be sure. "I didn't know when or if we'd get to finish watching _Dexter_ , so I may have like... started the next episode."

"Tommy!" I gasp, doing my utmost to appear horrified.

"I know! I'm sorry! But if it makes you feel any better, I only got like ten minutes into it before I was totally overcome with guilt and turned it off again. I barely made it past those dumbass opening credits."

"It makes me feel a _little_ better."

"Anyway, I was thinking that if you could get someone to watch the kids, you could come over and we could have dinner and watch a few episodes or something?"

" _You're_ going to make me dinner?" I tease.

"Hell no. I'm gonna order Chinese food."

I should've known.

And I also should probably know better than to accept his invitation. We'll be alone. In his apartment. The whole point of inviting him to the beach today was so that we could gradually build up to stuff like this by starting off in public places with plenty of other people around. I doubt we've come far enough in one afternoon for us to be getting cozy on his couch with chopsticks and chow mien...

"Count me in." I _never_ learn. "I'm sure I can get someone in my family to sit with them for a few hours. Asta and Viggo will be ready for bed by then anyway."

"Okay, cool." He smiles, unbuckling his seat belt. "So I'll see you at like... eight-ish?"

"I'll text you if anything changes."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Thanks for today." I tell him as he opens the door and starts to get out of the van. "I know they can be a lot to handle, but you were a _big_ help."

"Anytime."

He closes the door behind him as quietly as he can to avoid waking the kids, and we share a brief wave before he turns and heads over to the steps outside his building. And all I can think as I drive away is...

Shit.

What have I just done?


	10. Chapter 10

  


 

 

I should've told him that I couldn't find anyone to babysit.

He would have been disappointed, and I would have felt bad for lying, but I think I'd rather take disappointment and guilt over all of the other potential feelings we might be left to live with if tonight falls to pieces. But some stupid part of me is so fucking masochistic that it refused to let me cancel on him. There were so many moments over the last couple of hours when I could have stopped this, but I ignored them all and kept right on going.

When I asked Zac to watch the kids for the night, Kate immediately informed me that they already had plans. And when Zac pointed out that they didn't have anything set in stone, she gave him a look that I can only imagine means that he won't be welcome in their hotel room tonight. That right there should have been the turning point. I should have told him to forget it, that I didn't want to cause him trouble and make Kate mad at him, and I'd just change my plans. I _did_ tell him that. But he insisted that he probably would have done something else to piss her off anyway, and he honestly didn't mind hanging out with my kids for a few hours.

So, here I am, sitting in the minivan outside of Tommy's apartment. Just like I was this afternoon. Only this time I'm alone.

This is a mistake.

I can feel it, I just _know_ I'm going to fuck this up somehow. I can't be trusted, I've proven that time and time again. This is too familiar, it's almost like deja vu. I remember the last time I accepted a seemingly innocent invitation up to his apartment, just beers and a movie, no harm, no foul. I ended up pouncing on him within a couple of hours, because the amount of self-control I possess when I'm in his presence amounts to _zero_.

And still some part of me wants this. Not the mistake and the resulting hurt and confusion, but the bit that comes before. The bit where I get to be near him right _now_. I want that so badly that apparently I'm willing to kiss any possibility of it ever happening again goodbye.

God, I'm screwed up.

As I grab the six pack I picked up and get out of the minivan, I take a deep breath and tell myself that everything is going to be fine. I will make sure it's fine. I'm not going to let either of us do anything stupid. We're friends. We're just going to sit and watch one of our favorite TV shows, eat some good food, drink a few beers, and then I'm going to leave. That's it. That's _all_.

But then he opens the door of his apartment, and I see him... and God help me, I don't want that to be all we do tonight.

He's on the phone, but he gestures for me to come in, offering me a very obviously sorry smile as he rolls his eyes to demonstrate that he's _trying_ to end the call as fast as he can. I set the beers down quietly on the coffee table in the living room, doing my best not to focus on the memories I have of this room. The memory of handing him my heart and having it ripped in two...

Then again, maybe I _should_ focus on that. What better deterrent is there?

"Okay, I'll figure something out." He tells whoever is on the other end of the line. "No, it's fine, I'll be there. I promise." I watch him nodding, even though I'm the only one here to see it and I have no idea what he's nodding about. Whatever it is, it doesn't seem like he's too excited about it. "Listen, Taylor just got here, so I gotta go." Okay, that means whoever it is knows we're friends, which narrows the list down a little. "I'll tell him. I will! I- fine." He sighs heavily before looking directly at me and forcing a tight smile. "Liz says hi."

Oh, _awkward_. "Hi, Liz."

"He says hi." Tommy informs her, turning his back on me and walking towards the kitchen. "You're welcome. Okay, I'll see you then. Yeah... love you, too."

Ouch.

I wish I'd stayed out in the van a few minutes longer. It's one thing knowing he and Liz are together, it's another thing entirely to _hear_ him tell her that he loves her. I waited and waited to hear him say those words to me, but he never did. Even when he _finally_ admitted to feeling that way about me, he never actually _said_ "I love you". It was like he was physically incapable of it. Apparently he doesn't have that problem with her.

By the time he's returned from the kitchen, I've helped myself to a beer and already taken one hell of a long sip from it. If he notices, he doesn't say anything. He simply hands me a slightly crumpled take-out menu and grabs a bottle of Corona for himself.

"We don't have to order yet if you're not hungry-"

"No, it's fine." I assure him, grateful to have the menu to stare at so that I don't have to look him in the eyes right now. "Any recommendations?"

"Um... the moo shu pork is pretty good. And the chicken with asparagus." He notes, taking a slow sip of his beer. "Isaac is always raving about the mongolian beef."

"What're you getting?"

"Probably the moo shu and some kind of fried rice or something."

"If I get the chicken and asparagus, do you wanna just split everything?" I ask as I hand the menu back to him and immediately preoccupy myself with setting my bottle down on the table.

"Sounds good. Egg rolls or pot stickers? Or both?"

"Either's fine."

I wasn't expecting the evening to suck this much, this soon, but maybe it's a blessing in disguise. If things remain this stilted and difficult between us, and if I can't get that "love you, too" out of my head, I really don't foresee there being any risk of us crossing that "just good friends" line. It might have been wire thin before, but now it's less of a line and more like a giant canyon between us. And I can tell from his uneasy demeanor that he's aware of it, too.

I do my best to get comfortable on the couch while he calls in our order, but my emotional discomfort seems to be manifesting as physical agony. The pillows may as well be made of rocks. Big, jagged rocks that make it impossible for me to relax.

I need more beer.

"So... ready to watch _Dexter_?" He asks hopefully, joining me on the couch and making very sure to stay at the opposite end.

"Definitely." Anything to distract us both from this weird tension. "I need to know who the Ice Truck Killer is, it's been driving me _crazy_ all week."

It hasn't. I honestly haven't thought about it even once since the last episode we watched together, I've had too much on my mind. But it's a conversation starter, something to focus on besides his relationship with Liz. I need to think about something else, talk about something else. Otherwise I'm going to do something stupid, like asking him how serious things are between them. Which is not only none of my business, it's also not a question I even want to know the answer to.

"Oh, I know, me too! Especially now that he's totally fucking with Dexter."

"How do you know it's a he? It could be a woman." I point out as he picks up the remote and starts the DVD.

"Doubtful. I just can't see a woman pulling all this off."

"That's incredibly sexist of you."

He laughs softly and gives a helpless shrug. "I'm not sexist, it's just true! Can you really imagine a woman like carrying all these dead bodies around without getting caught?"

No. "Maybe she's a body builder."

"Yeah, or maybe you're full of shit and the Ice Truck Killer is _totally_ a dude!"

"I guess we'll see."

"I guess we will." He taunts back playfully, settling back on the couch (which is suddenly feeling a lot less like a pile of rocks) and sipping his beer.

Our food arrives towards the end of the first episode (and our second round of beers). We're both so engrossed in the plot that neither of us is willing to pause it in order to get plates and serve up the different dishes, so the choice to sit on the floor in front of the coffee table with a pair of chopsticks each and simply eat out of the take-out cartons is an easy one to make. Tommy starts the next episode with the TV remote in one hand and an egg roll in the other, never missing a beat.

Within the first few minutes of the episode, Dexter's sister, Deb, is making out with her boyfriend in the front seat of his car, talking about how badly she wants to maul him and how she'll come by his place after work and bring handcuffs. Suddenly I feel like a teenager who is being forced to sit through a sex scene in a movie while the person I have a crush on is sitting right beside me. My palms are probably even sweaty, it's that pathetic. It's even more pathetic because this scene is nothing compared to some of the stuff we've watched in previous episodes. But it's _way_ more uncomfortable to be in his presence during it rather than sitting on the other end of a phone line.

"So whatdya think?" He asks, swallowing a mouthful of fried rice. "Did she kill herself or was it the husband?"

"It's _always_ the husband." I reply, playing along with his attempt to take our minds off of what's happening on screen. "Which means it's too obvious. So... neither."

"Or _maybe_ that's what they want you to think."

"So you're saying you think it is the husband?" I ask skeptically, but his only answer is a non-committal shrug. "I bet you the last egg roll that it's not."

"Done!"

We make it safely through the makeout session and the episode progresses... to a sex scene. There's moaning, and writhing, and climaxing, and I'm about ready to excuse myself to use the bathroom or get a glass of water just so I can put some distance between me and it and _him_. It's impossible not to think about things I shouldn't. Things like Tommy riding me the same way that Deb is riding her boyfriend, the sounds he used to make, the way he felt, the look on his face...

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice him move slightly. Not closer to me or further away, just... shifting. Squirming. And I feel a desperate need to do the same. I think we both know what's going on in each other's heads, but we seem to have made a silent pact to pretend that we don't. If I don't look at him, and he doesn't look at me, and we act as though we don't notice each other fidgeting like we have itching powder in very unfortunate places, everything will be fine.

Except that apparently this episode has more sex in it than any other episode has so far, and ten minutes after Deb and her boyfriend are done doing it, Dexter's girlfriend is naked on top of him.

God damnit.

Can't these people keep it in their pants for _one_ measly hour?!

Thankfully, Dexter turns her down and makes a beeline for the nearest exit, which means I can stop holding my breath. But just when I think it's safe to relax and enjoy some moo shu, Dexter is back at her door and her panties are on the floor. And then there's grabbing, and thrusting, and even _more_ moaning...

 _Fuck it_!

I try to busy myself with grabbing another beer, but apparently Tommy had the exact same idea at the exact same time. Our hands bump and we instantly retract them as though we've touched something scaldingly hot. My heart is racing as my eyes slowly drift from the cardboard beer holder, across the surface of the coffee table, up the length of his arm, along his slightly exposed collar bone...

I close them for a second, taking a breath and trying to stop myself from going any further. But the second I open my eyes again they focus immediately on his face, and I find him staring right back at me. The gasping and groaning coming from the TV seems to be getting louder and louder with every passing second, and it's too much! All I want to do is lean forwards and kiss him, but I _can't_.

At this point, I don't even care what he thinks. I don't care how obvious it is that I'm running from him, from how I feel. I'm not even going to try and make up some flimsy excuse to leave, because I know he'll recognize it as one the moment it passes my lips.

"I should get back to the hotel." I mumble, using the couch to pull myself off of the floor and onto wobbly feet.

He doesn't say anything, but I'm very aware of the fact that he's following me as I walk across the room. And the second I start to pull the front door open, his hand appears out of nowhere and forcefully pushes it shut again. When I turn to face him he's _right_ behind me, which means I'm basically trapped between him and the door. I can't decipher the look he's giving me... I don't think he's angry, but those deep brown eyes of his are definitely blazing with _something_ , even if it's not rage.

"You wanna kiss me."

I don't know if it's a question or an accusation, but either way it leaves me tripping over my own words like an idiot. "I... yes, but I-"

"Then why don't you just fucking _do_ it?"

"Because if I start kissing you, I'm not gonna be able to stop."

"So don't."

"Tommy-" He shakes his head, momentarily silencing my attempts to reason with him. With myself. "We shouldn't."

"There are a hell of a lot of things we shouldn't have done, but we did them anyway."

There's no getting around the fact that he's sexy, even when he doesn't try to be. He just _is_. But there's no appropriate word to describe him right now; sexy _doesn't_ cut it. Forget that I'm a good five inches taller than him, and probably more than a little stronger, the stare he's holding me captive with makes me feel entirely helpless, completely at his mercy. He's overpowering me with nothing but a _look_ , I can't even imagine how weak I'm going to feel if we touch.

I don't have to imagine.

His reaction when I kiss him is immediate, his eager groans only spurring me on, escalating the kiss from an already hungry embrace to something completely untamed. It's been just over a year since I last stood in this apartment, my lips pressed to his. I thought it was the end of us. I never thought it would happen again, and now that it is I don't ever want it to stop. I want more. I _need_ more.

As though he's reading my mind, because he's so damn good at that, his hands release their grasp on my t-shirt and drop to my belt. He tugs at it impatiently, mercilessly, pulling me right along with it as he backs us across the living room, our mouths never parting for even a second. Our hasty retreat to his bedroom is briefly interrupted by an unexpected collision with the couch. But as he bumps into it, I bump into him, my hips unintentionally thrusting into his. He gasps against my lips, grinding his body against mine as I moan and pull him even closer.

It feels as though we stay ensnared in this back and forth for so much longer than we actually do. In reality it's only seconds before he's pushing me away while still holding me close, effortlessly steering me in the direction of our original destination. His hands make quick work of my belt and the button and zipper on my jeans, and he has all of them unfastened before we even get to his bed. I'm breathless and dazed as he pushes me down onto the mattress, and I feel as though all I'm capable of doing is gazing at him while he tugs his t-shirt over his head. The look he gives me through a tousled curtain of violet hair as he tosses the garment aside is wild, almost predatory. I feel as though I should be afraid, or at least a little nervous, but I'm not.

If it's possible, it just makes me want this even more.

He pulls my t-shirt over my head swiftly, and my unsteady fingers slip and fumble as I try to unbutton his jeans. Everything is such a blur, I can't _focus_. One minute I'm mesmerized by his mouth, then his eyes, his hands, his arms, his chest, his _breathing_... I want to take it all in, I want to appreciate it all because I've missed it _all_. But there's too much; it's overwhelming.

My pants join his on the floor and he joins me on the bed, crawling on top of me, trailing kisses along my sternum until his mouth finds mine once again. I'm vaguely aware that my hands are mindlessly roaming over his body, unable and unwilling to stop until they've caressed every inch of skin they can reach. It's like I can't believe this is happening, I can't believe he's real, and he's here, and this is _actually_ happening. Mere minutes ago I was watching fictional characters writhing on top of each other, and I was imagining it was us instead, and now it _is_ us. Just the thought of it, the realization, sets my skin on fire. I hear myself moan his name, and his kisses become that much more fervent in response. Our bodies continue to move together so perfectly, so fluidly, and yet with no real rhythm at all. This is too uncontrollable for that, too desperate.

It feels _so_ incredible, and yet it's still not enough. We both want more, but we can't seem to bear to stop what we're doing in order to make it happen.

One of us has to break, though.

At first he resists my attempts to shift him off of me and onto his back, but with some gentle persuasion (and some not-so-gentle pushing), he eventually relents. My mouth reverses the journey his took, burning a path down the center of his chest as I settle my body between his legs. Usually I might tease him a little, place torturously light kisses across his stomach, his thighs, the gentle protrusion of his hipbone. But not tonight. Neither of us has the patience for that; we've waited too long and we want this too much.

I hear and _feel_ him holding his breath in anticipation as I wrap my lips around him, and he lets out an unrestrained groan of satisfaction, his body thrusting towards my mouth as it surrounds him completely. I thought I knew how deeply I'd missed him, how much I wanted to hear the sounds he's making right now, how badly I wanted to kiss him, and touch him, and taste him again. But apparently I had _no_ idea. Because it's all happening, right here, right now in this moment, and what I'm feeling is so much more powerful than I ever expected.

Everything about him tells me that he's close, and I can tell by the way he's trying to pull me back into a kiss that he's not ready yet. He begs me, tells me to stop, "oh, _God_ , not yet", his hips still bucking instinctively in search of my mouth even as I obediently concede and return my lips to his. Apparently I was so lost in him that I didn't notice him retrieve the bottle of lube that he keeps in his nightstand, so it comes a surprise to feel him curl warm, slick fingers around me as his teeth nip teasingly at my bottom lip, taunting me, tempting me into another heated kiss.

Oh God, oh God, oh _God_!

It's my turn to hold my breath when his hand gradually stops stroking me and he begins guiding me closer. My trembling hand takes over for him, and our eyes lock as our bodies slowly begin to meld.

" _Fuck_!" He whines helplessly, arching off of the sheets as I lower my lips to his bare chest and shower it with breathless kisses.

His hands grab at my arms, my back, my waist, my thighs, tugging me nearer, trying to pull me deeper even though there's no _possible_ way it can happen. I try to put my need for him on hold long enough to give his body a chance to familiarize itself with mine again, because for some reason I thought he might need a moment. But apparently I was wrong.

We fit together just as flawlessly now as we ever did before.

He takes the lead, at first, setting the pace as I readily match every move he makes. I should have known it would be this simple; it always was with him. It's all a blissful blur of hands and lips, sweat dampened skin against sweat dampened skin. When my mouth isn't on his, it's on his neck, or his shoulder, or exhaling an "I missed you" against his ear as he keens and clings to me.

"Taylor..." He gasps, his wide eyes staring into mine in what I can only describe as dazed disbelief, silently posing the question he can't find the voice to ask.

_Is this real?_

It's exactly what I've been wondering since the second we started kissing.

"I know." I tell him, kissing him earnestly. "I know."

The inexact rhythm we've somehow managed to establish begins to fall apart, our movements becoming more and more erratic as we lose control and give ourselves over to this extraordinary feeling. He claws at the sheets, at his pillow, at the wall behind it, desperately searching for something to hold onto. I take his hands in mine, sliding my fingers between his and pinning them to the mattress beneath us, anchoring him as he begins to spiral out of control. His body shudders beneath mine, and he moans urgently through our kisses, coming suddenly, so intensely, and without either one of us needing laying a finger on him. That's never happened to him before, at least not with me. And judging by the expression of complete awe and ecstasy gracing his delicate features right now, I'd say it hasn't happened with anyone else, either.

If I wasn't so intent on coaxing every last whimper and whispered profanity out of those perfect lips that he's capable of emitting, I think I might just flat out break down and _cry_. I know it's pathetic, but the sense of total and utter completion swelling in my chest right now is _that_ powerful.

I'm whole again.

I'm home again.


	11. Chapter 11

  


 

 

 

Everything is quiet.

Silent.

Except for a siren somewhere on the streets outside. It sounds too much like reality.

It's unnerving.

We're lying side by side on his bed, our arms barely touching. After how close we were only moments ago, how inseparable, it feels entirely wrong to be so disconnected from him. But I'm not sure he wants me any closer right now. I have absolutely no idea what he's thinking or feeling, his face is expressionless. He's just... staring blankly at the ceiling.

I knew this was a mistake.

What I _don't_ know is how it could have been wrong when it felt so completely right.

"Do you want me to leave?" I finally ask, watching his face closely for my real answer because I know he's unlikely to come right out and tell me that he wants me to go.

But I don't see any trace of uncertainty in his eyes as he turns his head to look at me. "No."

"Well... did I do something wrong?"

He frowns, shaking his head in confusion. "No, why?"

"I don't know... it just feels like something's wrong."

I notice the guilty look on his face before he can turn away from me again, and I wait with bated breath as he inhales slowly. "I'm just... mad at myself, I guess."

Is that supposed to be any better than him being mad at me? "What for?"

"Cheating." He sighs, pushing some stray hair out of his face. "I _swore_ to myself that I wouldn't do it again, but now..."

"You cheated on Liz before?" I ask carefully, not even needing to try to keep any shred of judgment out of my tone because I'm _not_ judging him. Who the hell am I to judge anyone?

"No, not Liz. Someone else, a few years ago."

"Oh."

"I never claimed to be fucking perfect, alright?" He snaps defensively, shifting his arm a little further from mine and subsequently breaking the very small amount of contact we still had.

"I didn't mean anything." I assure him as I roll onto my side, willing him to look me in the eyes so that he can see that I'm being sincere. "It wasn't an 'oh, what an asshole', it was just an... oh."

He stays silent, which I'm sure means that he doesn't believe me. He's projecting his own self-loathing onto me, making his feelings mine. I know the signs; I've done it myself plenty of times.

"Hey, look at me." He immediately does the opposite. He's so damn stubborn! "Tommy," I reach out and trace his jaw line with my fingertips before gently turning his face back towards mine. "It was just an oh."

This time, I can see that he trusts what I'm saying. The hardness evaporates from his expression, the coldness melts from his eyes, and he leans in to kiss me softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a jerk."

"I get it, _believe_ me."

"I know. I just... I didn't plan this." He murmurs sadly. "I really _did_ just wanna hang out and watch TV tonight, you know? But like... when I'm around you..."

"You can't stop yourself." I finish for him knowingly. It's yet another feeling I can relate to.

"I didn't even fucking _try_. _You_ did, and I should've just let you walk away like you wanted to, but-"

"I _didn't_ want to. What we did was _exactly_ what I wanted to do. I was only gonna leave because I thought it was the right thing to do."

He heaves another sigh, reclining onto his back once again. "Maybe it was."

How am I supposed to take that? It seems pretty obvious that he regrets what happened, whether it's purely because he feels bad for cheating on Liz or for a multitude of other possible reasons. And to be honest, if I put too much thought into it, I can't claim that it was a result of genius decision making on my part, either. There _was_ a reason I was going to leave, there was a reason I felt it would be better for both of us.

"Maybe I should just... go."

He grabs my arm as I make a move to get off of the bed, and I let him pull me closer again, even though I'm not sure why he still wants me here if what we've done is making him feel so awful. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"Yeah, I do. I'm screwing this up."

"It's not your fault."

"It is!" He continues to insist in frustration. "Everything was fucking _perfect_ ten minutes ago and now it's shit."

It wasn't perfect. It _felt_ perfect because we were so wrapped up in each other that the rest of the world became nothing but a distant memory. We were so high, it all fell away, it disappeared. But now we've come back down and it's all still waiting for us right where we left it. Reality. Girlfriends, careers, children...

Responsibilities that we can't ever truly escape.

"What do you wanna do here?" I ask apprehensively, unsure that I want to know the answer. I'm terrified that we've pushed this thing between us too far, and now there's no going back. But there's no going forwards, either.

"Can't we just lock the door and forget everyone else?" He proposes, the subdued smile on his lips making it clear that he already knows how impossible that would be.

I don't know which of us initiates the kiss we effortlessly slip into, but I'm confident that neither of us wants it to stop. It's so easy to remember how uncomplicated everything was before, every graze of his lips against mine erases another doubt, another obstacle, taking us back to that place where there's nothing left but us.

"Why can't things always be like they were today?"

I could give him a reason, or ten, but he doesn't actually want one. And I don't want to be the one to burst this bubble. "I wish. Things have felt _so_ much better, not just today but ever since we got out here."

"Yeah?" He folds his arms over my chest, resting his chin on them lazily as his eyes drift over my face. "Like how?"

"I don't know, I mean... I've always loved the west coast, so just being here makes me happy. And I don't know if my kids are happier because I'm happier, or if they're just having fun being on vacation or something... they've just been doing _a lot_  better this week."

"They seemed to have a good time today." He notes hopefully. "Well... for the most part."

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect a change of city to make everything okay. But the fact that River has barely spoken to his imaginary mom, and Penny has only had one nightmare in the last five days... it's one hell of an improvement over how things have been going at home lately, that's for sure. Even Ez is behaving himself more than usual." I almost laugh out loud at the "seriously?!" look that Tommy is giving me, but it's not really all that funny. "I know, he wasn't exactly a ball of sunshine today. But believe me, he was _a lot_ less surly than he has been."

"Maybe you should consider relocating?"

I know he's joking, but it is something I have seriously thought about. In fact, it's something I've been thinking about since my brothers and I came out here to record our first major label album sixteen years ago. But aside from the few months we spent out here for work before I got married, and the relatively brief trips we've made since then, I've never had the chance to _live_ in Los Angeles. It just never worked out. I had too many people depending on me, too many ties and responsibilities in Tulsa.

"Honestly, I would _love_ to live here." I admit wistfully, noticing the way his eyes actually light up at the prospect. "I just don't think it's gonna happen. At least not anytime soon."

"Because of the band?"

"Because of the band..." I nod, idly twirling the silver chain of his necklace around my fingers. "And because of my kids."

"But you just said they were happier out here."

"They are. And maybe getting away from Tulsa would be good for them, but... I just don't think _I_ could do it, you know?" I can tell from the frown on his face that he _doesn't_ know, but I'm not sure anything I could say would make him fully understand. "I don't have anyone out here."

His gaze immediately drops from my face, and I know I've offended him with that remark. But it's the truth. "Right."

"I have an entire support system in Tulsa. I have family and friends-"

"You have friends here."

"Yeah, but it's not the same. I mean, most of the people I know out here are like us; they're musicians, they travel, they're busy... they're Alex. And can you really imagine Alex babysitting?" He smirks but doesn't reply. "Don't get me wrong, I love the guy, but if I left him alone with my kids for the afternoon, I'm pretty sure he'd lose _at_ _least_ one of them. I need people I can depend on, people my kids can depend on. I need..."

"What?" He presses curiously.

I don't know how to phrase what I want to say in a way that won't freak him out or make him think that I'm asking for more than I really am. I'm not proposing to him, I'm not asking him to adopt my kids or move in with us, I'm not even asking him to change diapers. I'm not asking _him_ for anything. But I can't do this by myself, it's just a fact.

" _If_ I left Tulsa, if I started over out here, without my family... I'd need someone here with me. I... I'd need a partner."   

The statement leaves his mind racing, I can practically see the questions, the panic, the worry written all over his face. He stares at the pillow beside me, hopelessly trying to process this pointless conversation we're having, but I know he's just over-thinking it and overwhelming himself.

"It's okay." I assure him calmly, trying to derail his train of thought before it veers off into even more convoluted territory. "I know it's way too much to ask, and I'm _not_ asking-"

"You're not?"

"No. Unless... do you _want_ me to be asking-"

"No." He blurts out automatically, looking somewhat ashamed when he realizes how quickly he shot me down. "I mean-"

"You mean no."

"That's not..." He sighs, resting his forehead against his folded arms on my chest as he tries to collect his thoughts. Even if I couldn't feel his heart pounding against my ribs, I'd still be able to tell that I've unnerved him. "I just... I don't know what you want from me."

"I don't want anything from you. Not anything _you_ don't want to give, anyway."

"But what does that even mean?"

"It means... after Natalie died, I expected to be a single dad for a very, _very_ long time. Because who in their right mind would want to inherit five kids under the age of ten? Especially when all but one of those kids are experiencing varying degrees of emotional trauma from losing their mom. It's a mess, _we're_ a mess, and I don't expect anyone else to help put us back together. Like I said before, that's why I didn't call you after she died. Because I didn't expect you to want this."

"So then... what is this? What are we doing?"

"I don't know."

He studies my face silently for a while, searching for some explanation, some sense that will help him understand what's going on here. The truth is, what's going on is that I'm screwing us both up. Again. I never should have texted him that night in Des Moines, I should have left it alone the way I had been up until our encounter at the festival. But, just like him, I don't know how to control myself when it comes to this thing between us. It makes me crazy, it makes me do things I know I shouldn't.

"I don't want you to think I'm giving you an ultimatum or something." I clarify truthfully, holding his unconvinced stare. "I'm not saying it's all or nothing, I'm just trying to be honest."

"But you're saying that you need someone who can like... deal with everything you're dealing with right now."

"Yeah."

"But... what if I can't? What if I'm not that person?"

"Then..." Then he goes back to Liz, and I take my kids back to Tulsa, and we pretend tonight never happened. "You're not. And that's fine."

"So we just... forget it?"

I shrug weakly, unable to think of anything to say that will wipe the forlorn look off of his face. "We don't have to, if you don't want to. I mean... I pretty much want you so badly that if this is all you want from me, I'm okay with that. But with things the way they are right now, it's not like I could be flying out here every couple of weeks or even every month. And whenever I could get away, it'd only be for a couple of days at the most. It'd basically be like it was before, we'd hardly get to see each other. And... I don't think you want that, either."

"It feels like you're putting this all on me." He objects, rolling onto his back with a heavy-hearted sigh.

"I don't _want_ to, but... you _are_ the only one who can make this decision. There _is_ no decision for me, Tommy. I'm here, whether you want to be with me all the time or just every once in a while, whether you want a relationship or just... this." I explain gently, my fingers soothingly stroking his tattooed forearm. "Or nothing at all."

As he gazes up at the ceiling, I can almost imagine him writing a pro and con list on it, hastily scrawling his options into each column. And when he eventually squeezes his eyes shut, it's like watching him scrunch that list into a ball and throw it in the trash. Because it's worthless and it won't help. He can't make this decision with his head, he has to make it with his heart. I just don't think he knows what the hell his heart is telling him it wants right now.

"I fucking _hate_ this."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault, it's just..."

"It is what it is?" I offer with a melancholy smile.

"Yeah."

I know he told me not to be sorry, but it's hard not to hate myself for making him feel this way. And really, as much as I want to stay here with him for as long as I possibly can, I not sure it's what he needs right now. Tonight has been _a lot_ for us both, it's been a torrential downpour of emotions, both amazing and awful. Maybe the best thing I can do for him is get out of this bed and leave before I say or do anything else to make this decision any more complicated for him.

"I think I should just... give you some space."

He doesn't agree, but he doesn't tell me not to go, either. And when I get off of the bed and pick my clothes up off of the floor, he lies wordlessly behind me. But just as I've finished buttoning up my pants, he says my name. Just my name. And everything else he wants to say is so clearly written all over his face when I turn around that my name is all he needs to say. I drop the rest of my clothes back to the ground and rejoin him on the bed, my lips seeking his without a word from either of us. In fact neither of us speaks again for the rest of the night, not as we make love, and not as he falls asleep beside me.

There isn't anything we can say.

I don't want to sneak out of his apartment without him knowing, but I don't want to wake him up either. I'm more than a little afraid that this is it for us. He might want me, but he doesn't want everything that comes with me. And I can't do anything about any of it. I can't change who I am, how many children I have, how messed up everything is... I can't make it any easier for either of us. And I don't expect him to settle for less of a relationship. I don't _want_ him to. He deserves to have someone in his life who he loves and who loves him, who can be there for him every day. Someone who doesn't come with an entire family's worth of baggage that he has to make room for in his life.

I leave him a note on his nightstand telling him that he can call me if he wants to but that I totally understand if he chooses not to. And then I stand and stare at it for a good thirty seconds or so while I try to figure out if I should stop there or add an "I love you". In the end, I decide that taking it to that place isn't fair to him, it just makes it more difficult, so I leave the note without writing anything more.

When I get back to my hotel room, I find Zac passed out on my bed with Asta sound asleep beside him. The rest of my kids are tucked in and sleeping in the adjoining room, and after pulling the door to I walk over to the bed and carefully lift Asta into my arms. She stirs a little, threatening to cry for a second before I hold her against me and softly shush her until I can set her down safely in her travel crib. I'm in the process of toeing off my shoes when I hear Zac yawning, and he smiles drowsily at me as I climb onto the bed and collapse next to him.

"Hey."

"Hey, sorry I'm so late." I whisper back to him apologetically. "I didn't mean to make you stay all night."

"S'okay. We had fun."

"Yeah?"

He nods, closing his eyes again and rolling onto his side. "We played hide and seek, and watched some movies, and finished off the rest of the cake."

"Did you have any trouble getting Penny or Viggo down?"

"Nuh-uh." He yawns again, which automatically causes me to do the same. "Even Ez wasn't too bad. He put up a bit of a fight, but I promised him he could have my plane snacks tomorrow and he gave in."

I chuckle softly, picturing their minor stand-off. If only all my arguments with Ezra could be solved with mini pretzels, life would be _so_ much simpler. "I'm glad he didn't give you hell."

"How about you?" Zac asks, cracking open one inquisitive eye. "How was your night?"

"It was..." Is there even a word for it? Not bad, not good... wonderful and terrible all at the same time. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"Things are just... complicated."

He nods understandingly, a sympathetic half-smile tugging at his full lips. "Yeah."

"I don't think it's gonna work." I admit miserably, my voice wavering faintly as the force of that bitter truth finally hits me. "It's too much for him, he doesn't want to take on all of my problems."

"Did he _say_ that?"

I'm about to tell him that, no, that isn't what Tommy said... but then I remember something he said to me a year ago. I remember the list of reasons he gave for not wanting to be with me. And even though I know he was lying about a lot of it because he wanted to push me away, I can't help wondering if some of it was true. I wouldn't be shocked if it turned out that he was being completely honest when he told me that he didn't want to play step-dad to my kids. And that was back when there was only four of them and he would have barely had to see them. Now there are five and they would be around _all_ the time.

"I just don't think it's how he pictured his life." I try to explain, but Zac simply shrugs dismissively, as though it doesn't matter.

"Life doesn't always work out the way you wanted it to or thought it would. You just have to suck it up and deal."

"But he _doesn't_. He still has a choice, and he doesn't have to do deal with any of this if he doesn't want to."

"He does if he wants to be with you."

"Maybe he doesn't." I mumble glumly, struggling to swallow the rising lump in my throat. "Not enough, at least."

His brow creases in concern, and I can see that he's trying to figure out what to say to make me feel better. He's debating between trash-talking Tommy and calling him a jerk, or reassuring me that everything will work out. But in the end I think he realizes that neither of those things will help right now. Nothing he says will change the situation Tommy and I are in. And so he silently reaches out across the mattress and supportively squeezes my hand.

I know I'll be okay, one way or another. I was before, even if it was only barely. I was surviving, and I'll continue doing so. Would I like to spend the rest of my life with Tommy? More than anything. But am I going to lay down and die if it doesn't happen? No.

I can't; that's _not_ an option for me.

And as I look at Zac's hand clasping mine, I feel incredibly selfish. I have so much to be thankful for, so many people who love me and are here for me. But somehow, having dozens of family and friends around me doesn't make up for not having that _one_ person.

I know I'm not alone, but I am still undeniably lonely.

It's not long before Zac falls asleep again, and eventually I follow suit. But Asta is up with the sun, and soon after that her siblings start to stumble sleepily into my room, draping themselves all over me and my bed (and Zac) as they bicker over which cartoons to watch on TV. While they're distracted with _Phineas and Ferb_ , I get to work packing up all of the clothes and toys that are scattered across our hotel rooms. I've never enjoyed leaving Los Angeles, it's always more difficult than leaving anywhere else, no matter how exotic or beautiful other places in the world may be. But this time it's even harder. Between how happy my kids have been this week, and everything that happened with Tommy last night, going back to my "real" life feels like going back to something less.

We meet the rest of our family down in the lobby just after ten, and wait for the valets to bring all three of our minivans around to the front of the hotel so that we can load up out countless suitcases. Just as I've finished strapping Asta into her car seat and helping River to fasten his seat belt, I hear a familiar voice calling my name. I'm more than a little surprised when I glance over in the direction the noise came from and see a anxious and un-made up Tommy running across the parking lot towards me.

"What're you doing here?" I ask, the excited shouts of my children coming from our van fading into the background along with everyone and everything else as I focus my full attention on him.

"I wanted to talk to you before you left." He explains breathlessly, looking like he might just be about to pass out from exhaustion. " _Fuck_. There's _no_ fucking parking around here, you know that?"

"Did you lose your phone or something?"

"No, I..." He shakes his head, casting a brief, self-conscious look in the direction of my family (who are, of course, blatantly staring at us). "Can we talk... somewhere else?"

"Um... sure."

After roping my mom into keeping an eye on the kids for a few minutes, I lead Tommy into the hotel lobby and over to one of the more private looking spots by the elevators. He seems even more nervous now than he did outside, he won't even look me in the eyes, and I have no clue whether I should be happy to see him here or not.

"What's going on?" I ask hesitantly. "What's so important that you had to come all the way down here instead of calling me?"

"I just... I felt like shit for last night-"                              

"You shouldn't, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, you say that, but I still feel like I fucked up." He sighs, pushing some unruly, violet hair out of his eyes so that he can finally look into mine. "I'm sorry I don't know what I want."

"It's okay, I honestly understand. It's not like it's the world's easiest choice to make."

"No, it's not. And I just wanted you to know that... I haven't made it yet. It's not a no." I seriously think my heart just stopped. "I mean, it's not a yes, either... I don't know what it is. I just... I need some time, okay?"

"That's _totally_ fair."

"I don't know how long-"

"It doesn't matter." I promise him earnestly. "I meant it when I said I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, so... take however long you need to."

He breathes an obvious sigh of relief, it's as though I can actually _see_ the tension fade from his body, and I kind of want to tell him he's a total idiot if he came here expecting that I'd say anything else. I know there's still a good chance that he'll choose a life without me and my mess in it, but just the fact that he's willing to consider the alternative is more than I could have asked for. It's definitely more than I thought I had before he showed up here a few minutes ago.

"I guess I should let you go." He acknowledges grudgingly, looking over at the entrance we only just walked through.

"Probably..."

For a long moment, we just stand in the lobby and stare at each other, neither of us having any clue how to finish this. I'm pretty sure he wants to kiss me just as badly as I want to kiss him, but given the fact that we're in public, we're not a couple, he's not even single, and I'm still basically in the closet, that's probably not the smartest idea. Especially not in the Magic Kingdom, of all places. I guess I could simply say "goodbye" and walk away, but that doesn't seem right either.

In the end he settles for a compromise, stepping forwards and wrapping his arms around me, and I waste no time in returning the gesture. I feel him bury his face in the shoulder of my jacket, and I hold him a little closer as I breathe him in. I don't want to let him go, but I know my family is waiting, and I'm sure that if we don't separate soon we'll start attracting plenty of interest from the people milling around in the lobby.

"I'll call you." I tell him as I reluctantly start to pull back.

"You'd better."

With that slightly sassy smirk of his committed to memory, I force myself to turn and walk away from him. But I can't help glancing over my shoulder again before I leave the lobby, just to catch one last glimpse of him before he's gone again for who knows how long.

"Everything okay?" Zac asks me quietly as I rejoin my family by the minivans and help him lift a particularly heavy suitcase into the back of the one he and Isaac are sharing.

A small smile plays on my lips as I think about how tightly Tommy just hugged me, the way he smelled, the fact that he drove forty miles just to tell me that it's not over, that he's not done deciding. There's still a chance...

"I'll let you know."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY CHAPTER (part 1)! Taylor is on tour, so Tommy's taking over for a couple of chapters. Hope you don't mind. ;)

  


 

 

_ Burbank, California - September 15th, 2012 _

__

There was a time in my life where being conscious at seven am on a Saturday only happened if I hadn't ever been _un_ conscious the night before. Actually, that time was as recently as a week ago. But since Taylor is currently touring Australia, and we have a seventeen hour time difference to contend with, the most convenient time for us to talk is in the middle of the night for him, which is the ass crack of dawn for me.

Okay, so maybe seven am isn't the ass crack of dawn for most people, but it's still _way_ too fucking early to be awake.

I stopped drinking coffee a while ago because I didn't like the way it made me feel. But in order to keep myself from falling asleep while I wait for him to call, I _need_ caffeine. I don't care if I'm a wreck for the rest of the day, I'll deal with it. Or maybe I'll just lie here on the couch and watch TV. You can't be jittery if you don't fucking move, right?

I'm starting to think this coffee is like... _way_ past its expiration date or something, though. Does coffee stop working if it's old? I don't feel any more awake now than I did before I drank it.

What a rip off.

Just as my eyes begin to drift shut, my phone starts buzzing loudly on the coffee table, startling me out of near-sleep. I reach out to grab it, but after blindly groping around for several seconds I wind up knocking the damn thing onto the floor.

"Fuck it."

Now I have to roll over and look for it, and I have to do it quickly before he hangs up. I'm not awake enough to be moving, especially not this fast. It's too much pressure! I wish I could just like... hold my hand out and have my phone magically fly into it. Although that sounds like some kind of comic book bull shit...

 _Where_ is my fucking phone?!

I eventually find it just underneath the edge of the couch, and once I've managed to pry it out (which almost results on me falling off of the couch myself), I accept the call and raise it to my ear (nearly dropping it on my own face in the process).

"Hi."

"Hey, did I wake you?"

I honestly don't think I _am_ awake right now. "Not exactly."

"Do you want me to call back later? I have a feeling I'll still be up."

"No, I'm good." I insist through a yawn.

"Sorry I'm a little late. I was talking to my kids, and Viggo didn't wanna say goodbye." He explains apologetically, and I can't tell if he sounds so tired because of the aforementioned phone call or because it's well after midnight for him and he just finished a show.

"It's okay." I know that talking to his kids takes a lot out of him, but I also know that he'd never willingly go a day without calling them or skyping with them. "Are they doing any better?"

"Not really. Ez wouldn't even come to the phone."

"Again?"

"We've been here almost a week and I've only spoken to him twice." He sighs miserably. "I don't think I've ever gone that long without speaking to him since he was old enough to talk! I've always called them _every_ day while I'm on tour, even if it's just for five minutes to say goodnight or whatever."

I wish I knew what to say to make him feel better, but I don't. The situation with his kids completely sucks. Being on the other side of the world from them for this long is breaking his heart, and he's still only halfway through his trip. I'm honestly not sure how many more tearful pleas from Penny for him to come home he's going to be able to take before canceling the rest of the tour and catching the first flight back to the States!

"You're halfway done already." I remind him, trying to turn a negative into a positive. "One more week and you'll be heading home again."

"I just wish it wasn't this hard, you know? I used to love touring _so_ much, but now... I don't know. It never felt like a job before, it always felt like this incredible blessing. I feel like an asshole for wanting it to be over already. The fans here are awesome, and they've been waiting for _years_ for us to come back, and Ike and Zac are having a blast..."

"Yeah, but you've got a lot more shit to deal with than Ike and Zac do. Their kids still have their mom's at home with them while they're gone."

"I know." He concedes, taking a long, cleansing breath. "Anyway, enough about me. I don't wanna always be bumming you out."

"I'm so sure I could make that dirty under normal circumstances, but I'm just not awake enough." I hear him laugh softly on the other end of the line, and it automatically brings a smile to my face.

"What's on the agenda for you this weekend?"

"Well... today I have _big_ plans to do absolutely fuck all."

"Nice."

"I'm very excited." He chuckles again and it's like I can feel my whole body sink a little deeper into the couch cushions. "And then tomorrow I have this like... brunch thing."

"Brunch thing?"

"Yeah, it's at my mom's. It's just gonna be us and my sister."

And Liz.

I don't see how telling _him_ that is going to do either of us any good, though. I know I'm a total douche bag for keeping things from him and for not breaking up with her. But I don't know what else to do! Telling him that I'm still seeing her is like telling him I've made my choice and I've chosen not to be with him. Which isn't true! But... I haven't chosen tobe with him, either. So, like the asshole I am, I haven't told Liz that I cheated on her, or that I'm in love with someone else and have been since long before she and I got together. Because what if I decide that I can't handle being with him? Liz and I get along great, she's awesome, and this is the longest relationship I've _ever_ had. I don't wanna just throw that away...

But I _hate_ lying to her. To both of them.

To everyone.

I'm not sure what I feel more shitty about at this point: all of the lying, or the fact that I still haven't made up my mind what I want.

I know it's only been ten days since I was presented with this choice, but it feels like a whole hell of a lot longer. When something is tearing you in fucking two, every second of every day feels ten times longer than it actually is. I try not to think about it, but then I just feel guilty for not thinking about it, because every second I spend not thinking about it is another second that he has to go without an answer. Another second that I'm basically being unfaithful to a woman who has done nothing but love me and try to start some kind of a life with me. But I won't _let_ her because I don't know if it's what I want.

I don't _know_ what I want and it's driving me fucking crazy!

This needs to be over, for the sake of everyone involved. And since all I do when I try to deal with it by myself is think in circles until I can't handle it anymore, maybe it's time to call for backup. When it comes to me and Taylor, there are only two people in my life who know _basically_ everything we've been through. They're like my own conscience, my own thoughts and feelings split into two other people. One is the angel on my shoulder and the other is the devil.

Because one of them is my best friend, and the other one is his.

After my phone call with Taylor ends, I call Isaac. And with a little begging (and okay, maybe some bribery), I convince him to accompany me down to Lobster Fest in San Pedro. It's not exactly our normal scene, but it's where Alex is playing a show tonight, so...

It's actually not so bad. I mean, I could live without all of the wannabe pirates wandering around; it's kinda like a Halloween party full of _really_ unoriginal people. But there's beer, seafood, and some decent bands playing, so it could be worse. We hang out until a little after nine, and then Alex finally texts me that he's free for the night. Once we manage to find him in amongst all of the festival-goers, the three of us head off in search of a bar. Alex and Isaac have only met a couple of times at shows, and they've never really spoken in depth. Maybe that explains the weird tension in the air as we walk through the dark streets around the harbor.

Or maybe it's because I'm refusing to tell either of them what it is I need to talk to them about until we've all got a drink in our hands.

"Okay," Isaac begins impatiently the very second we've found a table to occupy at the bar we've chosen. "Speak now, or I'm going back to Los Angeles _without_ you."

I guess there's nothing left to do but spill my guts to them. I was really hoping to be drunker than this when it happened, though. Raising my beer to my lips, I drink (and drink and drink) until I feel as though I can practically _hear_ the two of them roll their eyes. And then I take a breath and start talking.

"I have this... problem, and I need you guys to help me figure it out."

"What kind of problem?" Frowns Alex as I try to ignore Isaac's excessively concerned stare. "Are you pregnant? Mazel tov!"

"No, I'm not fucking pregnant."

"What's going on?" Isaac asks worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah... well... no." I laugh quietly, sadly.

I really don't know how the hell to say this, or _what_ to even say. I don't know how much Taylor has told Alex, but I know I haven't told Isaac _anything_ , which makes me the worst friend in the world. How do I start? _Where_ do I start?

"I slept with Taylor."

I guess that's as good a place as any.

As I glance from Alex's grin to Isaac's wide, dismayed eyes, I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to feel. My angel is outraged and my devil is thrilled. And I'm... torn. Still.

"What the fuck?" Isaac eventually exclaims, looking at me like I've just admitted to shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die. " _When_?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'm pretty sure Liz would think so!" Ouch. I know I had it coming, but I still can't quite believe he took that shot. "What the hell were you thinking, Tommy?"

"Probably that the guy he loves is single, _finally_ , and-"

"Yeah, but _he_ isn't!" Protests Isaac, looking from Alex to me for confirmation. "Unless there's something else you forgot to mention?"

"No." I mumble ashamedly, wishing I could dive head first into my beer and drown. "I'm still with Liz."

"Does she know you cheated?" Alex questions curiously, though not at all judgmentally.

"She has no fucking clue. And not just about this; she has no idea that me and Taylor were ever anything but friends."

"So is this what you need help with?" Isaac asks, his tone a little less harsh than it was before. "You wanna know if we think you should tell her?"

"Not exactly. I mean... kind of, but... the real problem isn't whether I should tell her, it's whether I should even _be_ with her."

"If you want someone else more, then you already have your answer." Insists Alex simply, giving a one shouldered shrug while he sips his drink, as though it really is that black and white. "You obviously still have it bad for Tay. You're just as hard up for each other as you ever were-"

"It's not all about _wanting_ someone, though." Isaac argues, ever the level-headed voice of reason in my life. "Sex is awesome but you can't base an entire relationship on it, it'll never last. You and Liz have been together for over a year, you were doing just fine until you ran into Taylor again."

Alex shakes his head, swallowing his mouthful of beer as quickly as he can so that he can tear into Isaac's logic. "Who wants to be 'just fine' though, when you can be fucking _amazing_?!"

This is why I asked them here. I know it's wrong, but I can literally just sit back and let them argue this out for me. And hopefully, in the end, one of them will either sway the other, or someone will make a point that's so indisputable that there's no possible way to oppose it. Either way I'll have an answer, all I have to do is wait. And drink.

Although, for the sake of fairness, I should probably give them _all_ the facts first...

"He wants us to be together." I blurt out, silencing the debate over passion versus companionship that they were engrossed in.

"Well, duh. That's all he ever wanted!"

"Yeah, but it's different now, Alex."

He shakes his head in confusion, apparently not seeing the problem. "Why? Because it can actually happen?"

"No, because he has five kids."

"So? He had four kids before! What difference does one more make?" Isaac rolls his eyes, picking up his own drink and taking a very long sip as I inhale a deep breath and try to keep my composure. But before I can answer his question, Alex plows on. "I swear to God, if you're gonna use his kids as some bullshit reason to dump him again, I am gonna punch you right in that pretty face of yours! He's been through too fucking much already, you can't do this to him _again_ , it's-"

"That's not it!" I snap irritably, second guessing whether this little meeting of the minds was such a good idea after all. I'm getting yelled at, threatened, and reprimanded, and I haven't even finished my first beer. This plan _sucks_. "It's not a bullshit excuse, alright? It's _a lot_ -"

"Yeah, and he deals with it _every_ fucking day."

"Because he's their father." Isaac reminds Alex. "It was his choice to have that many kids! They're _not_ Tommy's, they're not his responsibility, and he shouldn't have to take that on if he doesn't want to!"

"So you want him but not his kids?" Alex questions a little more calmly, obviously trying to understand where I'm coming from.

"I'm not saying that. His kids are great, but... I don't know."

"It's okay." Isaac tells me supportively, understandingly. "You don't have to defend it. No one can blame you for balking at the idea of basically adopting five kids in one go! It's _insane_!"

"What's insane is running away from the person you love just because they come with a past-"

"It's _not_ a past, it's his present!" Counters Isaac incredulously. "The guy has more baggage than LAX!"

"Who the fuck cares?" Alex throws his hands up huffily. "Not to sound like a fucking Hallmark card or anything, but love is supposed to be unconditional, otherwise it's not love. Saying 'I love him but he has too many kids' is putting a condition on how you feel about him, which is total crap."

"That's really easy for you to say!" I retort defensively. "No one's asking you to take on someone else's family!"

"No, they're not. But you know what? If he asked for my help, I'd give it to him in a second. I might not be fucking him, but I _do_ love him-"

"Well, good for you! It must be nice to be so fucking _perfect_!"

I finish the rest of my beer in one long mouthful before getting out of my chair and returning to the bar to order another. I hate that he's right. When you love someone it _is_ supposed to be unconditional, you're supposed to accept them, _all_ of them. And I _know_ I love Taylor, so I don't understand why this is even a question for me. Why can't I just get over myself and be who he needs me to be?

Why can't I just grow the fuck up?

I return to our table a little less angry with Alex than I was before, but no less frustrated with myself and the entire situation. I was half expecting Isaac and Alex to be sitting in stony silence, but I find them calmly discussing just how unreasonable it is for Taylor to so much as suggest that I play any part in helping him raise his kids.

"I just think that the choice here isn't even about the kids." Alex insists earnestly, glancing up at me as I take my seat once again. "It's about whether or not you want to spend the rest of your life with someone you care about, or someone you're _crazy_ about. Do you want to settle for feeling less just because it's less complicated, or do you wanna work you ass off to have something that's worth the extra effort?"

He makes it sound so simple, but it still doesn't _feel_ that simple. I can answer his questions easily, but it's just _not_ as easy as he wants me to think it is. "I get what you're saying, I just don't think you understand how it feels."

"It's scary."

"Yes."

"Terrifying." He continues stoically, effortlessly.

"Yes."

"Has anything you've ever done in your life that actually mattered _not_ scared the shit out of you? Was it easy to get up on stage and perform in front of other people for the first time? Was it easy to step in front of the TV cameras at that first awards show, knowing that _millions_ of people were watching you?"

"No, but it's not the same thing, Alex."                         

"It is! It's about taking a chance on what you _really_ want, no matter how terrifying or challenging it is!"

"Oh, what would _you_ know?" I argue back childishly. I'm aware that I'm about to say something petty and possibly even spiteful. It's kinda like puking; I can feel it coming. But I can't seem to stop myself before the words leave my mouth. "You don't know how to commit to anything but music! As soon as a relationship starts to get too serious, or they start to expect something more, you bail!"

"Bullshit!"

"And you can spout off all this crap about not settling for something less, and being with the person you're crazy about, but how the fuck do you expect me to take anything you say seriously when you don't even live by your own advice?!"

His mouth falls open in offense, and he unexpectedly stands from the table. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I thought I was pretty clear."

"Not clear enough, because I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

"I'm talking about you and Z. I've seen you together, you dance around each other like you're engaged in some kind of retarded mating ritual, it's fucking pathetic! But you never actually _do_ anything about it, because you're scared of what'll happen if you screw it up! You're so fucking afraid, you won't even _try_!"

"You're cracked! Z and I have been there, done that, it doesn't work for us. And in case you forgot, I'm seeing someone-"

"So? I'm seeing someone, too. That doesn't mean I'm not still completely fucked up over Taylor!"

"Whatever." He rolls his eyes, finishing his beer and slamming the glass back down onto the table. "You wanted my advice, you've got it."

As he turns and walks out of the bar, I consider calling him back and apologizing. But even though I do regret what I've said (regardless of how completely true it was), I think we could both use a little time to cool off. Maybe asking him for advice about Taylor wasn't such a good idea. We might be friends, but I've always known where his loyalties truly lie. If he ever had to choose, he'd choose Taylor. And It was stupid to think that he'd be able to sit here and listen to me deliberate whether or not to break his heart _again_ without totally going off on me.

"Well, that was fun." Isaac remarks sarcastically. "We should do this more often."

With a low groan, I sink down in my chair. "I suck."

"You were both a little... upset. He'll get over it; it's not like he didn't say some shitty things to you, too."

"I shouldn't have done this. I should've kept you both out of it and just figured it out for myself."

"Why didn't you?" He asks gently, leaning on the table between us and fixing me with one of those looks he tends to give me sometimes. Like he's trying to make some kind of psychic connection with me, hear my thoughts. "Does my opinion really matter _that_ much to you?"

I guess I could try to explain my reasoning to him, although I doubt he'd appreciate knowing that I sometimes picture a two inch tall version of him fluttering over my shoulder in a toga and birkenstocks... I've already offended one friend tonight, I don't want another one to walk out on me.

Especially since he's my ride home.

"I was just sick of thinking about it, you know? I can never make up my mind, and I go over and over the same arguments in my head again and again. I just thought that if I could like... get you two to argue it instead, then maybe-"

"We'd miraculously have all the answers and the decision would be made for you?" He smirks.

"Something like that."

We sip our drinks as we sit quietly together, semi-paying attention to the other patrons milling around the bar as we contemplate my limitless stupidity. I wish I could say that all of this has brought me at least one small step closer to a conclusion, but I'm just as clueless as I was before. It seems as though this should be a no-brainer, and Alex definitely saw it that way. But despite how I feel about Taylor, and despite how amazing his kids are... _something_ is still holding me back.

"Honestly..." Isaac begins, eyeing me uncertainly as he proceeds with notable caution. "I think it kinda sucks that he wants you to make this choice."

"Who? Alex?"

"No, Taylor. I know he lost his wife and everything, and that's terrible, but he can't expect you to step in and help him raise their kids just because he can't handle it alone."

I shake my head sadly, propping my chin on my hand. "That's not how it is."

"Sounds like it to me."

"That's just 'cause I did a shit job of explaining it."

He smiles faintly, gesturing for me to keep going. "I'm still listening if you want a do-over."

"We were just... talking about him moving here, and he said he doesn't have enough support out here to be able to do it. He told me he needs a partner. But he doesn't expect me to want to deal with everything, so if I don't want to, that's fine. He even said we could just like... get together whenever he can find a couple of days to come out here if that's all I want."

"But that's _not_ all you want." He replies knowingly. "That's how it was before, and you were _so_ fucking lonely _all_ the time."

"I know."

"So your options are to have him as a booty call, basically, and be alone the majority of the time, or have him all the time but only if you take his kids, too? Or..."

"Or not have him at all."

After considering this for a moment, he literally wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Those are some shitty choices, dude."

"But maybe Alex was right. If I love him, it shouldn't even _be_ a choice."

"So you're saying you _don't_ love him?" Isaac frowns, completely lost again.

"No, I do. God knows how or why, but I do."

"That was the most romantic thing I've _ever_ heard."

"Fuck you. I wasn't trying to be romantic, I was trying to be honest." I snark back, kicking him under the table as he snickers to himself. "But if you think about it, it _is_ fucking romantic. Because he's like... everything I've _never_ wanted. I can't _stand_ hipsters, I think they should all be shot, but if you looked up the term 'hipster', his picture would be _right_ there on the page! He wears cardigans, for fuck's sake! I mean, who under the age of sixty wears _cardigans_?! And his body is made up of like eighty percent caffeine, and apparently he smokes now, and he cares too much what other people think, and he lives in Okla-fucking-homophobia, and his fans are annoying as hell, and he makes _happy_ music, it's like... all peppy and shit, I can't stand half of it. _And_ he has a dick! But... I love him. I don't know _how_ , but I am so seriously fucking in love with him that it makes me _sick_."

"You're right, that is kinda romantic. For you, anyway."

"Thanks."

"But just 'cause you want him, that doesn't mean you have to want his kids."

"But I _do_."

That answer surprises us both, especially me. It just... came out, like an impulse I had no control over. And I don't even want to take it back. It wasn't a mistake, it was the truth. The terrifying, daunting, overwhelming truth.

"So if you love him, and you _do_ want to help him raise his kids... what's the problem?" Presses Isaac sympathetically, his eyes studying my face, scrutinizing every crease in my brow, every blink, every bite of my lip. Until finally he sees what he's looking for. "I should've fucking known."

"What?"

"This was never about whether or not you wanted to deal with his kids, was it? It was about whether or not you _could_."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't think you can handle it. You've convinced yourself that you _can't_. You talk about being yourself and not caring what anyone thinks, but deep down you're so fucking afraid that you're not good enough, that you won't measure up somehow. Hell, isn't that why you lost Taylor last time? Because you didn't believe you were worth it, and you thought he'd regret giving up everything for you, so you ran him off without even giving him _or_ yourself a chance!"

I want to tell him he's wrong, but he's not. That's pretty much exactly why I left him, so that he wouldn't have to lose his kids to be with me. And now that's not an issue anymore, there's no one to take his children from him, but I'm still afraid. I'm afraid that I'm not going to know how to help these kids. I'm afraid that I'm going to make things worse for them somehow, that I'll fuck them up even more because I don't have the first fucking clue how to raise _one_ child, let alone _five_!

"You need to have a little more faith in yourself."

"It's not just me, though. I don't think _he_ even believes I can handle it."

"Did he say that?" He asks, all but ready to get on a plane to wherever Taylor is and kick his ass.

"No, but... it's just a feeling I get when we talk about it. Like he's trying to talk me _out_ of it." I explain dejectedly. "And who could fucking blame him; it's not like I'm a shining example of maturity and responsibility, you know? I'm almost thirty-one, I still live in an apartment with a roommate, I've never lived with anyone I've been in a relationship with, and I don't know the first thing about raising kids."

"That's not true, I've seen you with kids before. You're a natural, they love you."

"Yeah, because I _am_ one."

He lets out a snort of amusement as he gives my arm a gentle shove. "That's not true, and you know it."

"No, I don't. That's the problem."

"Well... if that's really how you feel, maybe this is your chance to change things."

"How?"

"Step up." He shrugs, like it's that easy. "Be the responsible adult you think you should be."

"What if I can't? What if I fuck everything up?"

"I don't know. But... isn't trying and failing still better than not trying at all?"

That's an excellent question, Isaac.

I can't tell if I've just made a breakthrough in this decision making progress, or if it got even more complex and tortuous than it already was. I've come to the realization that it's not about whether or not I want to take on everything Taylor and his kids are going through, it's about feeling as though I'm completely unequipped to do so. But does that mean I just give up? Is Isaac right, is it worth the risk?

Or if I try and fail, will it only hurt him  _and_ them even more?

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another TOMMY CHAPTER! :) 
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TOMMY! <3

  


 

 

I wake up alone in my bed the next morning with no recollection of how I got here.  The last thing I remember about last night is doing shots while I waited for Isaac to sober up enough to drive us back to Burbank. I _sort of_ remember babbling to him about how much I love Taylor... It's one of those memories that's so hazy that you're not even sure if it actually happened. If it did, I think I may have said some very embarrassing things, but luckily I can't recall a single one of them.

I can't tell if I feel sick from drinking too much or because I'm so fucking pathetic.

Closing my eyes tightly in an attempt to stop my bedroom ceiling from spinning, I take slow, deep breaths and will the nausea to leave me the hell alone. My pounding headache becomes significantly worse when I hear my bedroom door open, and a very familiar female voice greets me with a cheerful "good morning". I feel the bed dip a little as Liz climbs onto it beside me, and when I hear her giggling I force myself to open my eyes again.

"What did you and Isaac get up to last night?" She inquires teasingly, quirking an eyebrow as she peers down at me.

"Um... alcohol." I mumble groggily. "Lots of it."

She reaches down, and my body tenses as her hand draws nearer and nearer to my groin. She can't be serious? I'm about to throw up, and she's trying to _get_ me up?! Thankfully she pulls her hand back again a second later, holding up a neon pink post-it note and reading it aloud.

" _Thanks for the BIG fun, daddy_." I'd smile, but as soon as I attempt it my face hurts. "What _big_ fun might that be, exactly?"

"I honestly don't remember."

"Do you remember at what point it was that your pants came off?"

My eyes instinctively fly open again, and I frown as I push myself up onto weak elbows and gaze down at my underwear in confusion. "Nope."

"You two need a chaperone or something." She snorts, curling up against me on the bed and wrapping an arm around my waist. "Every time you go out together I expect a phone call from the Los Angeles police department to come and bail you out."

"We're not _that_ bad." Most of the time. "We save the really crazy shit for the privacy of our own homes."

"That makes me feel a lot better."

I instinctively drape an arm around her, and the second I realize what I've just done I feel like an asshole. But it's not like I can pull away again; she'll know something's wrong. So I just have to lay here and snuggle with the girl I'm cheating on and seriously considering breaking up with. I have to let her nuzzle her nose into the crook of my neck and sigh in that perfectly contented way she does whenever she hugs me.

I'm the biggest douche bag on the planet.

"You're dying right now, aren't you?" She asks quietly, considerately, trying not to make my headache even worse.

I _am_ dying right now, but not for the reasons she thinks. "Only a little."

"Do you want me to make you some coffee or something?"

Ugh.

Coffee.

I hate coffee.

But for some reason it's always good for curing whatever I'm suffering from, be it lack of sleep or alcohol poisoning. And it reminds me of him. Sometimes he actually kinda smells like a damn Starbucks. I can taste coffee on his tongue when we kiss. It should be gross, but it's not. I don't entirely dislike it...

"Do we have any OJ?" I ask pitifully. "OJ works better."

"I'll go check." She pecks the side of my neck lightly, the tip of her nose grazing my jaw as she pulls back. "And P to the S, my face would really appreciate it if you'd lose the hedgehog that's strapped to your chin."

"Noted."

All I really want to do today is stay in bed. I'd give anything right now to just pull the comforter over my head and go back to sleep until the sun sets. But I told my mom I'd be at this brunch thing, and Liz came all the way up here for it. Plus, she loves my family and they love her.

They're gonna hate me when they find out what I've done...

Once I've chugged a few glasses of orange juice, showered (and shaved), and found some clothes that don't need to be washed before being worn in public, Liz drives us over to my mom's house. I feel like a jackass, because she's talking the _entire_ time but I couldn't tell you what about. I'm not intentionally tuning her out, I honestly was listening at first... but then my mind started to wander, and I could hear myself saying "uh huh" and "yeah" and laughing softly whenever she did. But I don't know what either of us are laughing about. What I do know is that flashes of last night are slowly starting to come back to me. Just fragments, shreds of conversations, piecing themselves together like a puzzle.

_"D'you believe in fate?"_

_"You're a very philosophical drunk, you know that?" Isaac chuckled as he all but carried me back to his car._

_"M'serious." I slurred demandingly. "You think everything happens for a reason?"_

_With a deep sigh, he shook his head. A movement that was very difficult for my eyes to follow without me feeling incredibly dizzy. "I don't know, man. Does it matter?"_

_"Ya gotta believe in fate!" I insisted emphatically as I almost fell off of the curb. Luckily, his arm was locked securely around my waist and those guns of his kept me from landing on my ass. "Look at the facts, dude."_

_"What facts, dude?" He snickered mockingly._

_"Like... Adam and Sauli, for fucks sake! They're not even from like... the same country. So what if Adam never got famous and went to where Sauli was? How'd they meet without fate?"_

_"Internet, vacation... mail-order husbands-"_

_"But thas all fate, too! 'Cause like... if they would have still met even in another way, it woulda been fate saying 'hey, you two, you belong together!', ya know?"_

_Isaac shook his head again, and that time I had the good sense to look away. "You're so fucking wasted."_

_"But I'm right, right?"_

_"I don't know." He sighed heavily, using his body to pin me against the side of his car as he fished in his pocket for the keys. "Maybe. Maybe there is some grand plan, and no matter how much we try to change it, fate just finds ways to get us right back on track. Maybe Adam did get famous just so he and Sauli would have the chance to meet. And maybe you wound up in Adam's band so you'd meet Taylor, and you both happened to be playing at the same show this year so you'd see him again. Hell, maybe his wife even died just so you could live happily ever after."_

_"That's morbid!"_

_"I don't know if fate exists, but whether it does or it doesn't, I just... I want you to be careful, okay?"_

_I frowned, his concerned face going in and out of focus with every breath I took. "Careful?"_

_"I don't want to see you go through the same shit you went through when it all fell apart last time. I hated seeing you like that."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Nevermind. I think you're a little too far gone for this-"_

_"No m'not! I wanna know."_

_He shrugged almost helplessly, searching for the words. "You were just really... lost, I guess."_

_"I won't get lost." I assured him sincerely as he slipped his car key into the lock. "I promise."_

_"Of course you won't."_

_"I won't. Know why?"_

_"This should be good."_

_"'Cause he's my soulmate, Isaac."_

_"Oh boy." He groaned, opening the door for me before I practically fell into the passenger seat. "Maybe that last shot wasn't such a good idea."_

_"It was the best idea **ever**!"_

_"Whatever you say, beb."_

_I could hear the condescension in his tone, but I let it slide as I settled myself into the seat and closed my eyes. A small, smug smile played on my lips, and I thought to myself 'he'll see'. Because I saw. Being drunk off my ass didn't make me less able to see the truth, it made me more open to it._

_I might not admit to it when I was sober, but the puke-inducing truth was that I did believe in fate. And I believed that some people shared an inexplicable connection, one that went against all reason and logic (and, in our case, better judgment). It wasn't inhibited by gender, or race, or age, and it wasn't restricted by distance, or religion, or any other meaningless bullshit. It just... was. For better or worse. I felt it the first time I laid eyes on Taylor, it was like some part of me already knew him. It wasn't just some vague sense of recognition, I wasn't just remembering his face from the over-exposure it received during my teen years. I felt as though I'd already met him before, known him... loved him. It was just for a second, but I felt it. And I've felt it every time I've been in his presence since then. Every time I look him in the eyes it's like something deep in my gut is **screaming** at me, tugging on my insides, trying to tell me "this one!"_

_So yeah, as stupid as it made me feel, I believed in soulmates._

_And I believed that fate had found a way, despite everything, to give mine back to me._

"Tommy?"

"Huh?"

"Where'd you go?" Chuckles Liz uncertainly, casting a brief glance my way from the driver's seat.

"Um... nowhere." I lie, immediately kicking myself for not sounding more convincing. "I'm just tired."

"Are you sure? It kinda seemed like you were thinking about something..."

I'm not going to get out of this one. She's using the tone that she always uses when she's intent on digging through my crap until she gets to the truth. Unless I give her _something_ , she's going to keep prying until I either blurt out something I don't want her to know, or until we end up fighting because I refuse to tell her anything at all.

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

She laughs again, even more confused by my behavior than she was three seconds ago. "That's random."

"Yeah, well, I'm a random guy." I try to smile as she shakes her head at me. "Do you? Remember, I mean?"

After "hmming" about it for a moment (which is all the answer I need anyway), she grins proudly. "Oh, yeah, I remember. It was at that pre-tour get-together thing right before Glam Nation started."

"Do you remember how you felt about me?"

"I..." She gives an awkward shrug, clearly caught off guard by this line of questioning. "I don't know. I... thought you were pretty, obviously."

"But how did you _feel_?"

"I was excited, I guess. I was looking forward to tour, and-"

"I mean how did you feel about _me_ , specifically."

"I... didn't, really." She finally concedes. "I didn't know you back then, Tommy. I generally don't feel anything about people I don't know."

"Right." Neither do I. Which is why the way I felt about Taylor the first time we met is so unique for me. "Makes sense."

As we come to a stop at a red light, she focuses her full attention on me. I, on the other hand, stare out of the windshield and will the light to turn green again. "Why? What's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking about it, I guess."

"So what did you think of _me_ when we met?" She grins playfully.

This is too fucking easy. I know _exactly_ what to say, and I know it'll totally take her mind off of how weird I've been acting so far this morning. I feel guilty, but undeniably relieved as I flash her my most flirtatious smile.

"I thought you were gorgeous. But I figured you'd probably think I was too old for you."

"Are you kidding? _I_ have more wrinkles than _you_! Until Adam told Ally how old you were, I thought we were about the same age."

"Bullshit."

"I did!" She giggles, pulling the car over in front of my mom's house. "I still think it's totally unfair that you look younger and younger all the time while the rest of us just wither and age."

"Maybe we should find you a more mature looking guy so you don't feel like such an old crone?" I tease, earning myself a swift slap in the chest. "Ow!"

"Think yourself lucky we're about to have brunch with your mother. Otherwise I'd beat you up _good_!"

As usual, my mom doesn't even bother coming to the door when we knock. She calls out a welcoming "come in!", and Liz eagerly lets us into the house. Mom is sitting in the living room with Lisa, chatting as the two of them watch Bridget play in the middle of the room. Aside from looking over at us and smiling a "hello", they barely pause their conversation for a second. Liz all but makes a beeline for Bridget, only stopping long enough to place a hand on my mom's shoulder, which she briefly reaches up and squeezes fondly.

It would be _so_ much easier if my family hated her. They were never this fond of any of the other girls I brought home.

Then again... neither was I.

While Liz is busy showing exaggerated interest in helping my niece to load up her little pink wagon with random toys off of the floor, I lean over the back of the couch to peck my mom on the cheek. I feel her smile as she reaches back and wraps me in something that's part hug, part loving head-lock, and for the first time since we walked into the room, she stops talking to Lisa and turns her attention to me.

"Hi, sweetheart."

"Hey."

"How's the hangover?"

My mouth falls open in speechless surprise. Though why I'm surprised, I don't know. These women are all out to fucking get me, I swear. My mom smiles up at me knowingly while Lisa winks at Liz, who is trying _oh_ so hard to look innocent.

"What?" She asks sweetly. "Your sister texted me while I was getting your orange juice. She wanted to know if we were on our way over."

"You coulda just told her 'yes'." I grumble sulkily as I drop down onto the couch beside my mom.

"I _could_... but this was more fun for me."

"Big night, little brother?" Asks Lisa with a smug smirk.

They have _no_ idea. "Huge."

The chatter continues around me, but since no one is talking directly _to_ me I don't feel so bad about ignoring them. It's not like I'm really thinking about anything in particular, not at first, I'm just... spacing out. But as I sit on the couch with my head on my mom's shoulder, looking around the room disinterestedly, it hits me how little has changed about this house since I lived here. Which probably explains why I always feel like I'm sixteen-years-old whenever I come over. It's like time travel or something, stepping into the past. The only way I know for sure that I haven't pulled a Marty McFly is because everyone looks older than they did back then (expect me, if Liz is to be believed).

And my dad isn't here.

It still stings to know that I'll never see him again. I honestly don't think about it much anymore, not because I don't care but because enough time has passed and enough has been happening in my life that I don't sit around and dwell on it twenty-four-seven. But when I'm here, especially, when I can see the stain on the carpet from the glass of red wine he spilled one Christmas, or look at the pictures on the walls that I helped him to hang while he _endlessly_ questioned whether or not they were level... it's harder. He's everywhere in this house, we're everywhere. And I can never decide if I love or hate that fact. It's part of what will always make this place home, no matter how old I get.

But it's what makes it hell, too.

Eventually Bridget gets bored of her wagon and wanders off towards the back of the house with Liz and Lisa following close behind. While they take her out into the back yard to enjoy the sunshine before it gets hotter than Satan's butt crack, I linger in the kitchen and watch my mom as she begins to prepare brunch. This is another thing that makes me feel like a kid again. I can't count how many times I came home from a friend's house or a band practice and found her in here making dinner or washing dishes. And I'd just hang out and talk to her, because she's one of those cool moms that you can actually have an honest conversation with.

Although, obviously there are limits to what I'll tell her...

"She's great with kids."

"Huh?"

"Liz." Mom smiles, nodding out of the kitchen window to whatever it is that Liz and Lisa are doing with Bridget in the yard. "She seems to really love children."

"Yeah, well, she works with them a lot."

"True." She rinses off some grapes before picking them off of the stems and dropping them into a bowl. My eyes follow her movements for a few seconds before the urge to steal a handful of fruit propels me forwards. But mom being mom, she smacks my hand away without so much as glancing at me. "Don't even think about it."

"One?"

"I know you, and you can _never_ eat just one. You have self-control issues."

Understatement. "Do not."

I lean against the counter beside her and continue watching her work, almost hypnotized by the back and forth of her hands between the colander and the bowl. I lose track of time, and I have no idea how long I've been staring for when her voice snaps me out of my trance.

"Have you and Liz talked about having kids?"

" _What_?"

"Don't act like I'm crazy for suggesting it!" She chuckles softly. "You've been together for a while now, and you both obviously love children-"

"That doesn't mean we have to have one!" I exclaim, my heart rate picking up considerably. "And there's a shit-ton of other stuff that comes before having kids, anyway."

" _Language_."

"Sorry."

I've gotten the "language" warning every time I've cussed in her presence since I was a kid, but as soon as I was old enough that she couldn't ground me or send me to my room, it stopped making any difference to how frequently I used profanity. We still go through the motions, though. Old habits die hard.

"So if, as you put it, there's a... ton of other 'stuff' that comes first, when are you going to get around to making some of _that_ happen?"

Fuck it. _Why_ did everyone automatically assume that as soon as Liz and I hit the one year mark we were in it for life? "Mom-"

"I'm just curious!" She insists defensively. "It's not an unreasonable question to ask! And despite that _eternally_ youthful face of yours, which sadly you did not inherit from me, you're not getting any younger."

"I wasn't aware that advancing age was a good reason to get married."

"You mean to tell me that you haven't even _thought_ about proposing?"

I sigh wearily, folding my arms across my chest and scowling at the floor. "'Thought of' as in seriously considered, or 'thought of' as in felt like it's expected of me?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Good, 'cause I don't wanna marry Liz." I blurt out petulantly, only realizing how bad it sounds after I've had a moment to replay the sentence in my head. "I mean... I care about her _a lot_ , but..."

"But?" Mom asks gently, drying her hands on a dish towel and giving me her full attention. "You don't think she's the one?"

I _know_ she's not. "No."

I can tell that she's disappointed, and I _hate_ disappointing her. I feel like I did something really shitty by bringing this girl into their lives and letting them get attached to her like this. But it's not like I knew I wasn't going to end up with her! I mean, if there hadn't been _any_ chance of me being with Taylor, then... yeah, I probably would have stayed with Liz, maybe even married her. But marrying her wouldn't have made her the one I actually _wanted_ to be with. I would have done my best to be a good husband, but I would have always known in my heart that I wanted someone else more.

I think that would have been a much shittier thing to do than breaking up with her now.

Or maybe I'm just telling myself that to justify it.

"Mom?" She looks up at me, her expression unreadable as I try to find a way to ask her a question that's been weighing on my mind for what feels like forever. A question I think only she can give me a reliable answer to. "Do you think... I'd make a good dad?"

Her forehead crinkles and she laughs in bewilderment. "What? I'm sorry, honey, you lost me. I thought you just said that you _aren't_ thinking about having kids. "

"I'm not really." God, I wish I could explain this to her. But now really isn't the time. "I just kinda... wondered."

After staring at me thoughtfully for a while, a gentle smile spreads across her lips and she takes a step closer to me. She places her hand on my face, her thumb tenderly stroking my cheek. Her fingers smell sweet, like fruit, and I feel as though my whole body just instantaneously relaxed from that one, simple touch.

"I think that I raised a very kind, very smart, very loving little boy, who has grown up to be a very strong, _very_ talented, incredibly gentle man. " She declares honestly, leaving my cheeks burning and my eyes unable to look into hers any longer. "And I believe that, once he's done something about that potty mouth, he'll make a _wonderful_ father."

"Thanks."

"You're very welcome."

"I think the potty mouth is a lost cause at this point, though." I tease, and she rolls her eyes in response. "Sorry."

"Well... no one's perfect." She sighs dramatically, patting my cheek affectionately before retrieving a cantaloupe from the fridge. "But if my next grandbaby's first word isn't suitable for daytime TV, me and you are going to have a problem."

Oh boy. "About that whole... grandbaby thing. I'm not sure that I-"

I don't even have a chance to _try_ to think of a way to ease her into the idea that Bridget might be her first and _only_ biological grandchild, let alone that I'm in love with a _guy_ who has _five_ kids of his own already. Lisa comes breezing into the kitchen with Bridget's sippy cup in her hand, heading straight for the fridge to fetch some apple juice.

"What about that 'grandbaby thing'?" Mom asks me, immediately attracting Lisa's attention.

"Grandbaby?"

"Nothing." I shrug, turning my back on both of them so that they can't see my face. I can never look them in the eyes and lie. "It's not important."

"Are you gonna come and spend some time with your favorite niece?" Ask Lisa, using a tone that's specifically designed to make me feel guilty. "She's been asking for you."

"She has?"

"Don't act so surprised; that little girl worships you." She smirks tugging me away from mom and over to the back door. "Besides, with your hair that color she probably thinks you're a muppet."

"Hey!"

"Can you say 'mahna mahna'!"

"Fuck off." I snort, shoving her playfully out onto the patio as mom calls out an exasperated "language!" behind us.

Brunch is... mostly normal. There's some kind of weird tension, but I think I might be the only one who feels it. And maybe mom, too. It can't be easy for her to sit there and chat with my girlfriend, knowing that we're as good as over and that my girlfriend is blissfully unaware of that fact. It's quite the secret to keep, and we're both so busy holding it in that neither of us says a whole lot. Liz and Lisa do most of the talking, while Bridget practically inhales all of her English muffin (and mine) and then throws her blueberries on the floor disapprovingly. Mom gently chastises her, telling her to leave them on her plate is she doesn't want them. But as soon as mom's attention is elsewhere, I'm amusing Bridget by flicking my blueberries in various directions.

What can I say? Being the cool uncle and setting a good example don't often go hand in hand.

After spending a few more hours with my family, Liz and I start the short drive back to my apartment. Again, she's talking away cheerfully, and again I'm unaware of exactly what it is that she's saying. Only this time, I'm not thinking about the past, I'm thinking about the future... the next couple of hours. I'm trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to say to her, how I'm going to tell her that I don't want to be with her anymore. Should I tell her the whole truth? Should I tell her I'm in love with someone else? And if I do, what am I supposed to say when she asks me who it is? I can't just brush the question off, she has a right to know who she's being dumped for. But I don't know if Taylor wants me telling people yet. Especially people who are going to be severely pissed at both of us and have every reason to take to Twitter and tell everyone what cheating assholes we are.

Maybe I should wait? At least until I find out how he feels about Liz knowing the truth.

But that means I have to lie to her until then. I have to keep faking this, leading her on, letting her think everything is fine.

I _can't_ do that.

I guess I'm just gonna have to spare her the details, even if it does mean she'll hate me even more. But whatever I do, I _have_ to do it today.

"Why are we stopping?" I frown as Liz pulls into a 7-Eleven parking lot.

"I just said I wanted to get some snacks." She points out, looking at me expectantly as she turns off the engine and unbuckles her seatbelt. "You know... for the movie?"

"What movie?"

"We were supposed to go back to your place and watch a movie, remember? Probably something gruesome that will give me nightmares."

"Oh..."

 _Shit_. I forgot about that.

"I'll just be a second. Do you want anything?"

"No, thanks."

She leans over and pecks me on the cheek, but as she opens her door to get out of the car, my hand automatically reaches out and grabs her wrist to stop her.

I can't let her buy movie snacks.

If she buys snacks, we're going to have to watch a movie. Otherwise I'm the asshole who let her spend money on Red Vines and Sour Patch Kids and then wouldn't let her enjoy them. And then I'm going to have to wait another few hours to end it. How the hell am I supposed to lie on my bed with her, the bed I betrayed her on less than two weeks ago, and snuggle with her for the rest of the afternoon, and _then_ tell her it's over?! I know that breaking this to her in a parked car outside of a 7-Eleven isn't exactly ideal, but it's better than the only alternative I have right now. No matter where, when, or how I do this, it's going to suck.

There _is_ no right time or right place, there's just here and now.

"What's wrong?" She asks uncertainly, pulling her door closed again and turning in her seat to face me. "You've been acting really weird all day and it's making me nervous."

God, I hate this part.

"We need to talk."

 


	14. Chapter 14

  


 

 

_ A Plane Somewhere Over Oklahoma - September 23rd, 2012 _

 

The past sixteen days have quite possibly been the hardest sixteen days I've lived through this year. And that's saying something. I honestly didn't think anything could be harder than the weeks following Natalie's death, but being on the other side of the world to my children for the last two weeks has proved that it's possible. Listening to my youngest son begging and _pleading_ with me not to hang up the phone, to come home, _please don't leave_ , seeing the disappointment in my daughter's eyes when we have to cut our Skype session short because of an interview or a concert or a flight I have to catch to another city...

I should be used to it; I've been on tour before, I've had to cut short or even cancel countless internet and phone dates because of scheduling or shitty wireless reception. It was never easy before, but now it's torturous. At least they always had Natalie to console them after we'd said our goodbyes. They could take comfort in her hugs, and I could take comfort in knowing that she was making it all better while I was thousands of miles away. They knew that she would _always_ be there, and I would _always_ come home. But then they woke up one morning and she was gone, just like that, and everything they knew was turned upside down. They're terrified that I'll disappear, too.

Having me leave was never fun for them, but now it's unbearable.

Penny went from waking up crying just once over the course of the entire week that we were in Los Angeles, to having nightmares every other night all over again. It's worse than it has been in months. Pam said that River has taken to spending all of his time alone... well, alone with his mom. And Viggo runs to the door every ten minutes insisting that he heard my outside.

And Ezra... let's just say that one of the first things I need to do when I get home is try to replace the picture frame that Natalie bought her mom for Christmas last year. Not to mention the coffee table that he smashed it on.

Just one more hour, and it'll all be over. I'll be done with traveling, done with flying, done with only seeing my kid's faces on a computer screen.

Honestly... I think I might be done in general.

Done with the band, I mean. Or at least the touring part of it.

I just _can't_ do this anymore. I can't do it to my kids, or our family, _or_ myself. Things are different, and we need to accept that and learn to adapt. We've done it before, we've evolved as a band, we've become whatever we needed to be to survive. Right now, what I need to be to survive is a father first and a musician second. Music was always my first love, but I've put it first for too long.

It's time to change.

"I can't wait to get off of this damn plane." Isaac grumbles beside me, squirming in his seat in a futile attempt to get comfortable. "I love Australia, but I'd love it a lot more if it was closer to the USA."

"Spoken like a true American." Teases Zac without even looking up from his iPad.

"I don't care. We've been traveling for seventeen hours and I can't feel my ass."

I _so_ didn't need to know that. "We're almost home now. And we're not going anywhere anytime soon, so you'll have plenty of time to... regain some sensation."

"Ten bucks says that we're home for less than a week before he's bored and wants to start planning the next tour." Zac  mutters, inclining his head towards mine so that Isaac won't hear him.

Yeah, well, he's just going to have to get over it, because I don't intend to leave Tulsa again for the rest of the year. Not for more than a day or two, at most. And not unless it's to see Tommy.

If he even _wants_ to see me at this point.

I had so much hope that maybe, just _maybe_ there was some way that things might work out for us. That maybe he would want me, regardless of all of the crap I come with. When he told me that his answer wasn't no, I stupidly thought there was a chance that it might eventually be yes. But that hope has been dwindling this past week. He's been... distant. I can't really explain it, it's just a feeling I get when we talk, like there's something he's not telling me. He swears everything is fine, but I know he's not being completely honest with me. He promised he'd tell me what's been on his mind once I get home, but that doesn't make me feel any better. If anything, it makes me feel worse.

I think he's waiting until I'm back in Tulsa to tell me he doesn't want to be with me, because he didn't want to do it while I was on tour and already dealing with so much stress.

I guess I should be grateful that he's being so considerate of my feelings, but all I really am is miserable. I just need to reconcile myself with the fact that I made too many stupid choices and took too many wrong turns before I met him, and now there's no way back. I messed things up for us before we even had a chance to begin, and now we never really can.

In no time at all, the captain is announcing our descent into Tulsa International, and I can't remember the last time I was this relieved to be back here. Not happy, necessarily... it's definitely not the same sense of elation I felt as my plane landed at LAX last month. But I _am_ glad that this trip is over, and that my kids won't have to spend another day worrying that they'll never see me again.

Nikki and Kate are there to greet us at baggage claim, and I feel so many conflicting emotions as I watch my brothers embrace their wives. I'm happy for them, I really am, but as grateful as I am for the warm hug Nikki offers me once she's done sharing a very public display of affection with my older brother, it's not the same as having someone of my own. Then again, even when Natalie was here I still felt a sense of loneliness in moments like these. What my brothers feel for their wives and what I felt for Natalie was never the same. And I can't help wondering now, just as I always did then, if I'll ever get to have that. If I'll ever be greeted off of a plane by someone who I can't wait to see. Who I just want to drop my bags and run to, hold on to. Someone who feels like home.

Once we've all collected our bags and made our way out into the parking lot, Zac and I say our goodbyes to Ike and Nikki, and then follow Kate off in the direction of where she left their SUV.

"Are you sure you don't just wanna crash at our place tonight?" Asks Zac as we load our suitcases into the back of the Suburban. "I can drive you over to Pam's first thing in the morning."

Kate's eye roll over this generous offer doesn't go unnoticed by me. It doesn't faze me, though; I'm used to it. I've been seeing a lot of it since Natalie died. She thinks Zac 'babies' me too much. _I_ think she just hates my guts and wants me to suffer. And who can really blame her?

"We both know that you won't be awake first thing in the morning." I point out lightly. "You probably won't get up until dinner time."

"Not true! I'm determined to kick some serious jetlag butt this time."

"Good for you. But I'd still rather just go over there now and pick up my car and everything. Besides, I wanna see my kids."

"It's late." Kate informs me, as though she thinks I'm too dumb to realize that it's pitch black out. "They'll be asleep."

"They don't have to be awake for _me_ to see _them_."

I'm usually pretty good at ignoring her snippy little comments and dirty looks. She can insinuate whatever she wants about me, I don't give a fuck what she thinks. Except for when my ability to care for my own children is being called into question. Whenever she so much as hints at the idea that I might not be doing what's in their best interests, I have to count to ten in my head to avoid screaming in her face. I may not have been the most present father in the world until now, and I may not have been the most loyal and loving husband in the world _ever_ , but my kids are my life and I don't need her telling me what is and isn't best for them every time I turn around.

Less than thirty minutes later, Zac and Kate are dropping me off at my mother-in-law's house. I've been fighting sleep for the last ten miles or so, but I'm determined to stay awake long enough to kiss my kids goodnight, whether they'll know I'm there or not. I already arranged it with Pam, and she promised she'd make sure they were all asleep when I got here. Not that I don't want to spend time with them, I can't wait to give them all a proper hug. But I'm _exhausted_ right now, and in _no_ fit state to be taking five kids home and putting them to bed by myself.

"Did you have a good flight?" Pam asks me in a hushed voice as she closes the front door behind me and leads me down the hall.

"It wasn't too bad. It was _long_ , but I watched a couple of movies I'd been wanting to see." I babble tiredly. "How have the kids been today?"

"Good, for the most part. They're excited about seeing you tomorrow."

"Me too. I just hope I'm not too jetlagged to spend some quality time with them."

"Are you sure you want me to bring them over first thing in the morning? If you need to rest, I can bring them by after lunch?"

"No, it's fine. I _want_ to see them." I insist, practically on the verge of shoving her aside so that I can open the bedroom door she's standing in front of and be in the same room as them for the first time in weeks. "I'll make some extra strong coffee and I'll be all set."

She chuckles quietly, shaking her head at my determination as she finally moves out of the way and gestures for me to go ahead. "Okay, whatever you say."

I feel an intense rush of emotion as my fingers close around the handle, and I have to pause for a moment and take a breath to steady myself so that I don't make a sound as I open the bedroom door. A sliver of light appears on the floor, growing and growing as my shadow cautiously creeps into the room and I make my way over to the bunk beds that Ezra and River share. River is curled up on his side facing me, and I crouch down beside him for a moment, smiling fondly as I study his serene face. This is probably my favorite time of day with my kids. Not because they're quiet, or because they're not getting into trouble or running circles around me, but because they all look so _peaceful_. So untroubled.

Usually I just have to assume that's the case for Ezra, though, because I can't ever see his face when he sleeps. He gives me the cold shoulder even when he's unconscious. I miss him so much. I hate that I don't feel any closer to him now than I did when I was on another continent. I'm losing my son, if I haven't lost him entirely already, and I don't know what it's going to take for me to get him back.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.

My thoughts are disturbed by a soft snuffling sound behind me, and I quietly turn around just in time to see Viggo roll over in his trundle bed. His little limbs are spread out all over the place, one leg hanging over the edge of the mattress and one arm raised above his head. He's always slept like this, ever since he was a baby. Nat used to say that she hoped he'd grow out of it before he got married, otherwise his wife would either get pushed out of bed or punched in the face on a nightly basis.

After gently lifting his leg back onto the bed and tucking it under his blanket (a pointless act, considering the fact that he's likely to roll over and flail around several more times throughout the night), I sneak back out of the room and close the door behind me. Penny and Asta's room is right across the way, and I can already hear my own voice singing faintly before I even open the door.

"I started putting the CD you made for her on repeat and letting it play all night." Pam whispers to me. "I don't know if it helps, but she didn't wake up last night."

"Thanks." I smile appreciatively. "I'll give it a try at home, see if it make any difference."

As I turn the handle and push the door open slowly, the music gets a little louder. Asta is sleeping soundly in her crib; thankfully she's one of those "easy" babies that started sleeping through the night by the time she was about a month old. And for once, Penny seems to be enjoying some uninterrupted slumber, too. I guess there's still a chance that she could wake up later tonight, but I'm hoping against all odds that, between the CD that's playing softly beside her and the favorite doll she's clutching as she sleeps, maybe she'll actually have good dreams tonight.

Once I've tucked them both in and torn myself away from them, I yawn my way back out into the hall where Pam is waiting for me. She tries to convince me to sleep on the couch instead of driving home, but I don't want to spent the night in my mother-in-law's living room. I want to go home, I want to take a hot shower, and I want to crawl into my own bed and _sleep_ for the first time in what feels like days. She reluctantly stops pestering me to stay, and eventually promises to bring the kids home at around nine am. She thinks I'm crazy for wanting to be up that early, but I'm not. I've missed them and I don't want them to have to wait any longer than they already have to see me.

Before I leave, I remember to ask her for the picture frame that Ezra broke. She tells me we can discuss it later, that it can wait, but I don't want to risk forgetting about it. Maybe I can't fix the thing that broke my son, but I _can_ fix the things my son breaks.

Well... most of them.

Especially the ones purchased at Nordstrom.

The picture in the frame is of Natalie and Pam, both with their hands on Natalie's very pregnant belly. It was the last picture I ever took of her. It might actually be the last picture that _anyone_ ever took of her. I'm not surprised that Ezra chose this particular picture to take his resentment and grief out on; he shows as much contempt for any memory of Natalie's pregnancy as he does for his baby sister. Anyone and anything he can find to blame her death on, he does.

Including me.

With the frame in hand, and one last assurance that I really do want to be reunited with my kids first thing in the morning, I say goodnight and head out to my car. But about halfway home I start to wonder if maybe I made a mistake leaving Pam's. I can barely keep my eyes open, and a couple of times I find myself veering towards the edge of the road. In an attempt to keep myself awake, I crank the AC up until I'm shivering and blast the radio until I can feel the bass throbbing in my bones. I even contemplate pulling in to a drive-thru McDonald's and getting a coffee, but I don't want to be awake for _hours_ , just another ten minutes. Besides, fast food coffee sucks anyway.

 _Finally_ , just after midnight, I'm pulling into my driveway. I could probably turn off the engine and just pass out right here in the driver's seat, but the mere thought of that shower I've been longing for all day is enough to force me out of the car and over to the unlit house. As I approach the front door, I notice someone standing there. I freeze in my tracks, my body immediately on alert. But once my eyes have had a few seconds to adjust to the darkness around us, I realize that it's Tommy.

And I'm speechless.

"Hey." He begins, sounding somewhat bashful as he takes a small step closer. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"No, you didn't... I..." I can't even cobble together a complete thought right now! "What're you doing here?"

"Well... you told me your kids weren't gonna be home until tomorrow. And I was thinking about you coming home to an empty house and everything, and I just... thought you might need a hug."

I think I might cry, but I don't see how anyone could hold it against me. I mean, _really_?! "You came all the way out here because you thought I might need a hug?"

He shrugs, ducking his head for a moment as though he's embarrassed. "You did it for me once."

I can't move, or speak, or do anything; I'm too shocked. I just watch as he takes another step closer, and then another... and then his arms are around me. The second I feel him embrace me, it's as if my body just gives up. The emotional and physical exhaustion I've been struggling to stave off for hours, days, _months_ wins out, and I'm powerless against it. I stop trying to be strong, I stops trying to keep myself going, and I just collapse hopelessly against him. As soon as I breathe in I'm hit by his scent, and it makes him more real. It makes it all more real, and I realize that he's actually _here_. He's with me, and I'm not alone. When I finally manage to force a breathe out, it escapes me as something resembling a choked sob, so he holds me even tighter.

And suddenly I don't feel quite so hopeless anymore.

This was _exactly_ what I needed tonight, and somehow he knew it, and he's here. Maybe this isn't baggage claim, and I'm not fresh off of an airplane, but this is what I've always wanted to come home to. This feeling. This person. _This_.

I let him hold me until I feel strong enough to let go of him, but once I reach that point, I also start to feel stupid for being so weak. I wipe my eyes quickly as I pull back, glad that it's so dark and that the porch light isn't on so he can't see me blubbering like a child. Not that he's unaware of it; he heard it and felt it. He knows.

"How long have you been sitting out here?" I ask, my voice still thick with emotion.

"A few hours." Shit. "My flight got in a couple of hours before yours, so I took a cab over here."

"Why didn't you hang out at the airport until we landed?"

"I just... thought it might be awkward, you know? I didn't want your brothers to see me and get all like.. pissed or whatever. And I didn't wanna risk missing you somehow. I figured if I just came straight here, none of that would be an issue."

"How did you even know where I live? I never gave you the address."

The answer hits me a second before it leaves his mouth. "Alex."

"Of course." God, I love that guy.

"He'd only tell me on one condition, though." Tommy informs me, his voice a little uneven, as though he's nervous about elaborating on this condition they've agreed on.

"Which was?"

"That I was coming out here to tell you..." He takes a breath, and I take a breath. The only difference is, I can't let go of mine until he finishes that sentence. "I'm in."

One part of my brain is trying to tell me that this is it, this is exactly what I wanted. It's really happening! But the other part isn't so convinced, and it's desperately trying to rein in the overjoyed part so that I don't end up crushed in a minute when it turns out he's talking about something else entirely.

"Wh... what does that mean?"

"It means I broke up with Liz." Oh God, is this happening? "And it means that... I want you." He states simply. "I want you no matter what. Whether you have one kid, or five, or ten... I don't care. I've wanted you since like... the first time I met you. Before, if that's even possible. And I've tried ignoring it, and telling myself I don't feel it... I've tried forcing myself to fall for someone else, but it doesn't fucking work. Because it's just... it's _you_. I want _you_. I'm in love with _you_."

That confession seems to surprise him for a moment, it quite possibly even terrifies him. But then he's laughing softly to himself, like maybe it's not as scary as he thought. Like it might even have been a relief to finally say it. As for how it feels to _finally_ hear it... there's no word that could possibly describe what's going on inside of me right now.

"I've _never_ said that before... it was kinda weird." He muses with another soft chuckle, shaking his head faintly before looking me in the eyes. "But I am. I'm _completely_ fucking in love with you. So... whatever baggage you come with, I'll take it. All of it. Kids, family, fans... even Alex."

We both laugh this time, and it's only when I'm forced to wipe my cheeks again that I realize I'm _still_ crying. But these tears are entirely different from their predecessors. For the first time in a _very_ long time, I'm actually shedding tears of pure joy.

I'm _happy_.

"I'm in."


	15. Chapter 15

  


 

 

That hot shower I'd been longing for ended up being much hotter than I'd intended, in the best possible ways. It's funny how one minute you can be so tired that you almost fall asleep at the wheel, and the next you're so awake. So _alive_. I hadn't felt that way in years. Possibly ever, if I'm being honest. There's something about hearing that one person you've wanted _so_ badly but thought you'd never have telling you that they're yours. Telling you that they're in love with you. It's an incomparable feeling.

There was nothing I could think of to say to him after he told me that he was "in", that he not only wanted me but everything that being with me entailed. The good, the bad, and the ugly. So I kissed him instead. We stood there in the dark at my front door, and we kissed until neither of us could catch our breath. I didn't want to let him go, I was so afraid that he'd vanish. It was too good to be true, which made me wonder if maybe I _had_ fallen asleep at the wheel and I was dreaming.

Or dead.

It sure as hell felt like heaven.

I asked him if he would stay, and though he still seemed a little hesitant as he cast a brief look towards the house, he eventually agreed. I let us into the front hall, flipping the switch just inside the door and turning on the lights. It was the first chance I really had to see him, and just _seeing_ him made me feel it all over again. A second wave of everything I'd just felt crashed into me, taking away the very little breath I'd managed to regain. His face was bare, not so much as a shred of eyeliner in sight, and he was obviously tired. But he was so incredibly gorgeous, as always.

And he was _mine_.

I kissed him again, and he chuckled softly in surprise against my lips as he wrapped his arms around me and I kicked the door shut behind us. He murmured something through our embrace about how it was okay if I just wanted to crash and sleep for the next twenty-four hours. He said he wouldn't be offended, he'd totally understand. But I didn't want to sleep. I didn't want to pass out on a bed, and be unconscious, and _not_ be with him. I was still gross from having spent the past day on airplanes, though, and I did still want a shower. So I invited him to join me, and I took the hunger with which he kissed me and the eagerness with which he held on to me as we stumbled towards the stairs as a "yes".

There's no possible way I can think of to describe how amazing it felt to laugh with him as we made our uncoordinated way to the bathroom, almost falling over more than a handful of times, and leaving a haphazard trail of shoes, shirts and jeans strewn behind us. If one of us had ended up tumbling over and bringing the other down with them, I'm pretty sure we would have just stayed wherever we'd landed, but luckily we managed to make it into the shower.

I can't even feel the water temperature, only the sensation of it on my back. _He's_ the source of all of the heat I feel. His body pressed to mine, his lips against my skin, the blood pulsing through my veins racing towards boiling point with every gasp that echoes off of the tiled walls around us. The idea that this is my life now, that this person is part of my reality, is _incredible_. This kiss isn't a mistake, his fingers tangled in my wet hair isn't something that either of us will have to feel guilty for or regret, and how badly I want him isn't something I'll have to lie about or hide. It's real.

 _We're_ real.

As our soaking wet bodies collide and converge, and the steam makes the air around us so thick that it's even harder to draw breath than it already was, I feel as though I'm gladly losing my mind. My head is spinning, and if I didn't know better I'd think I was drunk. That's the only thing I can liken it to, that almost out-of-body sensation you get when you've done one too many shots. You barely have any control over your own actions, it's like someone else is running the show. But you can still feel _everything_ , every tiny touch, and somehow it affects you even more than usual.

One second you're flying, the next you're falling, and you've never felt so _free_.

I feel completely powerless, and I love it. I spend my whole life trying to hold myself together, trying to keep myself and everything around me from falling apart. But right now I just want to let go and allow him to take me over entirely. Having him inside me reels me in from the insanity I was spinning into, it brings my mind and body tumbling back to earth. The cold, hard tile floor against my back barely registers with my senses because they're all too preoccupied with him. I don't even notice the hot water pounding down around us as we move together, the only things I'm aware of are his lips on my neck, and his breath on my ear when he tells me how amazing I feel. I wish I could remember how to speak so that I could reciprocate that sentiment, but when I open my mouth the only thing that comes out are hopeless sounds of shameless need.

And every need I have, he effortlessly satisfies. He skillfully shatters me into a million exquisite pieces and then meticulously gathers me back together again, every last tiny splinter, until I'm more whole than I was when we started.

I honestly think I could spend the rest of the night right here on the shower floor with him. Logically I know that my bed is much more comfortable, but I just don't want to move. Once the hot water begins to run out, though, we don't have much of a choice. He forces himself up off of the floor, steadying himself against the wall for a moment before offering me a hand and helping me to my equally unstable feet. We half-heartedly towel off, just enough so that we're no longer drenched, and then I head straight for my bed before my weak legs have a chance to give out under me. But Tommy lingers in the doorway, visibly torn over whether or not to join me.

I don't need to ask why.

"It's okay." I assure him sincerely. "We can take the comforter and pillows downstairs if you want."

"And sleep on the floor?" He laughs softly, raising a skeptical eyebrow at me as he inches into the room.

"If it'd be less weird for you."

After considering the offer for a moment, he takes a breath and another determined step closer. "No... it's okay."

"If it helps... the sheets are new."

"Yeah?"

I nod, shifting over to my side of the bed as he timidly climbs onto it with me. "Got them last month."

"Okay." He concedes. "That's a _little_ less weird..."

"I'll get a new bed." I promise as I reach for him and pull him nearer.

"You don't have to get a new bed!"

"But you shouldn't feel like you're doing something wrong just by sleeping in the same bed as me."

He shrugs, but it's clear that he doesn't feel as relaxed about this as he's trying to convince me he does. "I'll get over it."

"You don't have to, though." I insist. "You're right. I mean, I bought this bed with her, it _was_ our bed. But... she's gone, and I need to start over. I _want_ to start over, with _you_ , and I don't want you to feel like you're walking on her grave or something every time you move."

"I don't."

"Liar."

"Whatever." He mumbles, a sure sign that he _is_ lying.

"I _want_ to get a new bed. One that's never been slept in, so that we can break it in together." A devious smirk spreads across my face, and he narrows his eyes at me in a playful glare. "Don't look at me like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes me want to jump your bones, and I _so_ don't have the energy left to do it right now."

"Then I'm gonna need an 'I owe you'."

"I," My lips peck his. "Owe," He rolls his eyes but smiles when I kiss the side of his neck. "You."

As I kiss the other side of his neck he groans softly, and when I pull back he's giving me another look that makes me want to hold him down against the mattress and do things to him that we're both too exhausted for tonight.

"I hate you." He grumbles, shoving me away with so little force that I barely even move.

"No you don't." I grin smugly, advancing on him as he puts up another pathetic attempt at a fight. "You _love_ me. You _said_ so. I _heard_ you."

"Fuck off." My body forces his down against the pillows. "I take it back."

"You can't."

"Says who?"

"Everyone." I shrug simply, smiling as I tenderly brush the tip of his nose with mine. "No take-backs. Those are the rules, just ask my kids."

"So I'm living my life by the laws of an elementary school playground now?"

"Welcome to my world." Fear flashes through his warm, brown eyes. I see it before he can laugh it off, and I'll admit that it makes me a little afraid, too. "Don't freak out."

"I'm not." He lies with a soft chuckle, barely able to look me in the eyes for the two seconds it takes to say it.

"You are. I know the signs; _I_ still freak out sometimes, too."

"I just... I still don't know what you need me to... be." He admits nervously, awkwardly.

"You." I tell him, hoping that if I just hold his stare, if I don't blink, _maybe_ he might believe me. "I need you to be you."

"That's not enough." He shakes his head faintly, heaving a tired sigh as he rakes a hand through his damp hair. "What do I like... do?"

"Love me." I urge earnestly, earning another eye roll in response. He thinks I'm joking, that I'm still high on everything that's happened tonight. And I am, but I'm still serious. "I mean it. I don't need you to be anyone else, or do anything else. Just... love me."

"What about them?"

"Love them, too."

He laughs softly, giving me a look that makes it clear he wants a real answer. But, again, I just gave him one. "What do I need to _do_ for them?"

"Just be there." I continue to insist frankly. "I'm not asking you to be or do anything you don't want to. The only thing I need, the only thing _they_ need, is someone they can count on. I'm not saying you have to be there twenty-four-seven, or even _every_ day... just be you and be there."

"Okay..." He takes a breath, trying to decide if that's enough to go on. "So... like... what am I? I mean, am I supposed to be 'Uncle Tommy' or something, or your 'good friend'?"

"You're not 'Uncle Tommy'." I smirk, nudging his thigh gently with my knee. But as amusing as I find the idea of having my kids think of him as just another uncle, he does bring up a good question. "I don't really know what I'm gonna tell them yet. I guess I'll figure it out when the time comes, you know? Right now the thing I _really_ need to talk to them about is moving to L.A...."

That definitely gets his attention. "Really?"

I nod, a smile spreading across my face at the sheer _hope_ I can feel literally radiating from him. "Yeah. But I can't just tell them we're moving. It wouldn't be fair of me to make them up and leave after everything that's happened this year, not if they don't want to. They have to feel like they have some kind of control over _something._ I have to let them have some kind of say in it."

He nods understandingly, but I can tell that he's worried. "What happens if they wanna stay here?"

"I don't know." I tell him honestly, apologetically. "I'll deal with that if it happens. I'm hoping it won't, though; they love L.A. almost as much as I do."

"But leaving their whole family isn't gonna be easy."

"I know. But... they're kids, you know? They love their grandparents and their aunts and uncles, but they love the beach and Mickey Mouse, too. As long as they know they'll still get to see everyone, I'm pretty sure it'll be okay."

He smiles faintly, a little sadly. I think we're both concerned by the possibility that my kids will want to stay here, and I'll have to stay with them. We're worried about what that means for us. I know we can make it work, one way or another. But obviously we'd both much rather be together all the time than hardly ever at all. I just have to cling to the hope I have that the idea of living in California will win out for them in the end.

Things have been so difficult for them here since their mom died, everywhere they go and everything they see is a reminder of what they've lost. Los Angeles isn't like that for them. Yes, they've been there with her before, but there isn't a grocery store they always used to go to with her, or a restaurant we always had brunch at, or a park, or zoo, or favorite movie theater that holds countless memories for them. I think that's why they did so much better there. It was an escape, a change of scenery.

Maybe moving to L.A. will help free them of some of the heartache they've been living with here.

When I pull myself back to the here and now, I find that he's still elsewhere. He might be lying right here beneath me, but he's staring off into space, a solemn expression on his flawless face. And I don't _want_ him to be solemn. I don't want him to prepare himself for the worst, or be disappointed. I want him to be optimistic, like he was a few minutes ago. Like I still am, because I _have_ to be.

I have real hope, finally, and it's because of him.

I want to return the favor.

"Don't move." I tell him, kissing his lips as he frowns at me in confusion and watches me get off of the bed and wrap a discarded towel around my waist. "I'll be right back."

"What're you doing?"

I don't bother answering him, because if I stood here and explained it to him that would be more time I have to spend out of that bed and away from his body. I hurry downstairs to my "office" and grab my spare laptop from the bottom desk drawer. It's old and kind of clunky, but it works. And if it means I don't have to go all the way out to my car to get my MacBook, I'll take it! After checking that it still has enough battery power to actually turn on, I head straight back up to the bedroom, cast the towel aside, and crawl beneath the comforter.

"What's that for?" He asks curiously, slipping under the sheets with me and sliding closer until his body is flush against mine. "Are we gonna watch porn?"

I laugh out loud, not only because of the question but also because of the unmistakable note of eagerness in his tone. "Maybe later."

He leans his head against my shoulder as I wait for the computer to start up, and then I pull up a browser window and type a URL into the address bar. He reads it out loud as the page loads, and I feel his cheek move against my bare arm as he smiles.

"You seriously wanna house hunt right now?"

"I want to start." I tell him, looking down at him as he gazes back at me in bewilderment. "I at least want to see what's out there."

"But _now_? You just got back from the other side of the world, and then you had insanely hot but incredibly exhausting shower sex. Don't you just wanna _sleep_?"

"No." He scrunches his nose up as I kiss the tip of it, and then giggles and swats me away when I do it again. "Sleeping is a waste of time, and I've wasted enough time already. I want to start thinking about my future, 'cause for the first time in _years_ I'm actually excited about it."

He smiles, pressing his soft lips to my shoulder before snuggling even nearer and focusing on the screen. "So where do you wanna live?"

"I don't know..." I muse as I fill out some of the more basic search parameters, like how many bedrooms and bathrooms I want. "I'd _love_ to live by the beach."

"Which beach, though?" He questions worriedly. "'Cause unless you're okay with spending _hours_ stuck in traffic on Pacific Coast Hellway every time you wanna go into the city in the summer, you need to stay south of Sunset."

"Good point."

It's almost as though I can feel him holding his breath as I move the cursor over to the 'maximum price' box, and I try my hardest not to laugh at how tense he suddenly is. I kinda want to hold off on typing anything for a few seconds longer, just to keep him in suspense, but I'm not that mean.

"Huh."

"What?" I chuckle as he stares at the number I've just entered into the box.

"I've never fucked someone who could afford to spend that much money on a house." He informs me bluntly, unashamedly, leaving me somewhat speechless but entirely amused. "I can't decide if I should feel inadequate or not."

"Money doesn't make the man." I tell him, lowering my voice before adding, "And you're _more_ than adequate in the areas that matter."

He snorts softly, giving me a back-handed slap on my chest as I hit the search button and we wait for the map to display the results. I'm suddenly a lot more nervous, worrying that there won't be anything in my price range. At least, nothing livable or anywhere that I'd consider buying a house. There are certain parts of Los Angeles that I wouldn't raise my kids in even if you paid me, and if those are the only areas available to me, we have a problem.

It turns out that there are about fifty properties within my price range that meet my other search criteria. None of them are very near the beach, but I'm not all that surprised. I click on a couple of the listings closer to Santa Monica and Venice first, but they're all either _way_ too small or in shitty condition. There are one or two worth looking at in the neighborhoods near where Alex lives, but I was really hoping to live a little further out from the city than that. I bookmark some of them anyway, just in case nothing better comes up. I'm more than willing to compromise on some things if I absolutely have to. Shockingly enough, there are actually one or two properties in North Hollywood that fall within my budget, and even though none of them jump out at me from an architectural perspective, they appear to meet most of my other "must-haves", so I save those, too.

By the time I'm done vetting every last listing in the search results, Tommy is quickly falling asleep beside me. He was actively participating in the hunt to begin with, but he stopped offering his opinions and input about half an hour ago, and ever since then he's merely been grunting in response while I basically talk to myself. I know that I should sleep, too, but something inside me is incredibly reluctant to let it happen. My eyes sting, my head feels heavy, and I'm yawning every ten seconds or so, but I just _don't_ want to give in to it and let my mind rest.

I carefully set the laptop on the floor beside the bed, and the movement causes Tommy to stir. He looks around him in confusion for a moment, getting his bearings and remembering where he is before his eyes finally settle on me.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just gonna make some coffee."

He stares at me incredulously, pushing himself up against the pillows. " _Why_? It's late, come back to bed."

"I will in a little while. There were a few listings I wanted to take a second look at."

"Do it tomorrow."

"I won't be able to sleep unless I do it now, I'll have too much on my mind." I lie, trying to avoid his eyes as I pick my towel back up off of the floor.

It doesn't matter though. Even if I don't look at him, he still sees me. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." He insists, shifting over to my side of the bed and grabbing my arm to stop me from walking away. "What's wrong? Why don't you wanna sleep?"

"Because..."

"Because _why_?"

"Because you weren't there when I woke up." I suddenly admit against my will.

For a long moment he's completely lost, he doesn't understand what I'm talking about at all. But as it slowly starts to dawn on him, his expression begins to soften and his grip on my wrist becomes much more gentle. I feel like an idiot for saying what I just said, but I feel even more stupid for so much as thinking it in the first place. I _know_ he's not going to run out on me again... but that lingering fear in the back of my mind won't stop telling me otherwise, taunting me with the memory of how it felt to wake up in his bed without him.

That day still holds the title for worst day of my life, hands down.

"It's different this time." He tells me, tugging me closer to the bed again.

"I know."

"No you don't, or you wouldn't have said it."

"I _do_ know." I insist sincerely, allowing him to pull me back down onto the edge of the mattress with him. "It's just... tonight was _incredible_. And the last time I felt this way, it all fell apart. So even though I know it's not gonna happen again... I guess I'm still afraid."

"I get it." He assures me, his voice soothing and his touch even more so as he snakes his arms around my waist and lovingly kisses my shoulder blade. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to-"

"I am, though. I fucked up. I _never_ should've done what I did to you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but it was the _biggest_ mistake of my entire fucking life and I haven't stopped hating myself for it since."

I turn in his arms, returning his embrace and holding onto him for dear life, and he squeezes me back just as tightly, until it's almost impossible to breathe. And it feels amazing. It _feels_ like a promise before he even says the words.

"I'm not going anywhere."


	16. Chapter 16

  


 

 

The downside of getting exactly what you want, of basically having your dreams come true, is that you're then forced to live in constant fear of losing it. Either that, or you can never quite seem to accept that it's even real.

Or both.

When I slowly open my eyes the next morning, I find that I'm alone. The bed is empty and there's no sign of Tommy anywhere, no sign that he was even here at all. My sleepy mind is instantly awake, jumping from one conclusion to the next. The first thought to enter my head is that last night was just a dream. It wouldn't be the first time that I'd dreamt of Tommy coming to me and telling me that he loves me.

But if _felt_ more real, more vivid, than any dream I've _ever_ had.

As I try to let the realization that none of it actually happened sink in, I notice my laptop on the floor by the side of the bed. If it wasn't real, then why is it right where I left it in the dream?

That leads me to my next conclusion: it _was_ real.

And now he's gone.

The only thought in my mind is a panicked " _not again_ ". It whirls around on repeat, increasing in speed along with my heart beat until it's no longer a thought, it's just a blur. Part of me wants to scream out loud, to let some of this pain and frustration out, but I can't. I can't do anything, I can barely breathe.

"Shit, you're supposed to be asleep."

My eyes dart over to the bedroom door, my vision blurred by tears, but not so much that that I can't see him. Besides, even if I could barely make out his face or his form, that hair kind of stands out.

"You're here." I exhale in a sigh of relief, my whole body practically deflating as the worry and fear evaporate. "I thought..."

"You thought I bailed." He finishes for me knowingly, seemingly unoffended by my apparent lack of faith in him. I can't take my eyes off of him as he walks over to the bed with a mug in each hand, one with a plate balanced _very_ precariously on top. I'm too afraid that he'll disappear again if I so much as blink. "I wasn't gonna go anywhere until you woke up, but I was fucking _starving_."

"Sorry." I mutter ashamedly. "I didn't mean to freak out and assume you left. It just kinda... happened."

"It's okay." He shrugs, setting one of the mugs down on the night stand beside me before carefully climbing back into bed with me. "I get it. I mean, after what happened before..."

"Yeah..." I really don't want to dwell on the memory of that morning, and I don't want him to, either. So, in a pathetic effort to change the subject, I focus my attention on what he managed to scavenge for breakfast. "Are those Poptarts?"

"They were the only thing I could find!" He exclaims somewhat defensively as I struggle not to laugh. "Your fridge is totally fucking empty."

"Because I've been in Australia for two weeks. I didn't bother stocking up before I left 'cause everything would've gone bad by the time I got back."

"Yeah, well, since the only thing I know how to make other than cereal is like... French toast, and you didn't have any eggs _or_ bread, you get Poptarts."

"We had cereal." I point out playfully as he takes an apprehensive bite of one.

"Yeah, but no milk. Dry cereal sucks."

That's true. But still... " _I_ think you just wanted an excuse to eat Poptarts."

"Fuck you! I hate this shit, it's _barely_ even food, but I'm _that_ hungry."

"I'm sorry." I tease, picking up the mug of steaming hot black coffee he's brought me and taking a sip. "How about I make it up to you?"

"Oh yeah?" He smirks, quirking a curious brow at me. "I'm listening."

"You force down that Poptart, just to keep your strength up, then later we'll go grocery shopping, and I'll make you whatever you want for lunch. _And_ dinner."

He looks completely unimpressed, maybe even disappointed. "Okay."

"Don't sound so excited."

"I woulda sounded more excited if you'd offered to make it up to me by fucking me right through the mattress. But whatever... lunch is fine, too."

God, I _love_ it when he's this forward with me. "I figured that part went without saying."

"I wish it didn't." He practically purrs as he straddles my lap, wearing nothing but his underwear and a devilish smile. "I wish you _would_ say it."

Oh _really_? "And how do you expect me to fuck you right through the mattress if you're up there?"

He groans softly, biting his lower lip. "I guess you're gonna have to get creative..."

Now there's something I can do.

The sound of pure satisfaction he makes as I slowly sit up, wrapping my arms around him and holding him against me while I kiss him, is one of my favorite sounds _ever_. I've been in the presence of some of the most incredible singers, played some of the most priceless instruments, but _this_ sound is unparalleled in my mind. I just want to lock myself in a room with him for the rest of my life and do nothing but make him make this sound. It would be enough for me. _More_ than enough.

But the sound I love so much is suddenly silenced as a different noise permeates the otherwise quiet house. We both freeze, listening intently, waiting to see if maybe we _both_ imagined it. And the second I hear the voices of my children, I swear my heart stops dead in my chest.

"Fuck, it must be nine already!" I whisper as he stares back at me through wide, worried eyes.

"What should I do?"

I shrug helplessly, and suddenly the distinct sound of excited little feet stampeding up the stairs sends him bolting for the bathroom while I pull the sheets up around me and do my best to appear unflustered. Mere seconds later, three of my five children come barreling into the room and leap onto the bed, practically tackling me like the wild animals Tommy once compared them to. And despite my previous heart attack over their homecoming, it feels _so_ good to hold them in my arms and feel them hug me tightly.

"I missed you guys _so_ much." I tell them contentedly as Pam appears in the door way with Asta in her arms.

"I knew I should have called before bringing them over." She sighs apologetically.

"No, it's totally fine. I was already awake."

"Don't _ever_ go away again, okay?" Penny demands, pulling back a little so that I can see her very serious expression.

"Not _never_!" Agrees Viggo.

River, on the other hand, seems to have noticed something that distracts him from echoing their orders. "Those are my Poptarts!"

Uh-oh. "Sorry, buddy. I was hungry and there was nothing else for breakfast."

"It's okay." He shrugs forgivingly. "I don't mind if _you_ eat them."

"Thanks." I chuckle softly, pecking him on the forehead as he returns to the group hug his brother and sister still have me wrapped in. "Where's Ez?"

Pam forces a small smile, carrying Asta over to the bed with her and handing her to me. She's trying to distract me with the cute baby. That's the kind of underhanded move I would use (and have). "He wanted to go to his room. He said he missed it."

Right. He missed his bedroom. That's fine.

I don't care.

"Daddy?" Penny asks, lifting her head from my chest once again and peering at the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

"Yeah?"

"Why'd you have _two_ cups of coffee?"

"Because I _really_ like coffee?" I reply playfully, desperately trying to think of an actual answer. Because now that Pam's attention has been drawn to the second cup, I can tell I'm going to need one. "I... uh... a friend came over unexpectedly last night."

"After you got home?" She asks in surprise. "It was late!"

Shit.

"Yeah, it was, but... he didn't realize I'd been out of town, and he's kind of a night owl." For someone who has spent their whole life lying to everyone, I sure _suck_ at it. "Anyway, he just crashed on the couch."

"Where is he?" Frowns River, looking around for any signs of this "friend" of mine.

"He's just... taking a quick shower."

Barely five seconds later, the faint sounds of running shower water can be heard in the bathroom, and I almost want to smile at the fact that Tommy must have been eavesdropping and is now trying to provide sound effects to back up my shoddy story. We make a pretty good team.

"In _your_ bathroom?" Pam asks, becoming more and more suspicious by the second.

I shrug, doing my utmost to appear unfazed by it all. "He just... brought me a coffee to wake me up, 'cause I told him the kids would be here early. And we were talking, and then we realized what time it was, and since that bathroom was _right_ there..."

That's actually not at all unconvincing. Maybe I was just a little out of practice at the whole duplicitous asshole thing. I haven't had to do as much deceiving since Natalie died, I probably just needed to... warm up. Get back in the habit.

What a depressing thought.

"What's his name?" Asks Viggo curiously.

I brace myself, preparing for my bed to be turned into a bouncy house as soon as I say his name. "It's Tommy."

Sure enough, River, Viggo, and Penny are on their feet within seconds, jumping around on the unoccupied side of my unmade bed while I hold Asta protectively against me and try to shield her from the chaos. It's like Christmas morning in here all of a sudden, I can't remember the last time any room in this house was filled with so much excitement and glee.

"Tommy's your friend from California?" Pam questions, the smile on her face just as fake as it was when she told me that Ezra had chosen to go to his room rather than come and say "hi" to me for the first time in two weeks. "The one with the blue hair?"

"It's purple!" River corrects her, still bounding around like one of the kangaroos I saw at the zoo in Brisbane last week. "It's _so_ cool! I'm gonna have purple hair when I grow up!"

"Me too!" Choruses Viggo.

"And _real_ tattoos!"

"Me too!"

Their grandmother seems _highly_ unimpressed by this information. "Right, well... I think I'll take the children downstairs and give you chance to finish... waking up."

"Thanks. I'll be right down."

"Take your time." She insists coolly, ushering my kids off of the bed and taking my baby daughter from my arms before disappearing from the bedroom.

I'm just about to breathe a sigh of relief over having successfully mislead them all about what Tommy is really doing here, but before I can even exhale Pam sticks her head back into the room. If the smile she was wearing before was fake, I don't even know what word to use to describe the one that's _barely_ present on her face right now.

"I think your friend might have left his clothes on the floor out here..."

 _Fuck_.

"Oh." I can't think of a decent excuse. Or even a horrendously bad one. "Thanks. I-I'll let him know."

I wait until I hear the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, and then I quickly gather a sheet around my waist and hurry over to lock the bedroom door. I just need to stay calm, I need to breathe. This doesn't have to be a big deal. I was married to her daughter for nine and a half years, we had five children together, I was the model son-in-law as far as she was concerned. There's _no way_ she would automatically assume that Tommy and I are sleeping together just because he's showering in my bathroom and his clothes are scattered along the hallway outside my bedroom.

At least, that's what I repeatedly tell myself in order to settle my out of control nerves.

When I knock quietly on the bathroom door, Tommy opens it within a matter of seconds. He looks as unsettled as I feel, and I wish there was some way I could get him out of this incredibly awkward situation we seem to have found ourselves in. But there's nothing either of us can do; he _is_ going to have to come out of this bathroom and meet my mother-in-law, and we _are_ going to have to lie to her and pretend that we're just good friends when we're really so much more.

"Do you think she bought it?" He asks anxiously as I step into the room with him and close the door behind me.

"I think so." I tell him, even though I'm not sure it's the truth. But I need _him_ to believe it so that he can go downstairs in a few minutes and act like everything is totally normal and he has nothing to hide. "I'm _so_ sorry. I meant to tell you that she was bringing them home this morning, I was going to set my alarm, but there was so much going on and I just-"

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I don't want you to have to lie."

"Do you want me to go down there and tell her the truth?" He asks. "I could be like, 'hi, I'm Tommy, and I've been sleeping with your dead daughter's husband.'"

"Very funny." I glare at him playfully, instantly igniting a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

" _I_ thought so."

Kissing him is probably the last thing I should be doing right now, but I can't help myself. Between the fact that he's standing in front of me in only his underwear, and I'm still flying on the knowledge that he's really mine, _finally_ , there's no way in hell I can keep my hands off of him. And he seems to be struggling with the same self-control issues. I could so easily convince myself to let this unravel. Pam _told_ me to take my time! I could pretend that he finished his shower and then I took one of my own, when actually we'd be taking one together...

Just the memory of the one we took last night is enough to make me moan as he tugs on the sheet wrapped around me, sending it floating to the tiled floor at our feet.

"Tommy-"

The "stop" that was meant to follow his name comes out as a needy whimper instead, and rather than pushing him away like I _know_ I should, I end up pulling him closer as he forces me up against the vanity behind me. I barely have chance to draw breath before he's on his knees, and I have to hold on to the edge of the sink in order to stay on my feet.

 _Fuck_.

That _mouth_!

"Oh God..."

This might just be the fastest that anyone has ever managed to get me off _ever_. And that's impressive, considering the number of time sensitive situations I've been in before! If it didn't feel so damn good, I might be a little disappointed by the fact that I can tell it's not going to last very much longer. But it's impossible to be disappointed about _anything_ right now. I don't care that Natalie's mom is downstairs, and for a blissful moment I even forget that my son didn't care enough to even say hello to me when he came home this morning. For these precious few minutes, the only thing my mind is capable of focusing on is what Tommy's lips and fingers and tongue are doing to me as he makes me so dizzy that I'd probably fall to the floor is he wasn't pressing me against this vanity so possessively.

I have to admit, I kind of love that he rarely looks at me when he's doing this. Aside from a brief glance or two at my face, his eyes stay closed. Not squeezed shut, just... contentedly closed. Zac and Alex always used to stare at me practically the whole time, getting off on my reactions, waiting for me to come like it was some kind of prize they had to literally keep in their sights. Tommy gets so lost in what he's doing that the actual act itself is apparently enough of a turn on for him. He doesn't need to see the expression on my face to know how good he's making me feel, and simply _doing_ this to me at all seems to be its own reward for him. It's not some kind of competition or race, not even now, when he's against the clock.

And knowing _that_ is almost more of a turn on than anything he's doing to me.

 _Almost_.

" _Fuck_ , Tommy! "

His lips move around me even more fervently as I instinctively grasp a handful of his messy hair, my hips bucking against his mouth in careless anticipation. He moans appreciatively when my grip on him tightens, and that's all it takes to send me reeling.

My mind is spinning off into a thousand different directions, but I'm still somehow lucid enough to be aware that he hasn't stopped. He never stops until he's _sure_ I've rode out the _entire_ high he's given me. If there's even a chance that what he's doing to me is still making me feel good, even if I've already passed the peak of satisfaction, he'll keep going until I have to literally beg or force him to stop because I _can't_ handle it any more.

I'm still gripping the sink and gasping for air as he lazily kisses his way up my body, spending a little longer nipping at my neck than he did anywhere else, giving me a chance to catch my breath before his mouth greedily seeks out mine.

"Go get dressed." He instructs me in between kisses, and I can _feel_ the smug smile on his lips. "I have to take a shower."

"Who's gonna take care of _this_?" I ask teasingly, cupping my fingers around the very obvious erection he's sporting, and getting an undeniable kick out of the way he gasps and rocks against my hand.

"I guess that would be me." With one last kiss, he pulls himself away from me and gives me a gentle shove towards the door. "Try not to think about that too much, okay?"

He _knows_ I'm going to have trouble doing anything _but_ think about it now that he's said that.

Jerk.

I reluctantly leave the bathroom, and he makes sure to wait until the very last second to start taking off his underwear, just so I'll only catch a glimpse of him naked before the door closes behind me. He's such a fucking tease! If I didn't love it so much, I'd hate him for it.

After scrounging up a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the dresser, I'm about to head downstairs to face my mother-in-law and try to act like I didn't just receive some particularly mind-blowing head in the bathroom. But then I realize that I haven't brushed my teeth yet. Oral hygiene is _very_ important to me, and in no way is it just an excuse to see Tommy wet and naked. Not at all.

Not even a little bit...

He's unaware of my presence as I slip back into the now steam-filled room. I can hardly see him through the frosted and fogged up glass of the shower door, but I can see enough. I can _hear_ enough. And it's a damn good thing I'm too spent to get worked up again this soon, or else I'd be going downstairs in a minute with minty fresh breath and a boner.

As I squirt a line of toothpaste onto my toothbrush and raise it to my mouth, my eyes still trained on the blurry outline of his form and my head full of the soft sounds he's making, I find myself smiling. _Grinning_. Because this is real. I'm standing here in _my_ bathroom, watching _my_ boyfriend take a shower (among other things). I'm not cheating on anyone, he's not cheating on anyone, we only belong to each other.

Not to sound like some rich, greedy, Disney villain, but I kind of want to jump up and down, clapping my hands and chanting "it's mine, it's mine, it's _all_ mine!"

Is that wrong?

Even though it feels like it's been a hell of a lot longer, it's actually only been ten minutes or so since Pam and the kids left me up here to get dressed. Ten minutes well spent, and not so long that anyone would have any reason to be suspicious of what I was doing up here. I take a breath and head downstairs to join them in the living room, but first I grab the bag that Tommy dropped just inside the front door last night and take it up to the bedroom for him.

I do my best not to act guilty the moment I'm in my mother-in-law's presence, but she still seems a little... off. Like she knows something is going on but she can't put her finger on what. And as long as I can keep her distracted enough that she won't be able to figure it out, hopefully she'll forget about it and everything will be fine.

"Daddy, there's no food _anywhere_!" River informs me anxiously the second I set foot into the family room with them.

"He's exaggerating." Notes Pam with a shake of her head. "There's just no food that _he_ wants to eat."

"He already had breakfast." Penny adds, sounding more grown up than any seven-year-old has a right to. In fact, she kind of sounds like her mom. "He's always eating!"

"I'm still hungry!"

"Me too!" Announces Viggo, even though I'm sure he isn't. He's taken to mimicking everything his brother says and does lately. It's like having two Rivers. Only one of them is way more prone to clinging to me than the other.

"Me too." I assure them both, collapsing onto the couch beside them. "Which is why we're going to the store as soon as Tommy's done getting ready."

"Is Tommy gonna stay for lunch?" Penny asks, her enthusiasm over his presence slightly more subdued than that of her brothers, more 'lady like' as Natalie might put it, but still no less apparent.

"Yup."

River's eyes light up as he grabs my arm almost pleadingly. "And dinner?"

"He'll be here."

"How long is your friend in town for?" Asks Pam politely as my sons commence an animated celebration over the fact that Tommy will be joining us at every meal today.

"Uh..." That's a very good question. "I'm not sure actually, he didn't say."

And I was too busy having incredible shower sex with him to bother asking.

My bad.

 


	17. Chapter 17

  


 

 

While we wait for Tommy to put in an appearance, I keep my kids distracted with the gifts I brought home for them, and the pictures of cute Australian animals that I took on my phone during our trip to the zoo. Penny thinks the Koala is cute, and Viggo is adamant that he wants a snake. River simply declares that he wants to move to Australia and be a crocodile hunter, which Penny tells him is a dumb idea. Her disapproval doesn't seem to dissuade him from his new life goal, though.

Ezra still hasn't come down from his room, and even though I want to see him, I know better than to go up there and try to force him to welcome me home. He'll either ignore me or bait me into an argument somehow. I don't understand how a little boy who isn't even ten-years-old yet knows how to manipulate a conversation so masterfully that a grown man who is _prepared_ for his bad attitude still can't hold it together, but he does. He's been doing it all year, and he just gets better and better at it. It's gotten to the point where I only talk to him if he comes to me first (which almost never happens), or if I absolutely have to. Because I'd rather not speak to him at all than fight with him. Neither option hurts less than the other, but I figure there's less chance of me losing my cool and saying something I'll regret if I just keep my mouth shut.

It's probably another half an hour before Tommy hesitantly steps into the room with us. As though they have some kind of built-in, Tommy-detecting radar, my kids instantly turn to look at him, talking over one another as they bombard him with greetings and questions and stories. He's more than a little overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of attention being directed at him, I can see it in his eyes despite his best efforts to hide it. But I think he'd still rather have three children practically climbing him and dragging him further into the room than have to deal with facing Natalie's mom.  

For a moment, all I can do is stare across the room at him, watching him talk to my kids and taking in the fact that he's _actually_ here. It still hasn't sunk in, and I think it's going to take a while for me to accept it. But I'll have to work on that later; there are more pressing matters to contend with. Like introducing him to my mother-in-law so that she'll stop looking at him expectantly the way she is right now.

"Pam, this is Tommy. He was at River's party in L.A." I tell her as she smiles tightly at him, and he forces a somewhat shy smile of his own in return. "Tommy, this is my mother-in-law, Pam."

"Nice to meet you. Again."

"Likewise." She replies civilly, looking him up and down carefully in an attempt to figure him out based solely on his looks.

She'll _never_ be able to.

Tommy seems torn on where he should sit. It's like he wants to be on the couch with me, but he thinks that Pam will read something into it if he comes within five feet of me. And sadly, he's probably right. Eventually he takes a seat in an arm chair opposite me, and I smile apologetically at him as River starts telling him all about his plans to be the next Steve Irwin.

"Is this your first time visiting Tulsa?" Inquires Pam in a seemingly innocuous manner that still feels like a trap somehow.

 

"Uh... it's my second."

 

"He came to Fools Banquet last year." I elaborate for him.

 

"And how long are you in town for this time?"

 

"Actually, it's kind of just a day trip." He chuckles softly, rendering me too disappointed to even summon a fake smile. I was hoping he'd stay longer. "I have to fly out to D.C. in the morning for a show."

 

"Oh?" She smiles amiably to make this feel less like the interrogation it really is. "Are you in a band, too?"

 

"I play guitar for Adam Lambert." The name doesn't appear to ring any bells for Pam, which doesn't surprise me at all. It's not her kind of music.

 

"He was on American Idol a few years back."

 

"Did he win?"

 

"Almost." I nod.

 

"He _should_ have won." Declares Tommy adamantly. "But he's doing better than the guy who actually won, so I guess technically he kinda did."

 

"What sort of music does he play?"

 

Tommy laughs quietly again, momentarily at a loss for how to describe it to her. "Um... it's kinda like... pop-rock-funk."

 

"Sounds... interesting."

 

"It's a lot of fun. And he's an _amazing_ singer. He's pretty much the best male vocalist out there right now. His range is _insane_."

 

I really want to tease him for being such an unabashed fanboy of his own boss, but I'm afraid it'll come off too much like flirting. Our playful digs at each other usually do. I can't risk it in front of Pam, but I make a mental note to bring it up again later.

 

"Taylor is a wonderful singer, too." Pam beams at me proudly. I swear sometimes I think she's a bigger fan than Natalie ever was. "I was _always_ impressed by how much soul he had in his voice, even when he was just a teenager. He reminded me of a young Michael Jackson."

 

Oh, Jeez. Do we _have_ to make that comparison? I know it's not the first time someone's gone there, but it never ceases to make me squirm. I'm not even sure that my _own_ mother loves me enough to group me in with the King of Pop!

 

"I could see that." Tommy agrees with a smile, stealing a glance at me just to enjoy the blush on my cheeks. Jerk. "He's _very_ talented."

 

"So do you just have the one show in D.C.?" I ask in a blatant attempt to deflect the awkward amount of attention and praise being directed at me.

 

"Yeah, it was pretty last minute. It's kinda like a special benefit show, I guess."

 

"Oh?" Pam smiles approvingly. "For charity?"

 

"It's for Maryland Marriage Equality. Or... something like that."

 

That enthusiastic smile of hers suddenly takes a hit. "You mean... gay marriage?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Oh."

 

Maybe I should have just let them continue to gush about my soulful voice and incredible amounts of talent. I'd rather be squirming because of that than sitting here listening to crickets chirp while Pam looks at Tommy like he just told her he was at the crucifixion and he shot spit wads at Jesus.

 

Time for another distraction!

 

"Well, I should probably get the kids ready to go to the store so we can restock the kitchen before lunch."

 

"Right." Pam smiles faintly, already getting out of her seat. "I have some errands of my own to run, so I should be going, too."

 

"Thank you _so_ much for taking the kids while I was gone."

 

"Of course! It was my pleasure; I love having them."

 

"I know, but it was a long trip and they can be a handful sometimes." I acknowledge as I walk her out into the hallway. "I _really_ appreciate it, Pam."

 

"I had plenty of help from Kate and the rest of your family. But you know I'm here to help anytime."

 

"Are you going, Nana?" Ezra asks from the top of the stairs, looking right past me to his grandmother, like I'm not even here.

 

"I am." She smiles up at him. "I have a busy day to get started on!"

 

"Can I come?"

 

"She just told you she's gonna be busy, Ez. And we have to go to the store-"

 

" _Please_?" He urges her, ignoring me completely. "I promise I'll be good."

 

"Don't you want to spend some time with your dad, honey? He's been gone for two weeks!"

 

"I wanna go with _you_."

 

"But-"

 

"If it's okay with you, it's okay with me." I cut in, probably sounding about as empty as I feel right now. "I don't want him to get in your way, though."

 

"I'm not worried about that..." She replies, obviously concerned by my cold attitude. "Are you _sure_ you don't mind?"

 

"I'm sure."

 

I'm sure that all I really want to do is crawl back into bed and pretend this isn't happening. My son hasn't so much as looked at me in sixteen days, and apparently he wants to continue avoiding it for as long as he possibly can.

 

But I'm just fine with that. It doesn't hurt _at all_.

 

"Well... okay then." Pam concedes with a helpless shrug. "Go put your shoes on, sweetheart."

 

Ezra turns and hurries back down the hallway to his bedroom, all too eager to get out of this house and away from me as quickly as he can. I can tell that Pam wants to say something, but I'm grateful when she either chooses not to or simply can't find the words. We stand in strained silence for the thirty seconds it takes Ezra to come back down the stairs, rushing past me like I'm invisible to him and heading straight for the front door.

 

"Be good, okay?" I tell him, hoping that if I address him directly he'll have to at least glance my way. Maybe he'll even rolls his eyes at me if I'm lucky.

 

But he doesn't.

 

"What time should I have him home by?" Asks Pam, picking up her purse and jacket. "Before dinner?"

 

"Yeah, that should be fine." Not that he'll eat. I already know that he'll claim not to be hungry and go straight to his room rather than sit at the table with his family. "If he's any trouble, just call me and I'll come and get him."

 

Ezra already has the door open, so Pam does away with the remainder of the pleasantries she was probably about to dispense and hurries after him before he has chance to break into her car and hot-wire it in his haste to escape me.

 

I've never been a fan of myself, I'm more like my own worst critic. But even _I_ didn't realize that I was as insufferable as my son seems to believe I am.

 

I'm not sure how long I end up standing in the hallway, staring at the closed front door. I listen to the sound of Pam's car engine starting, I vaguely hear gravel under the tires as she backs out of the driveway. Then everything slowly becomes very quiet. Next thing I know, Tommy is beside me and his hand is tentatively stroking my lower back. I feel as though I could dissolve into a pool of pure emotion just from his touch.

 

"What happened?"

 

"Ezra went with Pam."

 

"Oh..."

 

"It's fine." I lie, more to myself than to him. "It's better, actually. It makes going to the store easier and-"

 

"Taylor." He stops me, stepping in front of me and forcing me to meet his sympathetic eyes.

 

He doesn't even have to tell me to stop pretending, he merely has to look at me, touch me. Everything about him is _so_ gentle. It makes me feel safe, secure enough to be honest with him rather than shrugging off his concern the way I would if it was anyone else standing here.

 

"He hates me."

 

I may have thought it every day for months now, but I've _never_ said it out loud. When it was just a thought drifting through my messed up mind, I could tell myself it wasn't true. I could berate myself for my own self-pity, assure myself that he'd come around. But hearing the words outside of the confines of my head makes them feel more real. They don't feel like self-pity, they feel like a fact. A fact that no amount of self-assurance can erase or lessen the pain of.

 

Tommy steps closer to me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly against him. "He doesn't hate you."

 

"It sure as hell feels like it."

 

"I know." He sighs sadly as I bury my face in his shoulder and squeeze my eyes shut. "It won't always be like this."

 

"How do you know?" I ask miserably, already aware that he doesn't.

 

He _can't_.

 

"Daddy, what's wrong?" I hear Viggo ask me.

 

Tommy automatically lets go of me as soon as he realizes that we're no longer alone, and we both look over at my youngest son who is studying us with obvious confusion and concern written all over his little, four-year-old face. I doubt he cares that we were hugging; he's seen me hug Zac plenty of times before, and he knows that Tommy is my friend. Children that young don't question friends of any age or gender showing affection towards one another.  But they _do_ know when something isn't right, no matter how much you try to smile and tell them everything is fine.

 

"I'm just tired." I explain, walking over to him and hoisting him into my arms. "You know how sometimes when you're tired you just want a hug?"

 

"Yeah." He sighs commiseratively as he snuggles against my chest. "You can take a nap with me later if you want? Naps make me not tired anymore."

 

If only he could stay this innocent forever. "Thanks, buddy. I might just take you up on that."

 

It's been a long time since I went grocery shopping with another adult present to help out. Usually I either have to wait until someone can babysit the kids so I can go by myself, or I have to make two trips in one week because I have to put River and Viggo _in_ the cart so that they won't go running off. It helps minimize the chaos, but it only leaves half as much room for food.

 

With Tommy here and Ezra gone, this excursion is a piece of cake compared to what I've become used to. I have both hands free to carry Asta instead of loading her into one of those Baby Bjorn contraptions (which I hate), and Tommy volunteers to push the shopping cart with Viggo perched happily in the front. Penny is never a problem, she rarely wanders out of sight or gets into trouble, and River is still so busy chatting away to Tommy that he hardly leaves his side.

 

I'm used to our 'little' family shopping trips taking a couple of hours when all is said and done. So to reach the checkout with a full cart after only forty-five minutes is like some kind of miracle! Penny and River begin helping Tommy to unload while I try to pacify an increasingly cranky Asta. I can't believe it's her lunch time already; this day is going by _way_ too quickly for my liking. I don't want it to end, because tomorrow he'll be gone.

 

Just as I'm wondering if he feels the same sense of frustration over our fleetingly short time together, or if he's already exhausted and can't wait to get the hell out of here, something River just placed on the conveyor belt catches my eye.

 

"Where'd this come from?" I frown, reaching out with my one free hand to pick up the bottle of cranberry juice. I hate the stuff, and none of my kids ever drink it...

 

Maybe Tommy wanted it?

 

"It's for Mommy." River tells me in a "duh" tone, as though I should have remembered. "She asked me to get it for her."

  
I wish I could say that this is the first time this has happened, but it's not. Every few shopping trips, I'll find one or two things in the cart that weren't on my list. Some cherries, or a tub of cottage cheese, or her brand of shampoo... and every few shopping trips, I buy whatever it is River has chosen to get for his mom, even though it very likely won't be used by any of us. Because I don't know how to tell him that dead people don't drink tea. Ezra usually takes care of that for me, but his words hold a lot less weight than mine, and he and River generally just end up squabbling about it while I stand there and focus on not letting my head explode.

 

"Okay." I relent, placing the bottle of juice back on the conveyor belt and trying to ignore the bewildered look that I _know_ Tommy is giving me. "Cranberry juice it is."

 

I'm so wiped out already that, if we didn't have a car full of groceries that needed to be unpacked, I'd suggest we just go out to lunch instead of going back to the house. The kids help to unload the bags from the car, but if I let them put things away I'd never be able to find them again. I put Penny in charge of the TV remote, and as I leave the family room I can hear the boys whining over the fact that she's putting a Disney movie on _again_. But I know that as soon as it actually starts they'll shut up and enjoy it, just like they always do. Either that or they'll ignore it and play LEGOs.

 

Since Tommy doesn't know his way around the kitchen, I find him unpacking the bags onto any and all available counter space while simultaneously trying to keep Asta's impending tears at bay.  She's eying her baby meals longingly, and I know that if she doesn't get her hands on one soon there'll be hell to pay.

 

"You don't have to do that." I tell him apologetically as I take Asta from him and put her in her highchair. "I'll just get her fed and then I can take care of it."

 

"I don't mind." He insists, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching me take care of my daughter. "You need to learn to let people help."

 

"I do let them!"

 

" _More_."

 

"I let people do plenty." I protest, busying myself with putting her bib on and emptying some pureed fruit and vegetables into a bowl. "Pam had the kids for two weeks, and you've been chasing round after them all day."

 

"I have not! I pushed a shopping cart and said 'be careful' about ten times, but that's _it_."

 

"You've done more than that."

 

"It doesn't feel like it." He nudges me aside with his hip, taking the tiny spoon out of my hand and the bowl of baby food off of the counter. "I got this."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"I _have_ fed a baby before."

 

I notice him rolls his eyes, and I can't tell whether he's exasperated by my inability to let him help, or if he thinks that I just don't trust him to do it right. 

 

"I'm sorry." I tell him sincerely as he takes a seat in front of Asta and scoops a small amount of food onto the spoon. "I guess I just... don't want to put too much on you."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because..." I'm afraid that he doesn't really understand how difficult this is going to be. And I'm _terrified_ that when he realizes what he's gotten himself into, he's going to change his mind. "It's not your responsibility."

 

"I thought you said you needed a partner?"

 

I did say that, and I _do_ need someone to share this with, but that doesn't mean I want to dump it all on him from day one and scare him away. Even I didn't become a father of five overnight! I want to at least _try_ to ease him into it and give him a chance to figure out how he fits into all of this insanity. If he even still wants to. I guess today will be the first true test of that; this is real life right here. It's not a fun day at the beach or the movies, it's morning 'til night, errands and chores, six-year-olds who see dead people and nine-month-olds who scream until your ears bleed.

 

And if he gets on that plane to Washington D.C. tomorrow morning and never wants to come back, I honestly won't blame him. I'll be devastated, but I'll understand.

 

"What is this stuff anyway?" Tommy mumbles, narrowing his eyes at the bowl of goop in front of him before turning around and scanning the counter top for the container it came in. "Apple, strawberry and... _kale_?" I can't help smiling as he wrinkles his nose in distaste. "I was on board until the kale part. This sounds like something that'd come out of Sophie's juicer."

 

"Is she one of those juicing freaks?"

 

"She can take a really good sounding drink and ruin it by throwing like... spinach or something in there. It's so fucking _gross_." His eyes suddenly widen as he glances at Asta and then at me. " _Shit_ , I'm sorry." When he realizes he just cussed in front of the baby _twice_ , he grits his teeth and takes a long, cleansing breath. "I'm gonna get better at this, I swear."

 

"It's okay." I chuckle softly. "She's not quite at the stage where she picks up on everything you say yet. She hasn't even said her first word."

 

"Yeah, well, when she does it's _not_ gonna be fineable by the FCC." He assures me sincerely, turning his attention back to Asta as she bangs the palms of her hands demandingly on her high chair. "I can't believe you _want_ to eat this. I guess your taste buds haven't fully developed yet, huh?"

 

"It's actually not so bad."

 

"You've tried it?"

 

"Yeah. I usually end up trying everything she eats. I figure, if _I'm_ not even willing to put it in my mouth then why am I feeding it to my kid?"

 

He seems to consider my point for a moment, frowning at the bowl of pureed fruits and vegetables he's holding. After staring it down for a few seconds, he accepts the 'challenge' and raises Asta's tiny spoon to his mouth. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing out loud as I watch him grimace before the thing has even come within an inch of his mouth, and then his tongue darts out and _barely_ touches it. Apparently whatever small amount of it he tasted was enough to make him recoil in horror.

 

"That's f... "He pauses abruptly, struggling not to use a word he knows he shouldn't. "Can I say 'freaking'?"

 

"Go for it."

 

"That's freaking _disgusting_!"

 

"I know."

 

He stares at me in outrage, and I can't contain my laughter any longer. "You said it wasn't so bad!"

 

"It's not! Compared to some of the other ones..."

 

"Dude, _why_ do you feed this stuff to your kid?"

 

"She likes it." I shrug as Asta resumes her impatient pounding. "And it's good for her."

 

With a bewildered shake of his head, he heaves a resigned sigh and holds another spoonful out to Asta, who quickly devours it and grins back at him approvingly. "Babies are _weird_."

 

I smile to myself as I go back to unpacking the bags of groceries still littering the kitchen, listening to him talking to Asta like she's twenty years older than she is and might actually reply. This all still feels so surreal, I want to pinch myself every five minutes just to remind myself that I'm actually awake. That this isn't a dream, it's really happening.

 

"Tommy?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I'm really glad you're here."

 

He looks at me over his shoulder, him mouth curling into a genuine smile that mirrors my own. "Me too."

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

  


 

 

Once the shopping is unpacked, and Asta is fed and happy, I get to work making grilled cheese for lunch. When I promised Tommy I'd make him anything he wanted to eat for the rest of the day, I expected something a little more elaborate than this. Then again, my version of a grilled cheese sandwich probably _is_ more elaborate than what he had in mind when he suggested it. I'm sure he was trying to keep it simple so I wouldn't have to go to any "trouble" for him. He probably pictured some generic white bread and crappy, processed cheese slices.

But that's not how we do grilled cheese in _this_ family.

He watches me work with Asta in his arms, curiously studying the ingredients on the countertop while she yawns and drowsily rests her head against his chest. "What's that?"

"Bread." I tell him plainly, as though it should be obvious.

"Well _duh_ it's bread. But how the hell are you gonna make grilled cheese with it? "

"You'll see."

Not to sound like a food snob, but I refuse to use pre-sliced bread and American cheese. It was fine when I was a kid, but as soon as I was old enough to know better, I wanted better. I've never made my kids a grilled cheese sandwich like the ones I had when I was their age. I use freshly baked ciabatta bread with brie and white cheddar. And I cook it with olive oil, none of that I Can't Believe It's Not Butter bullshit. After making quick work of cutting the bread into generously sized slices, I lightly brush olive oil onto the tops and bottoms of each  one, and then assemble them into sandwiches with some cheese. Then I fire up (so to speak) my beloved panini grill, which Tommy informs me is cheating, and I start to cook the stack of food in front of us.

It's becoming very apparent today that we make a good team, further evidenced by the way the kitchen quickly begins to resemble that of a fast-paced restaurant. I prepare the food and he immediately delivers it to the ravenous hoards watching _Beauty and the Beast_ out in the family room. Once they've all been served, I take a now slumbering Asta from him and transfer her to her crib upstairs before the two of us join the kids in the living room for the remainder of the movie. He sits beside me on the couch, scrutinizing his sandwich from every angle, turning it over, holding it up in front of him. It's like he doesn't even know what it is!

"Don't worry, I went light on the arsenic." I inform him playfully.

"This is _not_ grilled cheese."

"Yes it is!"

"No, it's a white cheddar and brie _panini_."

"Is it grilled?"

He scowls at me, knowing full well where I'm going with this line of questioning. "No, it was _pressed_ between hot metal."

"Also known as a panini _grill_. Besides, regular 'grilled' cheese is made in a _frying_ pan."

"Whatever." He retorts childishly.

"Is there cheese?"

"Yes."

"Does it resemble a sandwich to you?" I continue to inquire, smiling at him sweetly.

It's like it almost pains him to admit it. "Yes."

"Then your argument is invalid." I announce triumphantly. "Now shut up and eat your grilled cheese sandwich before it gets cold."

He raises the sandwich to his mouth, sniffing it once for good measure before finally taking a bite. And then he lets out a sound that would, were it not for the presence of innocent children, make me throw my food aside and tackle him into the cushions.

"If all grilled cheese sandwiches tasted like this, I'd never eat anything else." He declares through a much bigger mouthful than he'd normally talk with. "It's so fu... full of flavor."

I almost choke on my food, and he blushes faintly as he swings his leg to the side and kicks me in the shin. Even though I find it ridiculously endearing  that he's attempting to keep his language a little more PG for the sake of my kids, part of me feels awful that he's censoring himself. I know it's not easy for him; cuss words come flying out of his mouth without him even realizing it most of the time. It's just part of who he is. I wish he didn't have to change for me, for us. I know that I've had to change for my kids over the years, it's just unavoidable. There are things you do as a single guy that you can't do when you're married with children.

But it still feels unfair that he has to give up anything or alter who he is.

Sometime after finishing lunch, I end up passing out on the couch with Viggo. I don't _mean_ to, especially not without giving Tommy some kind of warning or asking if he feels comfortable being the only conscious adult in the house. But between the little sleep I got last night and the jetlag that's taking me over, I don't really get any warning myself. I wake up just after three, with Viggo still curled up against me, and I feel as though I've been asleep for days, not hours. Tommy, Penny, and River are sitting on the floor across the room from us, huddled around a board game, and Asta is happily settled in the space between Tommy's crossed legs, gnawing on her favorite teething ring. They're all completely unaware that I'm awake, which not only gives my sleepy mind a moment to catch up to my surroundings, it also gives me the chance to watch them together.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think they did this all the time. They look so comfortable.

They liked him from the moment they met him, they trusted him, they felt safe with him. And so I, in turn, feel safe letting him into their lives. I know he would never do anything to hurt them. That's _why_ introducing him to my kids was such a no-brainer for me. Most parents agonize over letting a new partner into their children's lives until they're sure that the relationship is serious, that the person they're seeing is "the one". I knew he was the one the night I met him, on some level.

Something inside of me just _knew_.

"He's awake!" River announces, pulling Penny and Tommy's attention away from the game they've been playing and alerting them to the fact that I've been watching them. "You've been asleep for _ever_."

"Sorry, Riv." I yawn, stretching as much as I dare to while Viggo is still slumbering soundly beside me. "I guess I'm a little jetlagged."

"You're doing better than I would be." Tommy assures me. "When I got back from Australia last month it took me forever to get onto some kind of normal sleeping pattern and not be exhausted all the time. I was _so_ out of it."

"I'm usually fine. Guess I'm getting old."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're not old." Penny tells us both, rolling her eyes like someone twice her age might. " _All_ my friend's dads look _way_ older than you."

Because all her friend's dads waited until they were old enough to have kids before they started procreating, and probably didn't marry the first woman they slept with just because they accidentally knocked her up as soon as she was legally old enough to have sex. But hopefully it'll be a while before any of my kids catch on to that fact...

"How long has Asta been awake?" I ask Tommy as I carefully shift out from under Viggo and try to slip off of the couch.

"Only for like... twenty minutes." He shrugs. "I heard her crying on the monitor, so I went up and got her. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine." I assure him wholeheartedly. "I should probably change her, though-"

"Already did." As soon as he says it, he looks worried again, and I already know he's about to ask if that's okay, too. "Should I have waited-"

"No, it's _honestly_ fine! You really didn't have to, though."

He shrugs unconcernedly, smiling down at Asta as she tries to grab a hold of one of his necklaces. "I've babysat Bridget enough times that I know how to change a diaper. Besides... she was kinda ripe."

"Probably the kale." I joke, smiling as he cringes and cracks up laughing so hard that he feels the need to cover his mouth. I love it when I can make him laugh like that. It always feels like an achievement.

"Well it _was_ green."

"Multicolored poop. One of the _many_ joys of having kids." I chuckle to myself, thinking back on the variety of weird and wonderful ways my children have surprised me over the years. "There's never a dull moment, that's for sure."

"Yeah, I'm getting that..." He muses quietly, his eyes falling to Penny and River as they bicker over the length of time it's taking River to roll the dice.

Despite the fact that the look on his face is nothing but fond, I'm still more than a little afraid that this is too much for him. He can like my kids without wanting to be around them _all_ the time. He can want me without wanting all of this. I know he said he was in, that he would take on everything that came along with being with me. And it all sounds like a great idea: showing up on my doorstep, making a grand gesture, declaring his love for me...

But there's a world of difference between that one fleeting moment and the endless everyday that comes after it. It's much more romantic in theory than in practice.

By the time Tommy, Penny, and River have wrapped up their game, Viggo is wide awake and whining about being hungry. I set the three of them up with _Wall-E_ and a bowl of popcorn, and then Tommy and I escape back to the kitchen with Asta to come up with a plan of action for dinner. He still insists that he doesn't need me to make anything special just because he's here, and that whatever I would normally make is fine. It's not, though. Not to me. I _want_ to make him something special, because this time tomorrow he won't be here anymore. I want to make every second I have left with him count.

"We could just order pizza or something." He shrugs as I pour a handful of yogurt melts onto Asta's high chair tray. "My treat."

"We're _not_ ordering pizza! I'm making you dinner, so just tell me what you want."

"You're fucking impossible, you know that?" I don't have time to argue before he realizes that he used profanity in front of my child again. He gets halfway through another "fuck" and then merely growls in frustration. "I suck at this!"

"You do _not_. You've been amazing today."

"I keep cussing in front of the baby!"

"She doesn't know what you're saying!" I laugh softly, ignoring his pout and his defensively folded arms as I circle my arms around his waist and pull him closer. I can't believe I've been with him all day and yet I haven't kissed him even once since this morning. "You don't have to be so scared of screwing up."

"Aren't _you_?" He asks knowingly.

I want to argue with him, but I can't. He knows he's right; he knows _me_. "Constantly."

"Exactly!"

"But it doesn't help! I screw up anyway, _all_ the time. Sometimes I think I make more mistakes the harder I try _not_ to."

"So what're you saying? I should say whatever I want and not worry that your kids might hear?"

"No. I'm saying... in the grand scheme of things, it's not a big deal. If you can go a day without saying 'fuck' in front of them, that's awesome. But if you slip up, it's not the end of the world and you don't have to hate yourself for it." I tell him earnestly, grazing the bridge of his nose with the tip of mine before resting my forehead against his. "It's _not_ the worst thing that could happen to them; they've already been through that. Everything else is just... stuff. It's nothing."

"I just.... I wanna get this right, you know? Or at least _try_."

"You're off to a good start."

When I lean in to kiss him, he hesitates. He barely dodges my lips, but it's enough that I notice it. And when I pull back to look at him, to see if I can figure out what's wrong, I notice him eying Asta uncertainly. She's still oblivious to us, happily munching on her freeze-dried yogurt drops, but he's clearly anxious about letting me kiss him in front of her. It's kind of completely adorable.

"Are you worried the nine-month-old baby will be irreparably harmed if we make out in the same room as her?"

"No."

"Are you worried she might tell someone?"

He narrows his eyes into a playful glare and pokes me in the stomach. "No."

"So...? What's the problem?"

"I don't know, it's just weird. I feel kinda... depraved."

"Well get over it." I smirk, backing him up against the kitchen counter behind him. "Because someday in the _very_ near future, I plan to kiss you whenever I feel like it, whether my kids are present or not. And I don't want you feeling like you're doing something wrong every time I do."

The worried look disappears from his eyes, replaced by something a lot more mischievous. "I kinda like it when you boss me around."

"On second thoughts, maybe you _should_ feel a little depraved." I chuckle as his grinning lips meet mine.

"Mmm... can you make that lasagna you made me before?" He murmurs through our kiss, sighing softly as he pulls me closer against him. "That was _good_."

"Later. I'm busy."

As I hear him laugh quietly, _feel_ his warm breath against my face, it's as though any and every bad thing that has ever and could ever possibly happen just... fades away. I'm not afraid, even though deep down I know that I have plenty to be afraid of. I feel untouchable, invincible. The way he makes me feel, simply standing before me in my kitchen and laughing against my lips, is like some kind of shield around me that deflects every negative thought before it has a chance to enter my mind.

The calm continues for the next hour or so, and I honestly don't think I've ever been this content in my own home. I've never felt so _at home_ in my own home. Probably because this place is just a house, it's just a building that I never honestly belonged in.

But this person... he's _exactly_ where I belong.

"Stop eating the cheese!"

"I like cheese!" He declares through a mouthful.

"But if you eat it all, there won't be enough left for the lasagna."

He gives an unconcerned shrug, reaching for another piece of mozzarella. "Life is made up of difficult choices. I choose cheese."

"Yeah, well, my kids will choose to make our lives hell if there's no dinner on the table soon."

"They can have Poptarts."

I'm sure they wouldn't have a problem with that; River would eat them for every meal if he had the chance. But I'm supposed to be a responsible parent-figure who doesn't let them eat sugar covered sugar with a sugary filling more than once a day.

Just before six, Pam brings Ezra back home. As I predicted, he walks by me without a word and goes straight back up to his room, just like he did this morning. I invite Pam to stay for dinner, even though I don't actually _want_ her to stay and cast more disapproving looks at Tommy across the table. So when she insists that there's a store she still needs to get to before it closes, I'm not exactly disappointed.

What I _am_ disappointed about is the fact that my son refuses to come down and eat with us. I save him some lasagna anyway, because if he's still following the same pattern as he was before I left for Australia, he'll sneak down here and eat it when no one else is around. I'd rather he ate leftovers of a decent meal in a dark corner of the kitchen after he's supposed to be in bed, than eat whatever junk food he can scrounge up from the pantry. I just wish he'd sit at a damn dinner table with me. I wish he'd talk to me, or even scream at me.

I wish he didn't hate me so much.

Once all of my kids are bathed and in bed, I go through my normal nightly routine of reading them stories, singing them to sleep, and kissing them goodnight before turning off all of the lights downstairs and eagerly heading for my own bed. It's a sight for sore eyes on a regular night, but when Tommy is lying on it, waiting for me with a bottle of red wine, there are no words to describe the sense of relief and relaxation that washes over me as I close the door behind me.

"Now _this_ is something I could definitely get used to." I exhale happily, collapsing onto the comforter at his side.

"Are you about ready to pass out, or do you wanna attempt some _Dexter_?" He asks, his tone making it clear that he's hoping I'll opt for the latter.

" _Dexter_ , definitely."

"You sure?"

"Mmhmm." I shift further onto the mattress, resting back against the pillows while he gets up to put the DVD in. "And I'll take a glass of wine, too."

"Yes, sir."

"I kinda like it when you call me sir." I tease, smirking as he glances at me over his shoulder.

" _Now_ who's depraved?"

I'm honestly not sure how long I'll be able to keep my eyes open, but I'm sure as hell going to try to stay awake for as long as I possibly can. It's not often (or ever) that I get to snuggle up in bed with the most heart-stoppingly gorgeous guy I've ever seen, sipping wine and watching one of my favorite TV shows. It's what I've always wanted, but it's never been my life.

Except that... it is now.

"Are you real?"

He lifts his head off of my shoulder, frowning at me in semi-amused bewilderment. "Are _you_ drunk?"

"No!" I contend adamantly, even less convinced of his existence now that I can see his face again. How is it possible that _anyone_ with that face exists? And even if they do, how is it possible that they're _mine_? "I'm just having a hard time accepting that this is real, you know?"

With an understanding smile, he turns and sets his glass down on the nightstand before taking mine from me and doing the same. He faces me again, fixing me with those intense brown eyes of his, and I know he's going to kiss me even before he starts to lean in. His lips are unbelievably soft, as always, warm... yielding and yet demanding as they easily coax mine into a slow, seductive dance. It's amazing how I can kiss him a million times, and yet he can still do this to me. He can still make me forget how to do something as simple as breathing.

"Feel that?" He asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, my eyes still closed, my breath still stuck in my throat. "Feels too good to be true."

A moment later, his teeth are teasingly biting at my lip, applying a little more pressure with every passing second, until finally I have to pull back. "Now do you believe I'm real?"

"Yeah. Real and _mean_." I pout while he smiles almost proudly. But honestly, even though it stung a little, it _still_ felt amazing. "Are you _sure_ you have to go to D.C. tomorrow?"

"If I want to keep my job, it's kind of a requirement that I show up for it."

"Well, are you _sure_ you want your job?"

He snorts, shoving my shoulder gently as he moves away from me. "Yes, I'm sure."

"I knew you were gonna say that." I sigh resignedly, allowing my body to sink into the pillows behind me. "I hate this whole 'countdown to goodbye' thing."

"A-fucking-men."

"But you know what?"

His eyebrows raise in curiosity as he rolls towards me again. "What?"

"After we take you to the airport tomorrow, I'm gonna take the kids out for breakfast and talk to them about moving." I tell him determinedly, the smile that spreads across his face only serving to reassure me and spur me on. "And if that goes well, which I _know_ it will, I'm gonna tell my brothers that I'm leaving."

"Wow..."

"And then I'm gonna tell my parents that I'm gay."

"Whoa, slow down!" He laughs out loud, clearly shocked by the sudden deluge of life-altering plans I've made, and maybe a little unsure of them. "Seriously, how much wine have you had?"

"I'm not drunk, I swear. I mean _everything_ I'm saying. I want to stop waiting and hiding, I want to move to Los Angeles-"

"That doesn't mean you have to come out, not if you're not ready."

"I'm ready." I assert sincerely, holding his anxious stare. "I _am_."

"Okay..."

"Are _you_ ready? Because if you're not ready to tell people, that's fine-"

"No, it's not that." He insists, though I'm pretty sure at least a small part of his hesitation is rooted in fear. I'm afraid, too, but I'm trying hard as hell not to be. "I just want you to be _sure_. You can't take it back. Once it's out there... it's out. _You're_ out."

"I _want_ to be out. I don't want to sneak around anymore, I've spent my _whole_ life lying about who I am and how I feel, pretending to be someone I'm not. I'm done. I know it's gonna be hard, and a lot of people are going to take it badly, but... I can't make my decisions based on how other people might react. Life's too short, and I don't want mine to be over before I've lived it the way _I_ want to."

His eyes study my face carefully, looking for a hint of doubt, waiting for me to break. But when he realizes he's not going to find that weakness, his frown begins to fade. "You're totally serious, aren't you?"

"I just said I was."

"I know, but I didn't believe you." My mouth drops open a little, and I nudge him playfully as he smirks at me. "If you're ready... I'm ready."

"Yeah?"

"I guess." He shrugs one shoulder tentatively. "It's not like anyone's gonna be all that shocked if I admit that I'm seeing a guy anyway, right? I mean, everyone already thinks I'm gay."

"True. But I've been called gay ever since I was a kid, and I still think that if I actually come out for real, it'll shock the hell out of the vast majority of people."

"It's 'cause you're just so fucking _manly_."

Oh no he _didn't_. "You wanna see manly?"

He grins devilishly as I pin him to the mattress, holding his wrists against the pillows by his head and capturing his legs between my thighs. "I wanna see manly."

My mouth descends hungrily on his, devouring the faint whimper he emits as my hips rock slowly against his. His body arches towards mine a little, the only move he's capable of making to get closer to me. I feel him tug a little, trying to pull his hands free, but not putting anywhere near enough effort into the attempt to actually succeed. He wants to put up a fight, but he doesn't want to win. He _wants_ me to overpower him. He wants me to take him, _claim_ him.

And I'm more than willing to do just that. 


	19. Chapter 19

  


 

 

I don't know if this is true for all parents, but if one of my children is crying, I can hear it loud and clear even when no one else can. It's kind of like the way dogs can hear high pitched sounds that are imperceptible to human ears. It doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing, whether I'm out in the yard and they're indoors, or even if I'm asleep.

Which was the case until about five seconds ago.

My eyes open slowly, my mind being pulled abruptly from the dream I was having and back to reality so swiftly that I can't even remember what it was about. The room is too dark for me to really see anything, but I'm used to that. What I'm not used to is having someone sleeping beside me. Not anymore. Usually when I wake up to Penny's cries in the middle of the night, I jump right out of bed and hurry to her side. With Tommy using my shoulder as a pillow, it's not going to be so easy tonight. I carefully try to ease out from under him, inch by inch, holding my breath the entire time. But he wakes with a start, sitting up suddenly and looking around in confusion. Between the sound of a child crying, and his unfamiliar surroundings, I'm not surprised that he seems so disoriented.

"Are you okay?" He asks somewhat anxiously, rubbing his eyes as I climb out of bed and begin feeling around on the floor for my underwear and t-shirt. "Where're you going?"

"I'm fine." I assure him in a near-whisper. "Penny's awake."

"Oh."

"Sleep."  He drowsily accepts the kiss that I lean across the mattress to give him, before dropping back against the pillows with a tired sigh. "I'll be right back."

When I get to Penny's room, the CD of her song is still on repeat. I guess Pam's theory about leaving it playing all night is a bust. As soon as I sit on the edge of her mattress, Penny wraps her arms around me and presses her damp face into my chest, her tiny body shaking as she struggles to catch her breath.

I keep waiting for this to stop.

Every time she goes three nights or even four (though that's rare) without having a bad dream, I think that _maybe_ it's over. Maybe she's had the same nightmare enough times that it no longer upsets her. Maybe her subconscious has accepted that her mother is gone. Maybe she won't need me to sing her to sleep anymore.

But as soon as I start to think that way, I find myself right back here with my t-shirt soaked in her tears.

"It's okay." I soothe her softly, just like I have on countless nights like this one. And just like every other time, I feel like a liar. "I'm right here. It's okay."

"I want m-mommy." She sniffles helplessly.

"I know, baby." What else am I supposed to say here? It's like this night is playing on a loop, we go through the same thing time and time again, it never gets any easier and it never makes anything any better. "I'm sorry."

"I wish sh-she'd come back."

"Me too."

Her small fingers curl into the fabric at the sides of my shirt, grasping it tightly as she takes a shuddering breath. "Don't leave like m-mommy did."

"I won't."

" _Please_."

"I _won't_ leave, I promise." I murmur into her hair, holding her even closer. "I _promise_."

I know I shouldn't say such things when I have no way of knowing what the future holds, but it's the only comfort I can offer her. When your little girl is begging you not to leave her, you can't just sit there silently and not say anything for fear of making a promise you might one day break. In fact, I _know_ I'll break it; I will leave. Hopefully decades from now, when she's much older and much more capable of coping with it, but still... I have no way of knowing. I'm sure Natalie never thought she would be gone so soon. That night we left for the hospital, she had no idea that she'd never see her children again. If she had, she would have woken them up to say goodbye. Instead, they woke up to hear that their mom would never be coming home again.

Their lives changed forever in just one, short night.

I wonder if that's what she dreams about? Or maybe she dreams that Natalie is here, and everything is the way it used to be, and then she wakes up and realizes that it isn't true. Either one would be enough to reduce her to the broken child I'm holding in my arms right now.

She begs me to stay with her until she falls asleep again, just like she does every time. And I comply immediately, just like I do every time. I lie down beside her on her twin bed, my legs so long that they partially hang off of the end. As soon as I'm settled (maybe even a little bit before that), she's snuggled up against me, holding my arm securely around her as she sniffles and asks me to sing for her. My eyes drift closed slowly, and I kiss the top of her head before taking a breath and quietly singing along with the CD that's still playing in the background.

Next thing I know, someone is gently rubbing my arm, coaxing me back to consciousness. And then there's a voice, quiet, apologetic. Tommy's.

"Taylor." He urges me gently. "Wake up."

"What time is it?" I yawn, trying to look over my shoulder at him without disturbing Penny.

"Almost nine."

"What time did you say your flight was?"

"Eleven." He sighs sadly. "I'm gonna call a cab, okay?"

"What?" Now I'm awake, and I sat up so suddenly that I'm sure my daughter is, too. "Why?"

"Because I need to be at the airport in an hour, and Asta's the only person in the house other than me that's totally awake."

"Asta's up?" I ask groggily, trying to get my bearings. "When did that happen?"

"Couple of hours ago." He shrugs, as if it's no big deal that I over-slept and left him to change diapers. _Again_. "I could hear her 'talking' to herself on the monitor so I went in and got her up. Viggo just woke up a little while ago, too. We've been hanging out downstairs, they're fine."

"Where are they now?"

"Viggo's watching TV, and I put Asta back in her crib so I could come and say goodbye."

"You're leaving?" Frowns Penny with a sleepy pout. "But you only just got here."

"I have a to be somewhere for my job." He explains gently. "I'm sure I'll see you guys again soon, though."

"Don't take a cab." I practically beg him, pushing myself off of the mattress and running a hand through my messy bed-hair. "I can drive you."

"Taylor-"

"You won't miss your flight, I promise. I've _never_ been late for a flight in my life."

Except for that one time.

And those other times...

"You're _barely_ awake! And you have five kids to get up and dressed..." He shakes his head at how impossible it seems. "It's fine, _really_ , I don't mind taking a cab."

" _I_ mind."

"It's not a big deal-"

"You're right, it's not." I continue to insist as I grab Penny's UGG boots from her closet and bring them over to the bed for her. "Because one of the best things about kids is that they can go out in public in their pajamas and no one cares."

As if to demonstrate my point, Penny swings her Little Mermaid pajama clad legs over the side of her bed and slips her feet easily into her boots. She gives Tommy a triumphant little look, holding out her arms in a "ta-da" gesture that he's powerless to protest against.

That's my girl!

"I'll get Ezra and River up, you grab Asta." I call back to him as I hurry out of the room and down the hall to my bedroom to throw on yesterday's clothes. "I'll meet you by the front door in five minutes!"

Once I'm dressed and I've brushed my teeth and tamed my hair as much as I possibly can in the thirty seconds I allotted myself to do so, I head for River and Ezra's room and try to rouse them from sleep as considerately I can. It takes River a moment or two to open his eyes and yawn, and by that point I've already put his Lightning McQueen sneakers on his feet for him. He almost looks like he's sleep walking as he climbs out of bed and traipses over to the door, but he doesn't complain for even a second.

I'm sure his big brother will more than make up for that though.

To tell you the truth, I'm kind of dreading waking Ezra up. I know he'll kick up a fuss about having to get out of bed, simply because I'm the one asking him to do it. And sure enough, as soon as he's alert enough to realize who is shaking him awake, he rolls over onto his side and pulls his comforter over his head.

"Ezra, I need you to get out of bed and put your shoes on."

"No."

"I'm not asking. If you won't do it yourself, I'll do it for you."

"I'm _sleeping_!"

"If you're that tired, you can sleep in the car on the way to the airport." I sigh, picking up his shoes from the foot of the bed and untying the laces that he left in knots when he took them off last night. "This is important, I need you to cooperate."

"I don't _want_ to go to the airport."

"Too bad, we're going."

"No!"

I take a long, slow breath, closing my eyes as I repeat "I will not kill my first born" over and over in my head. Even though I was expecting him to be difficult, it doesn't make it any less frustrating and infuriating.

"Either you get out of bed and walk downstairs on your own, or I can carry you." And hope like hell that he doesn't fight back and send us tumbling down the stairs. "Your choice."

He doesn't respond. He doesn't even move. But just when I'm starting to wonder if he's pretending that he never heard me, he heaves a very dramatic sigh and throws his comforter off. Maybe I should thank him, but my patience has worn so thin at this point that I don't feel all that thankful. Especially not when he walks over to his dresser and starts carelessly throwing shirts and jeans out of the drawers in a seemingly aimless search for something to wear.

"You don't need to get dressed, you can just put your shoes on."

"I'm _not_ going out in my pajamas." He informs me indignantly. "I'm not a baby."

I want to argue with him, but I manage to bite my tongue. At least he's out of bed and he's coming with us. If I just give him a few minutes to put some clothes on, we can be on our way to the airport without any further delay.

Tommy is surrounded by hyper-energetic children when Ezra and I finally make it down to the front door. He has Asta in his arms and Viggo, Penny, and River all vying for his attention, bickering over who was speaking first. As soon as he glances up and sees us walking towards him, I can sense his relief. I take Asta from him and hold her effortlessly in one arm as I grab my car keys off of the hall table with my free hand, and then all seven of us are bundling out of the house and over to the car.

River and Penny spend most of the drive harassing Tommy about when he'll be back. At first they demand to know why he can't come straight back after his show tonight, then they want to know if he can come back next week, or in two weeks. And when he won't commit to a date they turn on _me_ , begging for another trip to California, asking if we can stay at Tommy's house (I can't tell if his laughter in response to that is genuine or an attempt to conceal how terrifying the idea is to him). On the bright side, they're so enthusiastic about the idea of going back to Los Angeles that it makes me even more confident that their reactions to the prospect of relocating there will be positive, too.

I don't think it really hits me that Tommy is leaving until we exit off of the expressway and start following signs for the airport. I really just want to keep on driving until we pass right by it, but I know I can't. He has a job to do, a job he loves, and as much as I want him to stay here a little longer, I would never ask him to give up his career for me. Not even a single show.

Despite my offer to park the car and come into the airport with him to say goodbye, he's adamant that we just drop him off at arrivals. He doesn't want me having to herd five kids in and out of an airport in their pajamas just for him. I don't think he realizes just how much trouble I'd go to for him; this would be nothing. But since he's so insistent, I reluctantly do as he asks.

"Will you come back for Ezra's birthday?" River pleads in a last ditch effort to talk Tommy into returning as soon as possible.

He laughs softly, pausing to look into the back seat as he opens the passenger side door. "I don't know... when is it?"

"Halloween!"

"That's my favorite holiday." Tommy grins back enthusiastically.

"It's _not_ a holiday." Mutters Ezra, not so much as looking up from his 3DS. "It's just a stupid day when stupid people dress up in stupid costumes and eat candy."

"Not _stupid_ candy?" Penny asks in her sassiest tone, leaving me biting my lip to avoid laughing out loud.

"Whatever. I _hate_ Halloween."

"Well... I don't know yet if I'll be working." Hedges Tommy carefully, refocusing his attention on River. "But if I'm not, I'll see about getting back out here."

" _Yes_!"

"He only said he'd _try_ , Riv." I don't know why I bother trying to rein in his excitement anymore, it _never_ works.  But it makes me feel like a somewhat responsible parent, so I do it anyway. "You guys sit tight and behave, okay? I'm gonna help Tommy with his bag and then we'll go get some breakfast."

"I want waffles!" Viggo informs us all eagerly.

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

Me helping Tommy with his bag is ridiculous, because it weighs less than Asta. But it gives me an excuse to get out of the car with him, and if I'm lucky, that gives me the opportunity to say a proper goodbye. I open the back of the car for him, and he grabs his duffle bag and hoists it over his shoulder before I close it again. At first I merely hug him, gradually working up the nerve to do something so bold as kissing him in broad daylight in a public place.

"Sorry I can't stay longer." He sighs against my shoulder. "Maybe I shoulda waited until after the show tonight and come out here on my way back to L.A. instead."

"No, I'm glad you were here when I got back from Australia." I assure him sincerely, forcing myself to pull back enough to look into his eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I want you here as long as possible, but I wouldn't take the last thirty-six hours back for anything."

"Me either."

Okay, screw this. I _have_ to kiss him!

With a brief look around us to make sure no one is watching, I take his face gently in my hands and capture his lips with my own. He seems a little stunned initially, his body tenses and his mouth appears to be incapable of doing anything besides hanging open slightly in shock. But it's only a matter of seconds before he's kissing me back, slipping his arms beneath my jacket and settling them snuggly around my waist.

It's over much sooner than I'd like (it always is), but soon enough to be safe. The last thing we need right now is for someone to see us and start spreading rumors. If we were somewhere else, maybe I wouldn't be as nervous. But Tulsa is a relatively small pond, and I'm still one of the bigger fish swimming in it. I've been a local celebrity for most of my life, I'm more likely to be recognized here than anywhere else in the world.

"Call me when you land?" I ask, not even caring that I sound pathetic and needy.

I am what I am.

He smirks playfully, hitting me lightly on the leg with a small swing of his bag. "The second they tell us we can use our phones."

"I didn't mean _as soon as_ you land."

"Right."

"You can get off of the plane first."

"No fucking way."

There he goes again, making it impossible for me to control myself.

One way-too-short kiss later he's stepping up onto the curb behind him, away from me. I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't want to leave anymore than I (and my kids) want him to. But the longer he stands here, the harder it gets. He's seriously running the risk of me stuffing him back into the car and kidnapping him.

He turns and waves to my kids as he walks away, casting one last look and smile in my direction. I wonder if he knows that I survive on those looks? I cling to them between the times we get to see each other, they're like an incomplete sentence that I'm waiting for him to come back and finish. A promise I'm waiting for him to keep.

I'm used to airport goodbye scenes, I've had more than my fair share over the years, whether it was leaving my mom and younger siblings when I was a teenager, or my wife and kids as an adult. What I'm _not_ used to is being the one who gets back in the car and returns to a "normal" life rather than being the person who gets on a plane to go and play a concert. But I guess I should get used to it; this is very likely my life now. And I'm strangely okay with it, even though I _never_ thought that I would be. It feels right, like it's time.

I've lived my dreams, now it's my turn to support the person I love while they do the same.

As I drive my kids over to Tally's Cafe for breakfast, my mind starts racing with thoughts of how the rest of today, and tomorrow (and my life) might play out. I'm still not too worried about presenting them with the choice of staying here or moving to California, but I _am_ anxious about telling everyone else in my life that we're leaving. And once I have this discussion with my kids, there's really no way for me to put off talking to my brothers and my parents. It wouldn't be fair or right for me to ask my children to keep a secret from their grandparents, and I can't risk letting them hear the news from a six-year-old. They deserve a much gentler announcement than an over-excited "We're moving to Disneyland!"

Once we've made it to the restaurant, and I've ordered an obscenely large cup of coffee, I listen to my kids debating what they're going to order. They have to bicker about everything, even though what their siblings want to eat has _no_ effect on their own breakfast whatsoever. I, on the other hand, am suddenly too nervous to eat. I'd been so confident up until this point, but now that the moment of truth is finally here, I kind of want to chicken out. But the longer I leave it, the longer I have to wait to start making plans to move. And the longer I have to wait to move, the longer I have to spend away from Tommy.

As soon as the waitress has taken our (over-complicated) orders, I take one last, long sip of my coffee and dive in.

"Guys, I have something important I need to talk to you about." Penny, River, and Viggo gaze across the table at me attentively, just like I thought they would. And, just like I thought he would, Ezra stares out of the window beside our booth like I never said a word. "Ezra, this is important-"

"You said that already."

Well, at least I know he actually heard me.

"Listen... I know this year has been really hard on us all. I know you guys miss your mom _a lot_ , and I miss her, too." Their faces fall instantly, and it makes me wish I'd never said anything. It's not like we can go the rest of our lives without ever mentioning her death, but I try to avoid it as much as possible for this exact reason. I reach both hands across the table towards them, taking Penny's hand in one, and River and Viggo's hands in the other. "I love you _so_ much. More than _anything._ You know that, right?"

"We know." Penny promises me earnestly as Viggo nods his head.

"We love you too, daddy." Adds River, leaving me on the brink of bawling in public.

"I want you to be happy." I continue, fighting against the waver in my voice. "I want us all to be happy again, and I think we can be..." Here goes nothing. "How would you feel about us moving?"

"To a new house?" Frowns River.

"To California."

"To Disneyland?!" Viggo gasps, his eyes wide with excitement.

"Don't be stupid." Ezra finally pipes up. "You can't _live_ at Disneyland."

" _Don't_ call your brother stupid, Ezra." I warn him sternly. "He's a lot younger than you are."

"Whatever."

Ugh. I've heard that word so much from him lately that it's lost _all_ meaning. "We can't live at Disneyland, but... we'll be near it."

"So we can go _every_ day?"

"Well... not _every_ day, but-"

"Can we live at the beach?" Asks Penny hopefully. "I wanna live by the beach, and go to the pier _all_ the time!"

"And I wanna have In-N-Out Burger for dinner every night!" River enthuses gleefully.

"Like I said, I don't know that we can live _at_ the beach, but we can definitely go there a lot." I promise them as I try my hardest not to get carried away by their enthusiasm. There's another side to all of this, a much less exciting one, and I'd be remiss as a father if I didn't point it out to them. "If we move to Los Angeles, we can go to Disneyland, and the beach, and In-N-Out burger, and we can see Tommy a lot, too... but we wouldn't be able to see everyone here all the time the way we do now."

River's  grin fades a little as that fact slowly sinks in. "Like Uncle Zac?"

"Like Uncle Zac." I nod sadly. "And Grandma and Grandpa, and all your cousins."

"But we could see them sometimes, right?" Penny questions hopefully. "Like at Christmas time?"

" _Definitely_. And not just at Christmas. I'll bet they'd come and visit us lots, and we can come back here and see them, too."

"Whenever we want?" Asks Viggo innocently.

God, I _hate_ this. Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up. I feel like I'm asking them to make an impossible choice between their family and a fresh start. They want both, but they can't have both. It's cruel.

But making the decision for them would have been worse... wouldn't it?

"Well... not whenever we want, but... as much as we can." I try to explain gently. "But you can have lots and lots of video calls with them, just like you always do with me when I'm on tour."

"If we move to California, will you still go on tour?" Asks River uncertainly.

"No. Not like I used to before, anyway."

That piece of information definitely gets their attention, especially Penny's. "So we'll be together _all_ the time? You won't go away anymore?"

"I won't go away anymore."

They're all suddenly uncharacteristically quiet, deeper in thought than I can ever remember seeing them be before. California clearly holds so much hope for them, but they have to give up their family in order to attain it. I wish there was some way to give them everything, but there isn't. Even if I could afford to move everyone they love to Los Angeles with us, they wouldn't all agree to go. Tulsa has been my family's home for decades, they love it here. And my kids loved it here, too.

Until their mom was taken from them, and they were left with nothing but bittersweet memories everywhere they turned.

"It's okay." I assure them comfortingly. "You don't have to choose now-"

"I want to go to California." Announces Penny resolutely. "I don't want to live here anymore."

River nods in agreement. "I wanna go, too. So long as I can still talk to Shep on video."

"What about you, buddy?" I ask Viggo softly, giving his small hand a squeeze. "Do you know yet?"

"If River's gonna go, _I_ wanna go!"

I guess I should've seen that coming.

That's three down, which that just leaves... "Ez?"

He gives a disinterested shrug, as though this doesn't even affect him at all. "I don't care."

"That's not an answer." Another shrug. "Ezra-"

"I _don't_ care!" He snaps at me, finally tearing his eyes off of the street outside and turning his head to look at me. "You're gonna make us move anyway, whether we wanna go or not. You _never_ care what we want."

I barely recognize this little boy anymore.

I feel like something ugly has taken over my son's body, something hateful and heartless. But just when I start to think that way, it hits me how hurt he would have to be to behave this way. How damaged. And then _I_ feel like the heartless one.

"If _you_ don't want to go, we won't go. It's your choice, Ezra." I tell him, stupidly putting the future of our family in his hands in the desperate hope that doing so will convince him that I _do_ care, that I _am_ listening. "Do you _want_ to stay in Tulsa?"

He holds my stare for a moment, narrowing his eyes at me as though he doesn't believe that I'll actually honor his choice if it isn't what _I_ want. He thinks it's a trick of some kind, but it's not. If he says he wants to stay, we'll stay. Maybe it's wrong to overrule the voices of my other children when they've clearly said that they want to move, and God knows what Tommy and I will do about our relationship... But that's not my top priority right now. It can't be.

Fixing my son _has_ to come first.

Finally, he breaks the standoff we've been stuck in, returning his gaze to the window beside him. And I'm literally holding my breath as I wait for him to decide if we're all going to stay still or move forward.

"I said I don't care."

So that's three yeses and one "I don't care".

California, here we come...

                                                                               


	20. Chapter 20

  


 

 

I should be excited; I got what I wanted, I'm moving to California.

But I think the excitement is being drowned out by the increasing fear. Talking to my kids was easy compared to everything that lies ahead of me now. It wasn't a hurdle I had to jump, it was a pothole, it was nothing. Telling Ike and Zac that everything about the way our band has worked for the past twenty years is about to change, telling my parents that I'm leaving the state with their grandchildren, _and_ that I'm gay... those are the hurdles.

Hell, they're not hurdles, they're that high bar in the pole vault. And I don't even have a fucking pole!

Once breakfast is over and we've made our way back to the house, I get Penny, River, and Ezra settled with their school work (which Ezra probably won't do, but I have to try, right?), and then I call Zac. I know it's unfair of me to give him advanced notice; he and Ike are both my brothers and both my band mates, I should address them at the same time. But as equal as they are on paper, it's never been that simple in reality. Zac and I have always been closer, he was always the one I went to with secrets. Not because I trusted Isaac less, necessarily, but just because... he was Zac. I can't explain it any other way. He is who he is, and Ike is who Ike is. And I love them both, but Zac and I share a bond that Ike and I never have. It goes beyond being brothers, or best friends, or even lovers.

It's all of the above, and none of the above.

Besides, I promised Zac that I'd give him a heads up before the shit hit the fan. I know that was a long time ago, and under a different set of circumstances, but it seems as though it should still apply now.

I arrange to have him come by the house just after the kids go to bed tonight, and then I call Ike and invite him over an hour after Zac said he'd be here. That should give me enough time to try to gently break the news to Zac before Ike comes in and starts yelling. And I'm hoping that the fact that I have five sleeping children in the house will be enough to keep him from doing so too loudly...

Just after three o'clock, Depeche Mode's _Fragile Tension_ starts to emanate from my iPhone, and I grin as I quickly pick it up and accept Tommy's call. "Hey, how's D.C.?"

"Well... from the inside of the plane it looks very district-y."

"Hmm."

"And kinda columbia-y, too."

"Must be where it got its name from." I smile, easing myself out from under a napping Viggo on the couch and quietly sneaking into the kitchen. "So the flight was okay?"

"It was bearable. I _hate_ flying, but at least we didn't get any crazy turbulence or anything." He sighs. "Any time I get on a plane and _don't_ wind up on some invisible island somewhere with a black smoke monster and Matthew Fox, I consider it a good day."

"Sounds fair."

"How's your day been going?" He inquires curiously.

"Pretty good, so far. We went out to breakfast after we dropped you off, and then we came back here and did some home-schooling, had lunch, and now they're watching movies."

"I can't decide if that sounds relaxing or not."

"Compared to most days, it wasn't so bad."

"Cool..." Yes, I'm withholding information and leaving him in suspense. Yes, it's mean. But I have to get my kicks somehow, right? "So... how was breakfast?"

"Good." I reply casually as I idly wipe down the counter tops. "Viggo got his waffles, and I had an omelette."

There's silence on the other end of the line, because apparently he has no idea what the hell he's supposed to say to that. He's desperate to know if my kids okayed a move to L.A., and I'm talking about egg-based breakfast foods.

"Anything else happen since I left?" He tries again, the impatience starting to edge into his tone. "Anything... not food related?"

"Um.... not really." It's a good thing he can't see my face right now. I'm an awesome phone actor, but the smile would definitely give me away. "I did talk to the kids about the whole moving to California thing, though."

"Oh?" He asks as casually as he can (which isn't very). "How'd that go?"

"Pretty good."

"I swear to God, if you don't stop fucking with me, I will make them fly this plane straight back to Tulsa just so I can kick your ass!"

"You're _so_ hot when you're mad." I snicker teasingly. "And it's so _cute_ that you think you could _ever_ kick my ass-"

"Taylor!"

"I'm like a whole foot taller than you!"

"I'll hang up!" He insists, but I can hear a hint of amusement in his voice no matter how hard he tries to sound angry. "If you don't tell me what happened _right now_ -"

"You'll punish me?"

"Fuck you."

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you what happened." I finally relent through my own chuckles. "Basically... as long as we get to go the beach and Disneyland a lot, they're all for it."

"Really?"

"Really. I mean, Asta obviously didn't have much to say on the subject, and Ezra apparently doesn't care. But the rest of the votes were all in favor of moving, so..."

"Wow." I can _hear_ the smile in his voice, and it makes my smile even wider. "That's awesome!"

"Yeah. Now I just have to deal with telling everyone else."

"Yeah... that's not so awesome."

"Not so much." I sigh wearily, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table. "Ike and Zac are coming over later tonight, and I'm gonna tell them then. And I guess I'll have to tell my mom and dad tomorrow."

"That's... fast." He notes in surprise. "I know you said you were gonna tell everyone, I just didn't think you were gonna do it this week!"

"Well, now that I've talked to my kids about it, it's only a matter of time before they let it slip to someone else. I figure it's better coming from me than them. Once they know, and my brothers know, it's going to get back to my parents and Nat's mom in no time. I feel like I _have_ to tell them all _now_ before they hear it elsewhere."

"Yeah, I guess."

I wish he didn't sound so unsure. It's making _me_ feel more unsure, which is _not_ what I need right now. "I'm nervous, but I kind of just want to get it over with. Otherwise I'm just going to be worrying about it constantly."

"How do you think they'll take it?"

Badly. Possibly even horribly. "I don't know."

"Do  you need me to come back after the show?"

"I thought you said you couldn't."

"I can try to figure something out." He offers concernedly. "I don't want you to have to deal with all that shit by yourself."

For a moment, I'm speechless. The simple fact that he'd be willing to come back here just to hold my hand through this is more than enough of a support. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"Is that a yes?"

The "yes" is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. I could let him do this for me, but I shouldn't. I'm a grown man, not a scared little boy (regardless of how I feel). I can deal with talking to my parents by myself.

"I appreciate the offer, you have _no_ idea. But... I'll be okay."

"Okay. Let me know if you change your mind, though."

"I will." I promise gratefully. "But can I call you... after?"

"Did you _seriously_ just ask me that?"

"Apparently." I laugh softly, feeling like an idiot even though it didn't seem like a stupid question when I asked it. "I guess I just don't wanna dump too much on you."

"You're not."

"But if I _do_ , you have to tell me, okay?" I urge him. "The last thing I want to do is overwhelm you and scare you away."

"Lucky for you, I don't scare easy. My happy place is Transylvania."

It really sucks when you're a thousand miles away from someone and _every_ cell in your entire body wants nothing more than to hug them. My only instinct right now is to wrap my arms around him and be as close to him as I possibly can. But I can't.

"I miss you."

He snorts in amusement. "You saw me a few hours ago."

"And?"

"I miss you, too."

The rest of the day drags by at a snail's pace; it always does when I'm waiting for something specific to happen. By the time I've fed, bathed, and gotten all five of my children to sleep, I still have a good half an hour or so to go until Zac is due to arrive. Normally, if I have a spare few minutes, I'll text or call Tommy. But he's probably on stage right now, or enjoying the night with his band mates. Besides, I saw him this morning, and I talked to him this afternoon... I don't want to come off like the clingy boyfriend on day two of our _official_ relationship.

I'll save that for later.

I end up in my bedroom with nothing to do to pass the time. For a while, I just sit on the end of the bed, taking in my very familiar surroundings. It occurs to me then that my days here are numbered. Soon, I'll be sitting on a new bed, in a new bedroom, in a completely different city... a different state. And the next thing I know I'm downstairs, out in the garage, digging out all of the large, deconstructed cardboard boxes that Natalie always insisted on keeping "in case we ever decide to move".

Zac lets himself into the house without knocking, as always, and finds me packing up books in the den. The shelves around me are empty, and the room is full of taped up boxes with the words 'DEN' and 'BOOKS' scrawled across the top in bold, black Sharpie.

"Hey! You are gonna _love_ me, I brought you some leftover pecan..." He stops in the doorway, gazing around in confusion. "Pie."

Busted. "Hey..."

"What're you doing?"

"Uh... " This wasn't the way I intended to break the news to him. I was only going to pack for a little while, but I must have lost track of time. "We should talk."

The look on his face right now makes me feel completely awful. It's fear, plain and simple, with maybe a hint of resignation lingering beneath it. I think he knows what I'm about to say, or some of it at least. He's been waiting for this for a long time.

"I'm eating your pie." He sighs, his shoulders sagging as he turns and walks away towards the kitchen.

I place the small stack of books in my hand into the box beside me and push myself to my feet, switching off the den light before following him through the house. When I get to the kitchen, he's already made himself comfortable on a stool at the breakfast bar. And he wasn't kidding about eating my pie.

"Want some ice cream to go with that?"

"Bring it." He challenges through a mouthful, stabbing into the pie filling with his fork."Something tells me I'm gonna need it."

"Beer might work better." I suggest as I grab a tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer and push it across the counter top towards him.

"Probably." He grabs it and pulls the lid off, scooping out a chunk that's bigger than the slice of pie on his plate. "Too bad beer tastes like crap."

So does Kate's pecan pie, to be honest. Which is why I'm not all that broken up about him eating it. "Let me know when you're 'drunk' enough to talk."

For a minute or two, the kitchen is quiet. I take a seat on the stool beside him and watch him gorge himself until his plate is empty. And then he pulls the tub of ice cream towards him and starts eating out of it.

"Okay... hit me."

"Tommy and I... we got back together." He nods as he stares down into the tub. This part isn't a surprise to him. "He was waiting here for me the other night-"

"I know."

"How?"

"Nat's mom called Kate last night." He explains, swallowing his mouthful before finally meeting my eyes. "She wanted to know if we knew anything about 'that Tommy guy' who came to River's birthday party." _Fuck._ "She said he was here visiting, and she was 'concerned' that he 'wasn't the best influence' on the kids."

"What did you tell her?"

" _I_ didn't tell her anything, I didn't get the chance. She and Kate did all the talking."

"Well what did Kate tell her?" God, I can only imagine...

"Not a lot. She doesn't _know_ a lot. But she spent the rest of the night telling me that she didn't trust him, and that you weren't setting a good example for your kids, and that Natalie wouldn't have wanted them spending time with someone like Tommy."

"She doesn't even _know_ him!"

"Yeah, I pointed that out. All I got for my efforts was an earful about how it's 'obvious he's not the type of person you want around your children'."

If I didn't respect my brother so much, I'd be calling his wife all manner of terrible things right now. "Whatever. Her opinion of Tommy is the least of my concerns."

"So... what's with the boxes?" He asks, his voice laced with dread. "Are you donating the contents of your den to Goodwill or something?"

"No... I'm moving."

"To another house?" I nod faintly, and he takes a moment (and a deep breath) before posing his next question. "In Tulsa?"

I want to say yes. Looking into those big, brown, puppy eyes of his, I want to say yes and erase the hopelessness that's gazing back at me. But I don't want to lie. I can't say yes, but I can't bring myself to say no, either. So we simply sit and stare at each other until he's confident that he knows the answer. And then he turns his face away from mine again.

"I'm sorry, Zac."

"What for?"

"Everything?" I shrug sadly. "You've been there for me through _everything_ , I don't know how I would have survived this year without you. And now I'm just... leaving. It's selfish-"

"It's not selfish to want to be happy." He argues sincerely.

"It is when it compromises other people's happiness."

After considering that fact for a few seconds, he shakes his head in disagreement. "You've compromised your happiness for other people for _years_."

"Maybe. But that was my choice."

"It's _not_ a choice if you feel like you don't have one."

"It doesn't matter anymore." I insist, not wanting to dwell on the past when I asked him here to discuss the future. "The point is, what I'm doing now will impact you, and Ike, and... everyone. It's going to change _everything_. I wish there was some way to avoid it, but..."

"I know."

"I've been thinking about it a lot, and even though things will be different, I think we can still make the band work." I can tell he's unconvinced, but he doesn't come right out and say as much. "I know it'll be harder, but just because I'll be in another state, that doesn't mean we can't still make music. We can keep writing, we've never needed to be in the same room at the same time to do that, and then we can get together every couple of months or so and work on stuff together, you know? I can come back here, or you guys can come to L.A... we can make something work."

"Maybe..." He concedes. "But what about touring?"

"I can't." I tell him remorsefully. "Not until the kids are doing better, at least. I just can't be away from them for that long anymore."

"Yeah, I figured."

"I can try to do one-off shows every so often, as long as I can be home within a day or two. And maybe, once everything is more settled, and the kids are okay, we could try to do a summer tour or something, you know? During their school break, so they can come with us." He nods again, not exactly enthusiastic about the idea, but not as discouraged as he was a moment ago. "I wish things could be different..."

"I know you do." He assures me with a small, despondent smile. "Honestly, the band stuff isn't what I'm sad about. Not really. Yeah, it sucks that we won't be able to just go into the studio whenever we want, and I'll miss it, but... I'm gonna miss _you_ more."

I immediately lean forward on my stool, pulling him into a tight hug that he gladly returns. "I'm gonna miss you, too."

We remain that way for the longest time, it's so comfortable, so natural, that neither of us feels the need or the desire to let go. It's always been that way. It used to be dangerous; a hug like this, a moment alone, would have quickly become something more. But there's no risk of that anymore, that part of our relationship is over now, and we're both better off for it. Hugging him still feels more right than hugging anyone else in our family, though. Just being around him balances me out. He's the yin to my yang, I guess you could say. I've never really had to live without that, and even though I know that we can still talk after I leave, it's more than a little daunting to imagine my life without him _right_ there.

I've never been without him before, not even when we were so at odds that we barely spoke.

We separate only when there's a loud knock on the front door, and I know just by the look Zac gives me as I pull away that I'm not about to face our older brother alone. I have backup. It makes answering the door a little less intimidating, but there's no way to eradicate my nerves entirely.

Despite our often rocky relationship, I _do_ love my big brother. We may not see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, from song lyrics to my love life, but I know that he genuinely thinks he's doing what's best for me whenever he forces his opinions on me. I don't fuck up to spite him, in fact I try _not_ to fuck up so that I won't have to deal with his disapproval. But just as Zac is the complementary energy in my life, Ike tends to be the incompatible one. If Zac and I were cogs in a machine, we'd mesh and turn without any trouble, so that everything worked perfectly. Ike and I would jam and grate on one another until the machine broke down entirely.

"What's up?" He asks as he follows me back to the kitchen and helps himself to a beer from the fridge. "I've got  a gorgeous woman at home waiting for me, and a two week drought that I'm still making up for, so if we could make this quick..."

I'm not sure if he does it on purpose or not, but he never misses an opportunity to remind us that his wife is hot and that they have _a lot_ of sex. I guess I can't really blame him; if I felt like I was allowed to brag about Tommy in the same way, I would.

"Okay... well..." I chance a sideways glance at Zac, who gives a reassuring nod to help me along. "There's some stuff I needed to talk to you about."

"Band related?"

"Yes and no."

Ike frowns, taking a sip of his beer. "How can it be both?"

How am I supposed to ease into this? Nothing I say is going to soften the blow, no amount of build up with buffer it. If anything, it'll only put him on edge and make it worse.

"It's both because... part of it is about something that's happening in my personal life, and... that's going to affect the band."

"Why?" He asks anxiously. "What's happening?"

"Tommy-"

"Shit." Apparently that was all he needed to hear. "Not this _again_!"

"It's different this time." I protest, bracing myself for a fruitless fight. "We're together now, _really_ together, and-"

"And what? You want us to throw you a coming out party?"

Breathe, Taylor. _Breathe_. "I'm not asking for your approval, or even your support. To be honest, I didn't expect either-"

"Don't try to make me the bad guy here, Taylor. If you wanna be gay, whatever, go for it. It's none of my business who you sleep with; you're an adult and you're single, it's your choice. But don't expect me to be _happy_ about it if it fucks up _everything_ we've spent our whole lives working for, okay? This isn't just about _you_ , it doesn't just affect _you_ -"

"You think I don't _know_ that? I've spent my whole life trying to pretend I'm straight, trying to be someone I'm not so that it won't screw with the band-"

"Oh, please! Was sleeping with Alex your idea of not screwing with the band? Was knocking Natalie up when she was eighteen your idea of not screwing with the band? Or having an affair with Tommy? Or running around Tulsa and Los Angeles with Alex and Tommy last year, acting like a fucking child?!"

"I said I _tried_! I'm not fucking perfect, Ike. Yes, I messed up a few times in the past _fifteen_ years. Forgive me if stifling myself twenty-four-seven proved to be a little _exhausting_ sometimes!"

"Guys, this isn't helping-"

"You're not a victim, Taylor. I'm sure it makes you feel better to tell yourself you are, to make me into this insensitive asshole who wants you to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of our careers, but _you're_ the one who made these choices. You never asked me for my advice, and you've never fucking listened to me when I've tried to give it-"

"Because it's _not_ advice, Ike, it's _judgment_!"

"Guys!" Snaps Zac a little louder than before. "I think you've both made it pretty clear how you feel, so can we just move on so Taylor can say what he's trying to say?"

"Oh great, so there's more?" Ike groans in irritation. "What? You wanna announce all this on the website or something? Do an interview with People magazine?"

No, Ike. Right now, I mostly just want to punch you in the face. "I'm moving."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm moving."

He looks from me to Zac, who quickly averts his gaze to the dark, granite surface of the breakfast bar. "Where to?"

"L.A."

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?! You're gonna up and leave, ditch the band and move those kids away from their _whole_ family, just so you can be with _him_?!"

"It's not _just_ so I can be with Tommy. I've wanted to live in L.A. for years, and the kids want to move, too."

"Sure they do."

"I asked them! I gave them a choice-"

"Yeah, and I bet you made California seem really appealing, didn't you? Did you promise them trips to Disneyland every fucking weekend, is that it?"

"No, I didn't. I told them the truth-"

He scoffs derisively, and I have to grip the back of the bar stool to stop myself from throwing a punch. "How very uncharacteristic of you."

"You know what, Ike? Fuck you! I love my kids, and I believe that moving them away from this place is going to be good for them. And I'm sorry if that fucks up _your_ perfect life, but they come first."

"Since _when_?"

I don't even realize I've taken a swing at him until I feel my fist connect with his face. Zac's hand is on my arm a split second before it happens, but it's not enough to hold me back. This isn't the first time I've ever hit Isaac; the three of us have gotten into plenty of fights before, even a couple that could be considered all-out brawls. But this was different.

Somehow, this was worse.

Ike cradles the side of his jaw gingerly as he shakes his head at me, looking me up and down with total and utter contempt in a way he never has before. "You know what? Go."

"Ike..." Zac sighs disappointedly. "Don't be like that. Let's just take a breather and-"

"No." He cuts him off, his eyes still fixed on me. "I'm done. We're _done_."

Zac and I stand silently side-by-side as Isaac turns and storms out of the house, slamming the front door behind him. Almost immediately I hear Viggo crying, and I'm overcome with a wave of panic as I wonder if he's the only one awake or if all of the yelling woke his older siblings. Any anger or hurt I might have been feeling as a result of my confrontation with Isaac is gone, and my only concern is getting upstairs and making sure my children are okay.

But as I hurry up the stairs towards Viggo's bedroom, flashes of everything that was just said begin replaying in my mind, and my legs start to feel a little unsteady. I have to grip the banister as I near the top, pausing for a second to compose myself so that I'm not an obvious wreck when I walk into my son's bedroom. I have to go in there and hug him and promise him that everything is going to be okay...

And I'm not even sure if that's true.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to those of you who are still reading and still leaving such thoughtful and encouraging feedback. <3 You're amazing.

  


 

 

I barely slept last night. I had too much on my mind, between my fight with Isaac, the imminent conversation with my parents, and all of the usual stresses that weigh on me day in and day out... I couldn't switch off.

After getting Viggo back to sleep and making sure his brothers and sisters hadn't been disturbed by all of the yelling and door slamming, I went back downstairs to face the lecture I was sure Zac was about to give me for making the fight even worse than it needed to be. But I didn't get a lecture. He wasn't happy about what had happened, but he didn't blame me any more than he blamed Ike.

I'm still not sure which of us _I_ blame more.

At first, I blamed him. I was furious, and all I could think about were the horrible things he'd said, and how unfair and unsympathetic he'd been. But as my anger slowly began to wane, I became more and more upset at myself for how I'd handled everything. I'd intended to be more understanding; I'd been expecting Ike to react exactly as he had, and yet when it had actually happened, I'd acted as though I hadn't been prepared  for it at all. It was unreasonable for me to think that he'd be okay with it all.

I shouldn't have hit him.

I almost texted him a couple of times to apologize, but I deleted each and every message without hitting send. Partly because I knew he wouldn't be ready to accept an apology, and partly because, deep down, I wasn't really ready to offer one. Zac reassured me that he'd come around eventually, once he'd had a chance to cool down. I wasn't so sure, but I didn't argue. I already felt bad enough for the position I'd put Zac in, I didn't want to stomp on his attempts to convince us both that this wasn't a big deal.

Just before midnight, I got a text from Tommy asking if I was still awake. Zac took that as his cue to be heading home, and after thanking him for being so supportive and walking him out to his car, I quickly replied to Tommy's text. It seemed like only a second passed between me sending the message and my phone ringing, I wasn't even sure if he'd waited for an answer before calling me. It put the first smile of the night on my face.

He listened to me rant about how badly my night had gone, commiserating and then calling Ike a few choice names that I'm ashamed to admit made me feel a lot better. Once I'd gotten it (mostly) out of my system, he asked me if I was still as determined as I had been to tell my parents that I'm gay and that I'm leaving Tulsa...

To be honest, after last night, I'm feeling a lot less confident about it than I was before (and I wasn't feeling all that confident to begin with). But I've started now, there's no going back. I may as well get it over with as soon as possible, otherwise I'm not going to be able to stop worrying about it. Besides, I can't take the next step in the moving process until they know.

It's not like I can pack up a U-Haul and stop by their house on my way out of town to casually mention that I'm leaving!

I called my mom first thing this morning and basically invited myself, Pam and the kids over for dinner. I'm hoping my little sister will watch her nieces and nephews while I'm baring my soul to their grandparents. I'm also hoping that knowing my children are in the house will limit the potential for screaming and sobbing. But after the way things played out with Isaac last night, maybe I shouldn't get my hopes up too high about that.

Zac offered to come with me for moral support. But I think he's been put in the middle of all of this enough for one week (or one lifetime). I'm a grown man, I don't need my brother to hold my hand while I come out to my parents.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

As the evening draws closer, I become more and more of a nervous wreck. Tommy was traveling back to L.A. for most of the day, so I couldn't call him to calm me down. It didn't feel like a good thing at the time, but in hindsight it probably was; I don't want to always be running to him to complain about my problems. I don't want _him_ to feel like I do. I told him I needed a partner, not a therapist. There's nothing he can say to me that he hasn't already said, no reassurances he can give me that he hasn't already offered. I just need to focus on those things, remember them, keep telling myself that it will all be okay.

Somehow.

When I pull the car into the driveway of my parents home, I'm torn between asking my kids not to mention anything about moving to California, or just crossing every crossable body part and hoping that they do so without being told to. They haven't really talked about it much all day, so there's a chance that they won't bring it up. If I remind them by saying something about it now, I might just be creating a problem that never would have existed otherwise.

Besides, I honestly don't trust Ezra not to disobey me and say something just to spite me.

It's obvious from the second we set foot in the house that everyone knows _something_ is going on. It's my own fault for randomly setting this dinner up; I tried to make it seem like I just wanted to see them after being on another continent for two weeks (and I do), but they're still suspicious that there's another reason for it. They're trying to pretend everything is normal, just like I am, but I can feel them watching me expectantly, waiting for me to clear my throat or get up from my chair and ask for everyone's attention. This is the way I felt every time Natalie and I had a pregnancy to announce and we were waiting for the right moment at a family dinner to break the news.

I'm pretty sure their reaction to this piece of news won't be quite so joyous.

I'm determined not to get to the real reason I called this gathering until dinner is over and my sister has taken my kids off to watch a movie somewhere out of earshot of any yelling that might occur. I exhaust every other possible topic, from Australia to the weather, and between every one of them there's a protracted and uncomfortable pause. I finally run out of things to say (which is shocking for me) right before dessert, so Pam seizes the opportunity to bring up a subject of her own.

"How did your friend's visit go?" She asks with a polite smile. "Did he make it to Washington D.C. alright?"

"What friend?" My dad asks warmly as all eyes at the table turn to me.

"Oh... uh... you remember Tommy? He came to River's party at Disneyland?"

Mom chuckles, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "The one with the purple hair? How could we forget!"

"Yeah... well, he came by to surprise us the other day on his way to a show on the east coast."

"He came grocery shopping with us!" Viggo pipes up excitedly. "And we played Hungry Hungry Hippos!"

"I wish I'd gotten to talk to him more." Remarks Pam, that tight smile still plastered across her face. "He seemed very... interesting."

Translation: I don't like him because he's different.

"When we live in Los Angeles, you can come visit." River offers as my heart stops dead in my chest. "He lives there, too! He can come over for dinner with us, and you can talk to him then!"

I'm expecting a barrage of questions about what River means by "when we live in Los Angeles". But instead, Pam and my parents simply laugh the comment off as though it's nothing more than the day dream of a very imaginative little boy. Once upon a time, it was.

It was _my_ day dream, but soon it'll be _our_ reality.

"Thank you, sweetheart. _When_ you live in Los Angeles, maybe I will." Pam winks across the table at him.

"I want my bedroom to be the same as River's at our new house." Viggo informs me decisively, and River nods in agreement. "And I want it to be blue!"

"Can we get bunk beds?!"

Shit. "Um... we'll talk about it later, okay?"

"Talk about what later?" Frowns mom, suddenly finding this conversation a little less amusing.

"Nothing, it's... I'll explain after dinner."

"Why can't you explain now?" Dad presses. "We're all here already."

Exactly! I'd rather not tell you that I'm gay in front of my children and my fourteen-year-old sister.  "I just think we should wait until the kids are-"

"We're moving to Los Angeles." Ezra announces bluntly, his eyes flitting up from his place mat to my face for a moment, just long enough to appreciate how pale I've probably turned.

"Taylor?"

Hearing my mother say my name in that tone of voice almost makes me flash back to when I was nineteen. She hasn't addressed me with so much underlying heartache and disappointment since the day I sat my parents down and told them that I'd gotten my girlfriend pregnant out of wedlock.

God, I hope this conversation isn't going to go as badly as that one did...

"Zo, could you take the kids into the kitchen and get them some dessert?" I practically beg my little sister, and after casting a wary glance at my mother, who nods permissively, Zoe gets up from the table and beckons her nieces and nephews to follow.

So now it's just me and them. I hate that I feel so much like a child right now.

"What's going on?" My dad asks, the slight gruffness in his voice the first clue I have that he is _not_ happy. "First River mentions living in L.A. and now Ezra says you're moving. Is this some kind of joke?"

"No." I shake my head faintly, unable to look up from the table cloth. I don't want to see their outraged expressions. "After our trip to California a few weeks ago, I started thinking a lot about how much happier the kids were out there than they have been here-"

" _Of course_ they were happy there, it was Disneyland!" Mom points out incredulously. "It wasn't real life, it was just a vacation! If you move there, it won't always be that way."

"I know, but I still think things will be better there than they have been here. I have to try _something_."

"And the first thing you decide to try is moving to another _state_?" Asks dad, looking at me like I need to be tossed into the nearest padded cell. "Taylor, this isn't a small decision. Their whole _life_ it here, all of their friends, their family... do you honestly think that _more_ upheaval is what those children need right now?"

Honestly? Yes. "I don't look at it as upheaval, I look at it as a fresh start. You're right, their whole life is here, they grew up here. And everywhere they turn, they're reminded of their mom."

"So you want them to _forget_ her?" Exclaims Pam tearfully.

"No! God, no, _never_." I wholeheartedly assure her. "I am going to do _everything_ I can to make sure that they remember her and that they know how much she loved them, I _promise._ But there's a difference between remembering her and... being haunted by their memories of her." None of them seem to understand what I'm trying to say, but I never really expected them to. At least not at first. "Every day, they have to wake up in that house and know she won't be there. Every day, they remember that first morning they woke up and found out she wasn't there and wouldn't be coming home again. Even if it's just for a second, it's there. _Every_ _day._ "

"If the house is the problem, just move house." Mom reasons with me, struggling to remain patient and diplomatic when she clearly thinks I've lost my mind. "There are plenty of other houses in Tulsa, why can't you stay here?"

"Because it's _not_ just the house. It's the grocery store, and all of our favorite restaurants, and the park, and the bowling alley, and the movie theater... it's everywhere, _she's_ everywhere, and I really think it's making it harder on them."

Dad shakes his head, trying to understand where the hell it is I'm coming from. "But still... _California_? Why do you have to move all the way out there? Why do you even have to leave Oklahoma?"

"Because..." I shrug helplessly. "I love it there. And they love it there. I've always wanted to live there, and it's the first place they've seemed truly happy since she died."

"But you'll have no one to help you, honey. I know you're trying to do the right thing here, but I don't think you've thought it through enough."

"I have, mom. Believe me, I've done nothing but think about it. I wouldn't even be considering it if I wasn't _sure_ I'd have support."

"And who's going to be supporting you?" Pam asks almost accusingly, already certain that whoever it is won't be good enough. "A bunch of irresponsible rock stars? Unqualified strangers that you hire over the internet and pay to take care of your children for you? Do you really think that's any substitute for their _family_?"

"I'm not trying to substitute anyone, or replace anyone, or make them forget anyone. And I would _never_ let anyone take care of my children if I didn't trust them one hundred percent. I love those kids more than _anything_ , I wouldn't do this if I didn't honestly believe it would help them."

I haven't even finished speaking before Pam gets out of her chair and walks out of the room, and I don't think twice before jumping up and following her. My parents will still be here, but if she walks out of this house before I have a chance to explain, she's going to build it up in her mind and make it _so_ much worse than it has to be. I don't want that weighing on _either_ of us.

I catch up to her in the foyer, hastily pulling on her coat by the front door. She refuses to look at me, but I don't need to see her face to know how upset she is. "Pam, _please_ just-"

"I moved here for them." She tells me, her tone sharp but her voice faltering with emotion. "I left my son and my friends, my _entire_ life to be here for my daughter and my grandchildren while _you_ were off focusing on your career and traveling the world!"

"I know, and I could _never_ explain to you how much I appreciate-"

"I've already lost my daughter, and now you want to take them away from me as well?"

" _No_! Pam, believe me, I'm not trying to take anything away from you. I'm trying to give something back to them."

She shakes her head, unwilling and unable to hear anything I say to her. "You're doing what _you_ want to do, just like you always have. You're being unbelievably selfish and ungrateful, Taylor."

I don't try to stop her when she turns to leave. No amount of apologizing, explaining, or reasoning will work, not when she's this furious with me. I could talk until I've used every word in the English language, and none of them will register with her. I just have to give her time, as difficult as that is to accept.

My parents, on the other hand, seem a little more calm about the whole thing. They're clearly not happy about it, but they're not crying and calling me selfish, so maybe I have a shot at getting them to see my side of things. When I return to the dining room, they're still sitting exactly where I left them. As soon as mom sees me walk in, she stops talking and nods in my direction so that dad will know they're no longer alone in the room. I feel as though I'm standing before a jury, about to plead my case and hope that they declare me innocent.

Even though I know I'm not.

"I know this is totally out of the blue, and I _completely_ understand why you guys are worried, but... it's something I've been thinking about for a long time. I've already talked to the kids about it, I asked them if they _wanted_ to move, and they do. I'm not just dragging them out there on a whim, I would never do something like that."

"We know." Mom assures me with a small, sad smile. "We would never accuse you of doing anything to hurt those children in any way, we know better. We just... we're worried about you. About _all_ of you."

"Losing Natalie shook us all up a lot. And I know that Ezra and Penny, especially, are still going through a great deal of grief. And I'm sure you are, too, even though you're so busy worrying about them that you'd never let on that you're suffering." Dad continues calmly, clearly trying to choose his words carefully so as not to offend me in any way. "This is a _huge_ change, and we're concerned that it's a... knee-jerk reaction to her death."

"It's not. She's been gone for almost nine months, it's _not_ a knee-jerk reaction. I'm not grasping at straws trying to fix my kids, I'm not running away from my problems. I'm doing something that feels right, because the way things have been going these last few months hasn't felt right _at all_. It feels like I'm holding on by my fingertips most days, and the kids are stuck in a rut that I haven't been able to break them out of because I've been so busy trying to keep my head above water."

"And you think this is the solution?" Asks dad with genuine curiosity and concern.

"I do. I _really_ do."

Their gazes shift from me to one another, and I grip the back of the chair I'm standing behind as I wait for the verdict. I feel as though I can't breathe; all of my focus is going into trying to read their facial expressions, trying to decipher the looks they're giving each other. But I can't, and it's driving me crazy!

Until finally my mom speaks again. "If you honestly think this is the right thing to do... then we think you should do it."

Oh. My. God.

"You... you do? _Really_?"

"Really." Dad nods, his smile just as melancholy as mom's, but also just as genuine. "In case you've forgotten, your mother and I moved you guys away from Tulsa more than once when you were younger. For different reasons than the ones prompting your move, obviously, but we still relocated to different states, different _countries_ , away from everyone we knew. It was the right thing for _our_ family at the time, and your grandparents understood and supported that. They missed us, and they missed you, but they knew it would be wrong for them to put their feelings before our future. So if you believe that this is the right thing for _your_ family, for their future... we'll support you, too."

"Are you serious?" I ask hesitantly, my fingers still grasping the chair, only now it's to keep my legs from giving out under me in total and absolute relief. "You're not gonna yell at me?"

"Of course not." Mom laughs softly, though her voice is thick with tears as she gets out of her seat and walks over to me, wrapping me in a suffocatingly tight hug. "That doesn't mean we're not going to miss you all, though. It's going to be so quite around here without you."

"We'll be back." I promise her, squeezing her tightly in return while she cries quietly against my shoulder. "And you can come out and stay with us _any_ time you want."

"Be careful." Warns dad in the most playful tone he can muster. "Your mother will have our first trip planned before you even find a place to live!"

"Speaking of which, have you started looking already?" Ask mom, pulling back to look me in the eyes. "Do you know how long it might be...?"

"I haven't really looked, just online so I could get an idea of what's out there. But... I'm hoping it'll be soon."

She nods, wiping at her damp cheeks as she tries to put on a brave face. "Well, then, we'll just have to make the most of the time we have left with you."

"You make it sound like I'm dying." I chuckle softly, reaching out to brush away one of the tear tracks she missed. "You'll still see me all the time, whether I come back here, or you come out there, or we talk on Skype."

"Oh, you know I hate Skype." She rolls her eyes, waving the idea away dismissively before pulling me into another hug. "I never know where I'm supposed to look."

As stupid as this probably sounds, I didn't realize just how much I was going to miss my mom until this moment. Standing here, hugging her, listening to her complain about technology in an attempt to stop herself from crying all over again... it really hits me how different my life will be with her so far away. It won't be the first time in my life that I've lived in another state from my parents, but it was always temporary before.

As much as I love my dad, my mom has always been the one I've been afraid of failing. I can't even explain why, really. I've arguably been closer to my dad for most of my life; he travelled _everywhere_ with us when we first got famous. He's been a father, a friend, and a constant source of wisdom and support when it comes to our lives and our careers. But my mom... she's my _mom_. She's the strongest woman I know, the strongest _person_. I've only ever wanted to make her proud.

Possibly my biggest fear in the world is doing something that might make her love me less.

Which is why I can't bring myself to finish what I started when I came here tonight. While she still has tears in her eyes from the first bombshell I've dropped, I _can't_ drop another.

I can't tell them that I'm gay.

 


	22. Chapter 22

  


 

 

 

I'm a coward.

Not that this is news, but it's been a long time since I've been _this_ aware of the fact.

I had them there, right there in front of me, and all I had to do was say the words. Tell them the truth. But telling the truth has never been something I'm particularly good at, and tonight was no exception. Coming clean to my family about my sexual orientation has _always_ felt impossible, but lately I started to believe that maybe I could finally do it. I _had_ to finally do it, because I was _finally_ in a relationship, I was in love, and I didn't intend to keep that a secret for the rest of my life. I _don't_ intend to. I know I have to do this eventually. If I want to be happy, and live my life without hiding who I am, if I want to truly _live_ for the first time ever, I have to do this.

I just don't know _how_.

And I don't know how to tell Tommy that I chickened out, either. He's expecting me to call him, and he's expecting me to tell him how my parents reacted to finding out that I'm gay. He's expecting me to have been strong, to have taken a step closer to my future. _Our_ future. But I haven't, because I'm a coward, and I froze up when I had the opportunity to move forward.

Asta is already asleep when we get home, and Viggo is so tired that he can barely get out of the car. By the time I've got them upstairs, into their pajamas, and tucked in, Penny and River are ready to pass out, too. I don't have to coax them into their beds, they come willingly. Even Ezra doesn't put up a fight. In fact, he seems almost contrite, as though maybe he actually regrets knowingly dumping me into hot water with his grandparents tonight. He's still not speaking to me, but he brushes his teeth when I tell him to, and he goes straight into his bedroom once he's done. I'm so blindsided by this sudden burst of obedience that I stupidly push my luck and try to kiss him goodnight, only to find myself inches from kissing a pillow when he rolls away from me at the last minute.

The first thing that strikes me, _hard_ , is pain. Right in the center of my chest. It makes me want to fall to my knees on the floor beside his bed and beg him to tell me what I did wrong and how I can fix it. But before that misguided urge has the chance to become a reality, it's overpowered by a wave of anger. I want to force him to roll over and look at me so I can tell him how selfish he's being, how hurtful, and how cruel what he did tonight really was. Not just to me, but to his grandparents.

Thankfully, I manage to keep my mouth shut. I force myself out of the room and into the hallway, my hands balled into fists at my sides and my jaw clenched in an effort to contain the scream of pure frustration fighting its way up from deep inside me. The last thing I need or want to do right now is say something to him that I'll instantly regret, something that will only make everything worse.

Though how it can possibly _get_ any worse is beyond me.

After giving myself a few minutes to pull myself together, I head for my own bedroom and spend another few minutes (or thirty) staring at my phone. It's been a long time since I've been nervous about calling Tommy, especially this kind of nervous. It's not the butterflies-in-the-stomach, hoping-I'll-say-something-funny kind of nervous. It's the God-I-hope-he-doesn't-lose-all-respect-for-me kind.

He has to give me points for telling them about the move, though... right?

It seems as though the phone barely rings once before he answers it. I think I was hoping for another couple of seconds, because I'm actually a little disappointed when I hear his eager "hey" on the other end of the line.

"Hi."

"You sound tired."

"I _feel_ tired." I sigh deeply, settling back against the pillows and closing my eyes. "It's been a long night."

"Yeah..." His anticipation is palpable, I know he's dying to ask me what happened with my parents, but he doesn't want to push me to talk about it if I don't want to. And I _don't_ want to, but not for the reasons he probably assumes. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I guess."

"Is there anything I can do?"

I'm an ass.

I'm letting him believe I actually went through with it, that I'm this brave, honest person. But I'm not. I may not be flat out lying to him, but I'm lying by omission, which isn't any better. I lied by omission by not telling my parents that I'm gay, I've been doing it my whole life. I want to be _done_. I want to stop lying to everyone I love.

"I didn't tell them." I admit in a single breath, a mixture of relief and shame hitting me simultaneously. "I mean, I told them about the move, but not about me... or us. I just couldn't do it. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" He asks, and I can tell by his tone that he's legitimately confused by my apology.

"Because I said I'd tell them, and I didn't, so... I'm sorry."

"If you're sorry to yourself, fine. But don't be sorry to _me_. I never said you had to tell them."

Okay... that's not the reaction I was expecting. "Well... no, but... I mean... if I don't tell them, we can't really be together."

"We can be together, we just can't like... flaunt it."

"But I want to flaunt it." I whine pathetically, which only makes him laugh. "I'm serious! I don't want to have to sneak around indefinitely."

"It'd only be in public." He assures me.

"It wouldn't, though. Unless we want to pretend to be 'just good friends' in front of my kids, I'm going to have to explain to them that we're together. And if I tell them, they might mention it to my parents. That's why I couldn't keep the move from them once I talked to my kids about it. They're adorable little ticking time bombs of scandalous information!"

"They're evil and must be destroyed!" He mocks melodramatically, leaving me scowling to myself.

"Very funny."

"You'll tell them when you're ready. And until then we'll just... figure it out."

He makes it sound so simple. If only it _felt_ that way. "I just don't want you to think that I don't _want_ them to know about us, or that I'm ashamed of this. That's not it _at all_."

"I know."

"It's just... they're gonna be heartbroken. Having a gay son isn't going to be a dream come true for them, and I don't want to hurt them."

"I get it. You don't have to explain it to me, I'm not mad or disappointed." No, he's amazing. "There's no rush, okay? You don't have to change your whole life overnight just 'cause we're together."

"But I _want_ to change my whole life." I insist sincerely. "Believe me, where I am now is not where I've always wanted to be."

"Yeah, and it's not where you always will be. But that doesn't mean you have to floor it in the opposite direction. You can take it slowly-"

"I don't _want_ to take it slowly."

"Okay, fine, slow _er_."

Nope. "Still too slow."

"You're such a fucking brat."

"Whatever. You love me."

He heaves an exaggerated sigh before finally relenting with a defeated "true" that has me grinning like an absolute fool. How he can turn my mood around so quickly is a mystery to me, and I don't care if I never solve it. Just so long as he keeps on doing it.

We end up talking until way after midnight, which means I'm not going to get a whole lot of sleep, but it was _more_ than worth it. Whenever talking to him is the last thing I do at night, I fall asleep with a smile on my face and wake up the same way. It makes five hours of sleep feel like twice that much. I start the next day feeling like nothing can go wrong. Of course, plenty of stuff usually _does_ go wrong, but it's still nice to begin with that feeling, even if it is short lived.

My morning routine goes about as smoothly as it probably can when I'm trying to single-handedly feed and dress five children, and then home-school three of them while not completely ignoring the other two. It's a balancing act that I'm still in the process of perfecting, but I'm hoping that I never get to the point of _actually_ perfecting it. Not because I want to fail, but because I don't want this to become permanent. I don't want to home-school my children, I want them to reach a place where I can send them back to a real school without getting phone calls about Ezra acting out, or having Penny come home in tears because she saw the other little girls in her class hug their moms after school.

I'm just about to declare school over for the day and make a start on lunch, when Zac comes rushing into the house unannounced. He has Junia in his arms and Shepard hot on his heels, and he looks more than a little panic-stricken, which automatically puts me on edge.

"Hey, what're you doing here?" I frown in concern as he sets Junia down in the living room and tells Shepard to go and watch TV with his cousins. "Is everything okay?"

"You need to get over to mom and dad's."

"But-"

" _Now._ " He insists anxiously, snatching the jar of peanut butter out of my hand.

"What the hell is going on?"

It's obvious that he doesn't want to waste time explaining to me, but I think it's just as clear to him that I'm not going anywhere until he does. "Pam called Kate a little while ago. She told her that you're moving to L.A.-"

"It's okay, mom and dad already know. I told them last night."

"Did you tell them that you're gay, too?"

"I was going to, but I..." Oh God. "She wouldn't... would she?"

"I don't know. She was _really_ fucking pissed off, Tay. I _tried_ to stop her, but short of physically restraining her-"

He doesn't need to say anything else, I'm already running for the front door. I can't let this happen. I can't let my sister-in-law be the one to tell my parents that I'm gay, especially not when she's angry at me and therefore unlikely to handle the subject as delicately as it deserves to be.

I can't believe she'd do this. I know that sometimes when she's mad at Zac she can be spiteful, but this is something else entirely!

I almost run through several red lights and stop signs on my way across town to my parents house, but I can't afford to give her anymore of a head start than she already has. I wish Zac had just called me, then I could have been there already! But I would have had to take my kids with me, and that probably would have been a disaster. Even if I had gotten there in time to stop Kate from breaking the news to my parents, _I_ still would have had to tell them. It wouldn't go over well under the best circumstances, but as a rushed, desperate attempt to get the confession out before someone else beats me to it...

I don't want my kids around for this.

Even though I expected to see it, the sight of Kate's car in my parent's driveway still makes my heart sink. My mind is racing so fast, and everything is so muddled, that I'm not even sure if I close my car door after I get out. The single most important goal I have right now is getting into that house and stopping her before she throws the closet door open and drags me out.

The sound of raised voices and arguing hits me the second I set foot in the house, and my pace instinctively slows. If I'm too late, which it seems I might be, I want to know what's being said before I go bursting in there. And if, by some miracle, I got here in time to stop her, I want to make sure I don't go in there assuming that I'm too late and blurting out the truth in a less than sensitive manner.

"He wouldn't do something like that!" I hear my mother protest adamantly. "He loved Natalie, and his children are his life! He would _never_ have willingly walked away from them!"

"We understand that you're upset about him taking the children away from their family, but that does _not_ give you the right to come in here making hurtful allegations about our son, Kate." Dad continues in my defense, which only makes me feel worse.

They're accusing the wrong person of telling lies.

"If you don't believe me, you can ask Zac. Or better yet, ask Taylor. Ask him if he ever left his wife. Ask him to look you in the eyes and _swear_ that he didn't do it! If he does, he's even more spineless than I thought."

"That's enough!"

Mom's right; enough is enough.

The lying has gone on for too long. I'm the one who started it, and I'm the only one who can put an end to it.

"It's true." I confess, taking that final step, both figuratively and literally.

My mom turns to me in surprise, her mouth hanging open in shock, her eyes frantically searching mine, silently begging for me to take it back. "What are you talking about?"

"I... I left Natalie." I tell her quietly, guiltily, moving a little further into the living room. But not much. "Last June."

"While she was _pregnant_? Taylor, how could you?!"

"I didn't know she was pregnant." Like that makes it any better. "When I found out, I came back."

"I don't understand." She shakes her head helplessly, sinking down slowly onto the couch as my father hurries to her side. "This doesn't make any sense."

"You love your family." He contends in confusion. " _How_ could you leave them?"

"I didn't _want_ to." I insist sadly. "My kids are the reason I stayed as long as I did-"

"But you never loved _her_." Accuses Kate coldly. "You never wanted to marry her, did you? She was just a consequence you felt you had to live with. She loved you, she would have done _anything_ for you-"

"I know that!"

"You never deserved her! She wasted her life on you, and maybe if she'd never met you, she'd still be here!"

"Do you honestly believe that hasn't occurred to me?!" I snap back, the harshness of my tone visibly startling her a little for a second. " _Every_ day I wonder if she'd still be here if it wasn't for me!"

"If she was here, she'd _never_ let you take those children away from their family! She would never have let you do this to them, _or_ to us. It would make her sick, _you_ would make her sick! She must be turning in her grave right now-"

"Stop it, both of you!" Mom pleads tearfully, her head falling into her hands in distress. "This isn't right!"

The room falls silent for a moment, except for the soft sounds of crying coming from the couch. My dad tries to comfort my mom, and I try to catch my breath and calm myself down enough that my hands stop noticeably shaking. I don't know if I'm more afraid, ashamed, or angry right now. But the combination of all three coursing through my body is making me feel nauseous and unsteady on my feet. I want to sit down right here where I'm standing, just give up and let myself fall, but I can't. I feel as though I'm frozen in place, glued to the spot.

I have to stand here and face what I've done.

I have to face who I am.

"Is Kate right?" My dad finally asks me. "Did you ever love Natalie?"

"I loved her." I tell him honestly, ignoring Kate's eye-rolling and skeptical scoffing. "I wasn't _in love_ with her, but I _did_ love her."

"Then why did you marry her?" Mom questions in disbelief.

"I didn't think I had a choice. Everyone was _so_ upset, no one wanted me to be this dumb kid who knocked up his girlfriend. She wanted to marry me, and you all wanted me to marry her and take responsibility for what I'd done..." I explain, the sound of impending tears edging its way into my tone no matter how hard I try to stave it off. "So I did."

"Oh, Taylor..."

Apparently, by desperately trying not to disappoint my mother, I've done exactly that. And there's no better punishment for all of the pain I've caused, all of the lies I've told, than having to stand here and watch her heart break and _know_ it's my fault.

"We had no idea." Dad sighs regretfully. "We thought the two of you were in love."

Because that was exactly what I wanted them to think. "I know. I'm _sorry_."

"But _why_ did you leave?" Mom asks, struggling to understand, trying to sort through all of the deception and piece together the facts so that maybe it will make some kind of sense to her. "After all those years... you just woke up one day and decided to walk away?"

" _No_. It wasn't like that _at all._ I never planned to leave. I was married, and I was a father... I had no intention of walking away from that, I _was_ going to stay for the rest of my life. But..." But then I fell in love, and it wasn't so simple. "I just... I realized how much happier we could both be. I know it sounds crazy, but I wanted her to be with someone who loved her in a way I never could. And I wanted to be with someone who I loved-" Kate laughs quietly, indignantly, making it more than clear that she thinks I'm making excuses. I have to take another deep, calming breath to stop myself from turning on her again. "I wanted to be honest with her. And I _know_ I should have told her the truth from the start, but I didn't know how. I didn't know how to tell _any_ of you the truth."

"You could have told us, Taylor." Dad insists disappointedly. "We're not heartless monsters. We only ever wanted you to be happy, we never would have forced you to marry a woman you weren't in love with."

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what _are_ you saying, sweetheart? I'm trying to understand, I _am_ , but I honestly don't know why you lied to us all for _so_ long."

This is it.

This is the moment I've been running from, hiding from my whole life.  And it's even more terrifying and painful than I always thought it would be. I'm afraid to even open my mouth to speak, afraid that I'll only throw up if I try to tell them the truth. They're just sitting there, staring at me, waiting for me to hand over that one last piece of the puzzle so that they can see the whole picture for the very first time.

"Natalie was... the _perfect_ wife and mother. She was amazing, and... if I _could_ have fallen in love with anywoman in the world, it would have been her. But..."

"But?" Presses mom gently, practically on the edge of her seat.

"I couldn't." I admit, the first tear of what I'm sure will be many rolling down my cheek. "I couldn't fall in love with her. I tried _so_ hard to, but it never happened. It never happened because... I... I'm gay."

I don't want to watch their reactions, but I can't seem to make myself look away or close my eyes. I can't even fucking _blink_. I have to watch as my dad's expression morphs from curious to disturbed. I have to see the shock and despair in my mother's eyes as her body recoils in slow motion. My first instinct is to launch into a desperate apology, to try to make them understand, to plead with them to believe that I'm still the same person they've loved for the past twenty-nine years.

But I know they won't hear a word of it until the last thing I said to them starts to sink in.

"No..."

Her denial is all it takes to break me. I know I should've expected it, I _did_ expect it, but I wasn't as prepared as I'd thought. Hearing the distress in her tone, the total and utter anguish, hurts more than I think any physical assault ever could. I feel as though I've just stolen something precious from her. I feel like a stranger who just walked into her home and told her that her son is dead.

I feel that way because that's _exactly_ how she's looking at me.

"How can you be gay?" My father asks uncertainly. "It doesn't make _any_ sense! You've never... I mean..." He shakes his head hopelessly, unable to wrap his mind around anything he's thinking right now. "You're almost thirty-years old. Why would you suddenly choose to be gay _now_?"

"I didn't _choose_ this, _believe_ me. I have spent my _whole_ life fighting it, denying it, trying to change it... I never _wanted_ to be gay. But I am, and I can't pretend I'm not anymore."

" _Why_ not?" Mom demands impatiently. "You've lived a normal life for this long, why do you have to stop _now_?"

"Because it's _not_ a normal life! It's not even a life, it's a lie! And I will _never_ be happy if I keep lying the way I have been. I can't live like that anymore, mom, it's _killing_ me!"

"Maybe it's not the lying that's killing you, maybe it's the these feelings." She protests in disgust. "Maybe if you did something to get rid of them, you wouldn't be unhappy anymore!"

"I've _tried_. I've tried everything, even therapy, and nothing has made a difference. There's no cure for this, it's not a disease or even a character flaw. It's just part of who I am, it's how I was born-"

"No!" She snaps as she gets off of the couch, instantly taking offense to the insinuation. "You _weren't_ born this way, and you _certainly_ weren't raised this way!"

"Mom-"

"I can't listen to any more of this." She weeps plaintively, walking across the room towards the hall. "I can't even _look_ at you right now."

My dad doesn't say a word, doesn't even glance at me as he gets out of his seat and follows her out of the living room and up the stairs. It almost seems anti-climactic. I always imagined a lot more hysterical shrieking than this. _Hours_ of it. You would think that having it be over so quickly would be _less_ painful, like ripping off a band-aid.

But it's not.

"Are you happy now?" I ask Kate contemptuously, noting the fact that she doesn't look even slightly ashamed of the part she played in what just happened. "Is this what you wanted?"

"All I want is to protect my family-"

"Bullshit! You wanted to come here and _tattle_ on me like a fucking _child_!"

"Someone had to tell them the truth!" She asserts, clinging to her role as the good daughter-in-law, refusing to accept any part of the blame for the pain that was caused here today.

"No, _someone_ didn't. _I_ had to tell them the truth, and I would have done it in my own time and my own way! What you did was cruel, Kate. It was cruel, and selfish-"

"Don't talk to me about being selfish! I've never known anyone as self-centered as you! You're taking those children away from everyone and everything they love just so you can be with that _freak_! I _knew_ what was going on as soon as Pam told me that she practically caught you together the other morning. She gave you the benefit of the doubt because she thought you were better than that, but I know what you're really like! I've kept it to myself all this time because my best friend asked me to, and because _you_ promised us that you were going to get help. But Natalie wouldn't want me to just stand by and let you ruin her children's lives like this! She wouldn't want you raising _her_ children with some tattooed, purple-haired-"

"Don't!" I bark furiously. "Don't you _dare_ say _anything_ about him, you don't even know him!"

"I know enough! I know that perverts like the two of you have no business raising innocent children-"

"No, _you_ have no business telling me how to raise _my_ children, or _who_ I can raise them with! You are a hateful, spiteful _bitch_. And I don't want my children to be anything like you, so from now on, I don't want you _anywhere_ near them."

I can hear her arguing back and telling me off as I turn and walk out of the house, but I don't stop. I don't listen, and I don't reply. I don't want anything to do with her right now. I just want to get the hell out of here.

But once I'm in the car and out on the road, I start to realize how wrong it is for me to be operating a moving vehicle when I can barely see where I'm going through my own damn tears. I can't drive, I can hardly breathe. Thinking about the things my mom just said to me, the way she looked at me, the fact that she couldn't stand to be in the same room as me... it's everything I've wanted to avoid my entire life.

I don't know if she'll ever forgive me for this. But even if she does, I'm _sure_ she'll never see me the same way again. I'll never be the same person to her, and I don't know how to handle that.

I pull the car over to the side of the road, fumbling with the keys in the ignition for a second before turning the engine off. Everything is so quiet. Too quiet. All I can hear is yelling in my head. Crying. Words and questions and blame. I can't make any of it stop.

My hands are still shaking as I retrieve my phone from my pocket and call Tommy, I can feel my fingertips faintly bump and brush against the side of my face as I hold the phone to my ear. My whole body is trembling, overflowing with fear and grief, and when I finally hear his voice I can't even remember how to speak.

"Taylor?" He asks when I fail to respond to his initial greeting. I can vaguely hear the sound of other people talking on his end of the line, lots of people, and silverware on plates. He's at a restaurant. He's having fun, and I'm ruining it. "Can you hear me?"

"Sorry." I manage to choke out, trying to clear my throat so that I won't sound so strange. But it doesn't really work. "I-I'll call back-"

"What's going on?"

"Nothing... it's nothing."

"Taylor-"

"They know." I blurt out, unable to hold back the sob that tries to escape along with the words. "My parents... they know I'm gay."

He knows better than to ask how. He knows better than to ask me anything at all. He knows I don't want to talk, I _can't_. I didn't call him because I want to rehash every last detail of one of the worst conversations of my life. I didn't even call him to keep him informed. I called him because I couldn't bear to be as alone as I feel right now, and he was the only person I wanted to be with.

"I'm here." He tells me soothingly, in a way that makes it possible to almost _feel_ him if I close my eyes tightly enough. "I'm right here."

 


	23. Chapter 23

  


 

 

_ Los Angeles, California - October 1st, 2012 _

 

The past few days have been an almost constant flurry of activity. It's been chaotic and exhausting, but entirely necessary. I couldn't stand the idea of sitting around at home, dwelling on my parent's reaction to finding out that their supposedly perfect son is gay. Apparently, it was the worst thing that's ever happened to them. Not that they said as much; they haven't really said anything at all. But I've _never_ seen either of them look so hurt, so affronted, as though I did this on purpose just to cause them pain.

I haven't heard from them since.

To be fair, I haven't tried to call them. I've come close several times, but the fact that neither of them has called or come to see me has left me with the distinct impression that they still have no interest in being in the same room as me. I haven't heard from Isaac, either. I texted him a couple of times over the weekend, but he didn't respond. I don't think I've ever felt so unwelcome and unwanted in my whole life, but I can't pretend that I wasn't expecting it. It's precisely why I hid who I really was for so long. I _hoped_ that I was wrong, hoped that maybe they'd surprise me and accept me no matter what. But deep down I knew better. I've known what my parents views on homosexuality are since I was a kid, and Isaac always made his opinions _very_ clear. He's not even really opposed to same-sex relationships, he's mostly just opposed to _me_ being in one.

At first I was miserable. Heartbroken. But as the hours after the confrontation with my parents wore on, the sadness was overpowered by anger. It crept up on me without warning; one minute I was fighting back tears at the dinner table, the next I was almost breaking plates as I irritably placed them into the dishwasher.

I was sick of feeling guilty.

I was sick of apologizing, and sick of feeling selfish for simply wanting to be _happy_.

As soon as the kids were asleep, I went back to packing up anything and everything I couldn't foresee us having any desperate need for within the next month or so. I packed until I ran out of packing materials, and then I was forced to give up and go to bed. Tommy called me to check in and make sure I was okay, and I told him that I was planning to see a realtor the next morning and officially begin the process of putting my house on the market. I could tell that he was worried, he thought I was letting the events of the day push me into making snap decisions and do things I wouldn't otherwise do. But he was wrong.

Okay, maybe he wasn't.

But I didn't see it as a _bad_ thing.

I didn't see the point in me waiting around to sell my house and pack up my belongings. What was I waiting for? I'd chosen to relocate, my children were on board with the idea, my family had been told... there was nothing to hold me back, no reason not to start moving forward. _Finally_.

So after putting my house up for sale, I went home, booked a flight to Los Angeles, and found a realtor out there who was ready and willing to take me on a whirlwind viewing of every house she could find that met as many of my must-have criteria as possible (and hopefully fell within my budget). Although she initially seemed a little flustered by the idea of setting up a full day of viewings with only a couple of days notice, she accepted the challenge.

I caught the earliest flight I could get out of Tulsa this morning, and thanks to the fact that Los Angeles is two hours behind, the plane is about to touch down at only eight-eleven am. Tommy is meeting me at the airport, and we have an appointment with the realtor at the first house at nine. My flight home is just after nine tonight, so I'll barely be here for a full twelve hours, all told. Which is _insane_. But I didn't want to leave my kids for more than a day; I only just got back from a two week trip to Australia. I feel bad enough skipping out on them again so soon, but it's not like I can house hunt online and buy a place based on a written description and a handful of photos.

I just hope that this trip yields some results, so that the next time I come out here it'll be with my kids.

And we'll be coming home.

I don't have any baggage to claim, or even any carry-on luggage besides my laptop bag. So once the plane has pulled up to the gate and the doors are open, all I have to do is text Tommy that I'm here and make a beeline for arrivals. Even though I saw him less than a week ago, it feels like a hell of a lot longer. With everything that's happened since he left Tulsa, and the fact that any amount of time I have to spend away from him is too long, it seems as though it's been months since I last got to hug him, or kiss him, or simply just be in his presence at all.

I've only been waiting at the curb for five minutes when I spot his car heading towards me, and I wave to get his attention even though I'm sure he's seen me already. Because I _can't_ just stand still; my body is buzzing with anticipation and excitement. As soon as I get into the car, I lean across the gear shift to hug him. I don't even bother closing the door first, it takes too long, I just want to be near him. He hugs me back, but just as I'm about to attempt to kiss him, some asshole in the car behind us starts honking impatiently. I'm expecting Tommy to say something like "fuck 'em", and kiss me anyway, but he just rolls his eyes and begins maneuvering back out into the flow of airport traffic while I close my door and put on my seat belt.

"You're gonna have to give me directions, 'cause I have no idea where the fuck I'm going."

I get the feeling that he's on edge, maybe even a little cranky, but I chalk it up to the traffic and his disdain for driving. I quickly pull out the stack of print-outs I have for all of the properties we're viewing today, entering the address of the first one into the GPS on my phone so that I can help navigate him there. It only takes us twenty minutes to get from LAX to our first stop in Westchester, but he acts like we've been stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for an hour. It's not exactly the way I'd imagined things would go this morning, but again I try to shrug it off. We're here now; he can stop bitching about how horrible L.A. drivers are. Maybe his mood will improve once he's turned the engine off.

"Are you okay?" I ask hesitantly as he heaves a deep sigh and sinks even further down in the driver's seat. "You seem kinda... tense."

"'Cause it's like eight forty-five on a Monday morning. I'm usually not even awake yet, let alone driving around L.A. in rush hour traffic."

"Sorry."

"It's fine." He shrugs, even though nothing about his attitude or demeanor right now seems fine at all.

Maybe I should have just done this without him.

It wasn't my intention to drag him out of bed first thing in the morning and make him come house hunting with me, I didn't even _beg_ him to come, I only asked. I thought he'd want to be involved, or at least take advantage of the opportunity to spend some time with me. But I get the distinct impression that he'd prefer to be in bed right now. Alone.

Maybe he's just not a morning person when it comes to doing anything besides having sleepy, tangled-up-in-warm-sheets sex? I guess that's something I should keep in mind for the future.

In an effort to distract myself from his "off" mood, I turn my attention to the house we're parked in front of. Based on first impressions, I'm less than excited. It's big, but it's boring. It's a cookie cutter house on a street full of other houses that are the exact same size with only _slight_ variations in color. I've never wanted to live somewhere like this; it's so bland and uninspiring. But I told myself I was going to come into this with an open mind. I don't want to settle for something I hate, but I don't want to write-off a perfectly nice place just because I hear the song ' _Little Boxes_ ' in my head when I look at it. I want this move to happen as soon as possible, and if that means lowering my expectations a little and making some compromises, I can do that.

"It has a three-car-garage." I randomly observe out loud, trying to interest not only myself but Tommy as well. "And it's on a nice, quiet street, so the kids can play outside without worrying too much about traffic." He nods, gazing out of the window at the house. "Plus, it's only like fifteen minutes from Venice Beach."

"Yeah."

He sounds about as enthusiastic as I feel. "The listing info says it has five bedrooms and five bathrooms."

"I never got the whole equal number of bedrooms and bathrooms thing." He grumbles. "Like everyone who lives in the house is gonna have to take a piss at the exact same fucking time."

"True. We have five beds and five baths now, and two of the bathrooms barely get used."

"Right. So you're just paying for stuff you don't even need."

"I guess..."

Neither of us really says much else before the realtor pulls up across the street from Tommy's car five minutes later. We get out to greet her, and she cheerfully introduces herself and asks how my flight was. Once all of the hand-shaking is done and normal pleasantries have been exchanged, she leads us up the driveway towards the front door, running off a list of general facts about the house. Everything she's saying was on the print out, but it's still kind of impressive that she knows it all by heart. Half the time I can't even remember the lyrics to my own damn songs as precisely as she's rattling off the square footage and construction date of the property!

"Well, here we are..." She beams, opening the front door and gesturing for the two of us to head on inside. "This is the family room."

It's... huge.

But not so much in a I-have-five-kids-and-need-all-the-space-I-can-get  kind of way. More like this-room-is-so-big-there's-an-echo kind of way. It's two stories tall, with plain walls and hardwood floors... it's basically just a box. A big, cold box. I'm sure that with some paint and a few more pieces of furniture (and five kids) it would feel a little more homey, but right now I'm just not getting a good vibe from this place.

"The dining area is right over here." She continues hopefully, guiding us across the family room until we reach a table and four chairs. "You could probably fit a bigger table in here if you needed to."

"Sure..." But not one that could seat at least seven, that's for damn sure.

"And the kitchen is right through here."

We follow her through an arch way just beside the dining table, and into a brightly lit, tile floor kitchen. It's definitely more open and roomy than the one I have right now, which is a plus, but it's _really_ not my style. It's outdated and there's _a lot_ of wood. And black appliances.

God, I hope the other houses we're supposed to see today are more appealing than this one.

The rest of the property is more of the same, it's all very box-y and beige. And even though I keep trying to look at it as a blank canvas rather than simply boring, I just _can't_ picture myself raising my kids here. After inspecting the remainder of the downstairs I kind of want to tell Laura that I'm ready to move on to the next house, but I give the upstairs a shot anyway. Tommy doesn't seem very impressed with it, either. But then again, I'm still having trouble reading him at all.

Once we're done, we part ways with Laura just long enough to drive over to the next listing, which is further inland and about forty years older than the first. And it shows. I really hope we're viewing the crappy houses first so that she can wow me later with some that I'll actually like. Because right now, aside from the size of the houses and the number of bedrooms, I'm starting to get the feeling she has no idea what I'm looking for, despite the insanely detailed list I sent her.

I really don't want to go back to Tulsa tonight no closer to moving here than I was when I left this morning.

The third house in Mar Vista is beautiful, but the yard is almost non-existent. My kids _need_ a yard, that's non-negotiable, so it's on to house number four with an increasing sense of hopelessness. It really doesn't help that Tommy's bad mood is following us all over the city. After the second house, I volunteered to take over driving, thinking that maybe if he didn't have to deal with L.A. traffic he might feel better. He didn't put up a fight about it, but his unexplained sulking hasn't let up, either.

The forth listing, over in Westwood, is a lot closer to what I had in mind. The yard could be a little bigger, and the kitchen could be a little newer, but it has six bedrooms and a really nice view. It's definitely a possibility, and it helps to reenergize me and renew my excitement for house number five. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for Tommy. Even after I swing by a Taco Bell drive-thru for lunch on the way to meet Laura in La Brea, he's still abnormally quiet and aloof. I've been holding off on questioning him about it, because I didn't want him to think I was pestering him, but his "I hate driving this early in the morning" defense is no longer valid, and I'm starting to take his silence personally.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?" I finally sigh, casting a glance at him as I come to a stop at a red light. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, I'm just tired." He tells me half-heartedly, his eyes fixed on the brake lights of the car ahead of us. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Am I supposed to just let it go, even though that's the flimsiest excuse he could have possibly given me? Or do I keep pushing and risk pissing him off even more? "If something's bothering you-"

"It's not."

It is, I can hear it in his tone. "Tommy-"

"I'm _fine_! Jesus, just let it go already."

And with that less than reassuring statement, the conversation is over.

As we get closer to house number five, I realize that it's within blocks of Alex's place. I kind of  want to drop in on him unannounced, because I could really use a pep talk and a beer right now. But we have too much to get done before I leave tonight, I don't have time to socialize. The idea that we could be living less than a mile away from one another has me in love with this house before I even lay eyes on it, though, regardless of the fact that it's on a very busy street. In fact, it turns out that its proximity to heavy traffic is the only bad thing about it. The architecture is gorgeous, it has _seven_ bedrooms, and a pool (which the master bedroom has access to via French doors)! But as much as I wish I could put it on the 'maybe' list, the main road right outside the front door makes me _way_ too nervous. If it was just a couple of blocks away from that street, I would have already made an offer. But as a parent, I just can't bring myself to do it.

The next house is over near Melrose, and even though it's still an improvement over the first few we saw this morning, it's doesn't compare to its predecessor. Besides, it's right on Highland Avenue, which isn't exactly a quiet street that my kids can ride their bikes on. With that concern very clearly noted, Laura scraps the next couple of listings that she'd been planning to show us and skips to the final house on her list, which is in Beachwood Canyon.

I can see the fucking Hollywood sign as soon as we pull up outside.

My heart actually skips a beat.

"Now, I left this one until last because I wasn't even sure if I should show it to you. It's a _little_ bit over the price range you gave me." Laura warns me as we follow her over to the steps by the garage. "But I'm pretty sure we can get them to come down a bit if you like it as much as I think you're going to."

"Exactly how much over is 'a little bit'?" I ask warily, my skipping heart already beginning to sink.

"Almost two hundred thousand more than you wanted to spend." _Ouch_. "But comparable homes in the area _have_ sold for less, so we definitely have a shot if you put in a lower offer."

I can't decide whether I want to see the rest of this place or not. I almost yelled "sold!" in the damn driveway. If the inside is as breathtaking as the exterior, I'm going to have to dig a little deeper into my pockets and hope I can pull out enough cash to sway the sellers...

As soon as she opens the front door and shows us into the small entry hall, I _know_ I want it. It's unique. It's classic. It's not as big as most of the other houses, but it's still big enough. It has space, but it feels cozy. There's a view of the city or the Hollywood Hills from practically every window, and yet it feels completely secluded and private. It has a pool, but not one that takes up the entire back yard. In fact, the yard and the pool are completely separate from one another, which means I don't have to worry as much about my kid's safety when they're playing outside. The kitchen isn't huge, by any means, but it's newly remodeled and it not only has a Viking stove, which I've _always_ wanted, it has a Miele wall oven with a fucking rotisserie!

I could _live_ in this kitchen, it's incredible!

"As well as the 'maid's quarters' downstairs, which could easily be turned into an office or a small gym, there's a guest house right across from the pool." Laura informs us, pointing down to the small building in the courtyard below as we step out onto the terrace of the master bedroom. "It's not _as_ updated as the main house, think the previous owners mostly used it for storage, but it does have its own private entrance."

"This place is amazing." I exclaim in awe, staring out over the treetops at the distant, hazy city skyline. "I don't think there's _anything_ about it that I'd change."

"I thought you'd like it."

"I _love_ it." I laugh softly as I turn to Tommy to see if he's any more excited about this place than he has been about the others. "What do you think?"

"It's okay."

" _Okay_?"

"I dunno." He shrugs faintly, his expression blanker than it has been all day. "Does it even matter what I think? You're the one who has to live here."

Wow.

I don't know why he didn't just come right out and say "I have no intention of living with you", it's exactly the message that flippant remark was intended to convey to me. I didn't understand what was going on with him today, but I think I'm starting to figure it out. His disinterest in the houses we're looking at has nothing to do with their size, location, or decor. He's not unenthusiastic about the idea of living in any of them, he's unenthusiastic about the idea of living with _me_.

"Could you give us a minute?" I ask Laura, forcing a small smile.

"Of course. I have a couple of calls to return, so I'll meet you back out front?"

"Yeah, sounds great."

"Take your time!"

The second I'm sure she's out of earshot, I turn back to Tommy. He seems to have suddenly developed and intense fascination with the scenery, even though he couldn't have cared less about the view a minute ago. He's avoiding me, refusing to face me, because I think he knows that I'm done tiptoeing around him, worrying about making this worse somehow. He knows he's not getting out of this with a half-assed excuse about not getting enough sleep. He's been caught, and he's not leaving this balcony until he tells me what the hell is going on.

"Are you gonna tell me why you've been in such a foul mood today, or do I have to guess until I get it right?"

"I'm _not_ in a foul mood." He argues, leaning against the black, iron balcony rail.

"You could've fucking fooled me." I retort irritably, becoming even more frustrated when I notice him roll his eyes. "Do you realize that you haven't kissed me even _once_ since I got here?" That seems to give him pause for a moment. But only a moment, and then he takes a deep breath and shakes his head as though it doesn't matter enough to warrant a verbal response. "Would you _please_ tell me what the hell you're thinking? Because I have no fucking clue, and all of these offhand little comments you keep making are driving me crazy!"

"Maybe I'm just not all that into house hunting. Did you ever think about that?"

"No, I didn't, because when we were looking at places online a week ago, you were more than happy to offer your opinion."

He shrugs again, which pisses me off even more. "I guess talking about it is different than actually doing it."

Just as I open my mouth to tell him to stop being an asshole, it hits me what he's really saying. All of the remarks he's been making all day (when he bothered to speak to me at all) come screaming into my head at once, blaring like an alarm, alerting me to the truth. I feel like such a fucking idiot.

When he says talking about it is different than doing it, he's not referring to house hunting. He's referring to us.

He's pushing me away _again_.

"I can't fucking believe this." I wait for him to ask me what I'm talking about, but he doesn't. Because he knows that I've finally caught up, I've figured him out, and he's not even going to try to deny it. "You said you were 'in'. _You_ said you wanted this."

"Yeah, well, some things are easier said..." His snappish reply trails off as it occurs to him what he's about to say, but it's already _way_ too late.

He doesn't need to finish the sentence; the sentiments are perfectly clear.

"Here." I dig his car keys out of the pocket of my jeans, holding them out for him to take.

"What're these for?"

"They're for you, so you can go."

How he can look at me like he never saw this coming, I don't know. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you can _go_." I tell him as calmly as I can manage when my hand is practically shaking. My heart is fucking breaking in front of him all over again. "You don't owe me anything, you're not obligated to be here, so you can just leave."

"But-"

"I _can't_ do this, okay? It doesn't matter how much I love you, I _can't_ be with someone who doesn't know what the hell he really wants! So if you're not one hundred percent in this with me then you should get out now, because there is _no_ going half way with this. There's no trying, and no test run, and no 'maybe'. You said you needed time, and I told you to take all the time you needed. I didn't give you a deadline, I would have waited however long it took. But _you_ came to me and told me that you were ready, that you wanted to be with me. And now you're saying you're not sure? Well fuck that! I'm sorry, but there's no way in hell that I'm going to let my kids get even more attached to you than they already are if you're still on the fucking fence about all of this! I _told_ you they need somebody they can count on, and so do I. And if you're gonna turn around and bail on us next week, or next month, or whenever you decide that this is too hard for you, then you may as well just do it now and save us all a lot of time and trouble."

"That's not fucking fair!"

"Yeah, well _life_ isn't fucking fair, Tommy! It's not fair and it's not easy, and if you can't handle that then _believe_ _me_ you can't handle being with me."

He holds my stare for a moment, his eyes full of obvious fear and frustration. It's almost enough to sap the anger right out of me, to make me apologize and tell him I didn't mean anything I just said. But I did. As much as it hurt to say it, as much as it clearly hurt him to hear it, it was the truth and it needed to come out. It probably would have been better for us to have this conversation a week ago, before I alienated myself from most of my family and put up a "For Sale" sign in my yard, but I guess now is better than later.

At least I haven't made an offer on a house in L.A. At least I haven't moved my kids out here and let someone into their lives who doesn't really want to be there.

At least I can spare their hearts, if not my own.

Without another word, he snatches his keys out of my grasp and leaves the room.

The house.

Me.


	24. Chapter 24

  


 

 

After Tommy leaves, I'm not really in the mood to do any more house hunting. Especially since I'm not even sure it's necessary now. If he and I are done, so are my plans to move out here. I can't do this if I have _no one_ to support me. Not that I have much more of a support system back in Tulsa at this point, not after this past week.

I really know how to fuck things up beyond all recognition.

Laura very kindly gives me a ride over to West Hollywood, and I apologize for cutting our last viewing so abruptly short. I make up some excuse about Tommy having a family emergency (which I'm ninety-nine percent sure she knows is bull shit), and I promise her that I'll let her know my final decision on the houses we saw today after I've had time to think it over. Honestly, though, I could tell her my final decision right now. I'm just not ready to say it out loud yet.

I'm not ready to admit that it's over.

I wander around in an aimless daze, with no idea where to go or what to do. I'm lost. I briefly consider calling Alex, but I decide against it. I'm sick of always burdening him with my problems, and quite frankly, I don't believe that he can offer me advice on this particular situation anyway. I don't really know anyone who could. Realizing that I don't have _anyone_ out here beside Alex that I could go to with a serious, personal problem is a very sad fact to face. I have plenty of "friends" that I could hang out with, make music with, and go to industry parties with... but no one I can really _trust_. And even if I did, the only person I actually _want_ to see right now is Tommy.

I figured that, if there was any time left after seeing all of the houses Laura had lined up, Tommy and I would spend it together. I thought we'd be lounging on his bed right now, debating which neighborhood seemed safest for the kids, and which master bathroom had a shower best suited for hot sex. Instead I'm alone, and he's God-knows-where...

Maybe I should call him.

The more I think about what happened, the more unreasonable and foolish I feel. I totally lost it. He balked and I _completely_ freaked out over it. No wonder he walked out  on me, I was acting like a crazy person. He was probably more put off by the idea of spending the rest of his life with some irrational lunatic than helping that irrational lunatic raise five children.

But just as I'm about to pull my phone out of my pocket, I stop.

He _balked_.

He obviously has doubts, and I can't deal with that. Maybe that's unfair of me, but I have to put my kids first. I can't bring them all the way out here and expect them to accept Tommy into their lives if he's not _sure_ that he wants this. If he's already resisting this before it's even moved beyond the planning stage, what hope can I have that he'll still be here six months from now when it's a reality? My kids aren't his kids. He's not bound to them _or_ to me by anything besides his own feelings. And he just made it clear that those feelings aren't unwavering enough for me to put my faith in.

He might be what I want, more than anything, but I'm not sure if he's what my children need.

And what they need _has_ to come before what I want.

It's not five o'clock in West Hollywood yet, but it's almost seven in Tulsa, so I don't feel bad for finding myself a nice, quiet stool in a random gay bar. I've never been in a gay bar, and it's not like I went looking for one today. But it was here, and I wanted a drink, and I figure if I'm out then why should I avoid spending time in places that were always too "risky" for me to frequent before? The damage has been done, I may as well make myself comfortable in the wreckage. I don't want to get drunk; being kicked off of a plane for being intoxicated and belligerent would be the perfect way to end this shitty day. But I still have a few hours to kill before I need to be at the airport, and I wouldn't mind spending them as numb to this pain as I can get without being completely unconscious.

One hour and a couple of shots later, I feel the presence of another person on the stool next to mine. If I cared, I'd probably look up and see who it is, but I'm more interested in the shot glass on the bar in front of me than whoever it is that's sitting beside me. For a moment, I flash back to the night I met Tommy. I vividly remember the feeling that came over me when he joined me at that bar. There was a pull, a curiosity that I had no interest in ignoring. As soon as he sat down, I wanted to know who he was.

"Hey." Oh great. Now I have to make conversation? "Is this seat taken?"

I want to reply with something snarky, but I fight the urge. This stranger has done nothing wrong, he simply chose a bad bar stool to sit on. He doesn't deserve to become the target for all of the pent up frustration and heartache I'm feeling right now.

"Nope."

I will him to stay silent and let me enjoy my tequila in peace. And for a couple of minutes, he does just that. But apparently he's feeling too chatty to keep his mouth shut much longer. "I'm Chris, by the way."

"Taylor." I inform him quietly before throwing my shot back.

"Nice to meet you, Taylor." Please go away, Chris. I'm not ready to be done drinking yet, but if you can't take a hint and leave me alone, I'm going to have to get up and walk out of this bar. "Can I buy you another drink?"

Taking a deep, tired breath, I prepare to summon the last shred of civility I possess and decline his offer. But the second I open my mouth, I stop. He's offering me a free drink. If I have to share this bar with him, the least he can do is get me a little drunker so that I care a little less.

"Sure, why not."

"What're you drinking?" He asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Patron. _Double_."

"Got a severe case of the Mondays, huh?"

Oh, if only you knew, Chris. "You could say that."

"Let me guess..." Please don't. "Your boss is an asshole?"

"You could say that, too." I reply, smiling derisively to myself. "I'm kinda self-employed."

Chris laughs softly as the bartender places our drinks in front of us. "I don't think you're an asshole."

"You don't know me."

"True." He concedes. "But I have a feeling."

So do I. It's called misery, and apparently it _doesn't_ love company. "Look, Chris, you seem like a nice guy and everything, and I appreciate the drink, _really_ , but I've had a totally shit day and I just wanna be alone."

"Most people who want to drink alone do it in the privacy of their own home rather than at a public bar." Notes my new companion somewhat smugly. "I think maybe you _want_ to talk to me, even if you think you don't."

Great. Now he knows me better than I know myself. "Interesting theory."

"Thank you."

"Except that I _can't_ drink at home. I don't even know where home is."

"Home is where the heart is." He replies playfully as I down my free shot. "Or so I hear."

"Yeah, well... my heart's in two different places right now."

"That makes things a little trickier."

I snort cynically, shaking my head as I slowly turn the shot glass around and around in front of me, watching the last drop of alcohol running in circles in the bottom. "Tell me about it."

"Is one piece bigger than the other?"

"Huh?"

"Your heart." He smiles, sipping his beer. "You said it's split in two, so I was just curious whether or not the pieces are equal?"

"Pretty damn close." I mumble, sighing heavily. "Not that it matters anymore."

"And why's that?"

"'Cause I'm taking it back."

"Taking what back?"

"The other half of my heart." Jeez, Chris. At least _try_ to keep up.

"Good for you." He laughs softly, raising his glass to me in approval. "Sometimes you have to, you know? Not everyone can be trusted with it."

"Yeah..."

"I was seeing this guy a few years ago who was a _total_ closet case. No one in his life had any idea he was gay, _no one_. He had a girlfriend, he'd been with her for years, they were practically engaged and she didn't suspect a thing."

"Did he marry her and have five kids?"

"Maybe." He chuckles, taking another sip of his drink. "I don't know, I didn't stick around to find out."

"Why?"

"Because I got tired of being his dirty little secret." Chris shrugs, his smile fading a little as he gazes down at the beer mat on the bar. "He promised he was going to leave her, that he'd tell his family the truth. He said he wanted to be with me, but... he was too afraid. He was never gonna leave her, there was _always_ an excuse, it was _never_ the right time. I couldn't spend the rest of my life waiting for him. So I ended it."

"Maybe he would have left her eventually." I mutter bitterly. "And he would've come to you with his heart in his fucking hands, and you wouldn't have known what the hell to do with it. It would've scared the shit out of you, and you would've thrown it in his face."

"I don't think-"

"No, you would have. Trust me, there's _nothing_ scarier than getting everything you want, 'cause then you have _everything_ to lose. Some people can't handle that, so they spend their whole fucking lives running away from it. You would've run away."

"Sounds like you have some experience in this area?" He prods, that constant trace of mirth still lingering in his voice. "Were you the one running or the one left behind?"

I'm all set to tell him that I was the one left behind, but deep down I know that's a lie. So much of one that I can't even bring myself to tell it. I ran just as far and as fast as Tommy did. I was just as scared.

I _am_ just as scared.

 Fuck.

Chris places his hand gently over mine, surprising my slow mind so much that I instantly pull away from his touch. I can't tell anymore whether he's trying to hit on me or merely comfort me, but either way I've let this go too far. I'm not the kind of guy who sits around at bars in the middle of the day, telling total strangers about their relationship woes. I can't afford to be.

"I have to go." I murmur numbly, slipping off of my bar stool and almost falling over my own feet. He makes a move to get up, to reach out and steady me, but I back away before he can touch me again. "I have a flight to catch."

"Oh... Okay."

"Thanks for the drink."

He smiles genuinely, though I can tell he's disappointed by my departure. "Anytime."

Stepping out onto Santa Monica Boulevard is a bit of a shock to the system. Like I said, I'm not the kind of person who usually drinks this early in the day, so leaving a bar to find that the sun isn't even done setting yet is slightly disconcerting. I pull my phone out of my pocket as I slowly begin to walk in the direction that I'm pretty sure is west, and I'm surprised to see that it's almost seven o'clock. It felt like I was barely in that bar for an hour, but apparently it was more like two. I have no texts, and no missed calls, and I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't been hoping to find _something_ waiting for me. Some small sign that he was thinking about me.

Then again, I guess I can't expect him to call me when I haven't called him either.

I briefly consider doing just that, but in the end I dial 411 instead and have the operator connect me to a local cab company. It takes me a little while to figure out where I am so that I can tell them where I want to be picked up, but I eventually reach the end of the block I'm on and give them the cross street. By the time the cab pulls over beside the bus bench I'm sitting on, I've sobered up more than I'd like.

It's okay, though; LAX has alcohol, too.

We've been driving for about twenty minutes when an achingly familiar song begins emanating from my phone.

_There's something mystical in our genes  
It's so simplistic, it kicks and screams_

I frown at the screen as the ringtone plays over and over, the phone buzzing softly in my palm while I stare at his name like I've never seen it before in my life. Like I don't even know him. I wasn't expecting him to call, it's caught me off guard, and I'm not sure if I should answer. I didn't call him because it seemed pointless. How can it be any less so now than it was a few hours ago?

But, as always, it's impossible for me to just ignore him. "Hello?"

"Hey..." He replies timidly, sounding a little surprised, as though he'd already given up. It's a fair assumption for him to make; another five seconds and he would've been talking to my voice mail. "Where are you?"

"On my way to the airport."

There's a long, loaded pause, and I can't help wondering why he bothered calling me if he doesn't even know what he wants to say to me. I'm all out of words, too, so I doubt this conversation is going to go very much further. "You left your laptop in my car..."

"Oh." _Shit._ I can't believe I forgot about that. "It's fine, I have another one I can use. You can just... leave it with Alex or something and I'll get it back next time I see him."

He sighs heavily, obviously having hoped for a different response. "If I meet you at the airport, will you talk to me?"

"I don't know that there's anything left to say." I admit sorrowfully. "I think we're just... we're too different. We want different things, and-"

"We _don't_. Just give me a chance to explain-"

"Tommy-"

" _Please_?"

I should say no, but I already know that I'm not going to. I never can when it comes to him. "My flight leaves at nine fifteen."

"I'm already on my way, I'll be there by eight." He assures me, and I can't help but smile faintly at the fact that he started driving to the airport before he even knew I'd be willing to hear him out. "Just... _don't_ go through security until I get there, okay?"

"I won't."

"I'll text you once I've parked and everything, and we can figure out where to meet."

"Okay."

I honestly don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this. Part of me is undeniably glad that he called, that he wants to see me, and that he thinks he can actually explain what happened today. But the part of me that kept me from contacting him after he walked out of that house isn't so sure this is a good idea. We just established that I'm useless as telling him no. What if it's in both of our best interests for me to do just that but I _can't_? I don't want to be stuck in this endless, futile cycle of uncertainty with him forever.

One way or another, for better or worse, it needs to stop. For both our sakes.

After the cab driver has dropped me off at my terminal, and I've checked in for my flight, the desk agent points me in the direction of one of the few pre-security bars the airport has to offer. By the time Tommy texts me to ask where he can find me, I've already found myself another bar stool to occupy and I'm half-way through a pint of Corona. And by the time he takes a seat on the stool beside mine, I'm in the process of ordering myself a second beer.

"Make that two, please." He tells the bartender, handing him a ten dollar bill before I have a chance to. Just the sound of his voice makes my stupid heart flutter a little.

Damn it, I _need_ to be stronger than this.

We sit side by side in uncomfortable silence for a moment or two, staring at our hands as we try to figure out which of us is supposed to speak first. Not to sound petty or anything, but he was the one who asked me to meet him so that he could explain what happened today, so it seems reasonable for me to expect him to do most of the talking here.

And eventually, he does. "Here's your laptop."

Not exactly what I had in mind.

"Thanks." I force a flicker of a smile as I reach out and take the bag from him, setting it down against the side of my stool.

"Sorry I'm a little late... traffic was worse than I thought it was gonna be."

"It's fine." I shrug, trying to seem relaxed even though we both know I'm anything but. "I have to get back to the terminal to board in a few minutes though, so..."

"Right." He takes a deep breath, understanding that if he has anything to say to me, now is the time to say it. "Look... I'm sorry about the way I was acting this morning. I was an ass, and you have every right to hate me for it-"

"I don't _hate_ you for anything, you know that. I'm not even mad at you-"

"You seemed mad." He points out skeptically.

"I was more hurt than angry, Tommy."

"I know, and I'm _sorry_. I didn't mean any of the crap I said." I wish I could believe that, but after today I don't know what to believe. "I just... I freaked out."

"Okay."

"I know that's not an excuse." He insists, obviously sensing my distrust. "I'm not trying to excuse how I behaved; I fucked up, _again_ , I know that. But..." I chance a look at him as he heaves another long breath, and I can see how much he's struggling. "I suck at the whole... talking thing. I mean, I'm not incapable of it or anything,  but like... when I'm scared, I shut down." Don't I know it. "I don't mean to, I _try_ not to, but it's like I can't stop myself, you know? It's like... when I feel cornered, I automatically go into lockdown-"

"You felt cornered?"

"Not cornered, that's a shitty way of putting it... I guess trapped isn't any better."

"No, but if that's what you felt-"

"Everything was just happening _so_ fast." He tries to clarify, pleading with me to understand. "A week ago we weren't even really together, and now you're out here house-hunting."

"So... you don't want me to move out here?" I ask uncertainly.

"No, I _do_. I just... I didn't realize you were gonna do it so soon."

I sigh wearily, rubbing my forehead in a hopeless attempt to keep the headache I have from getting any worse. "So you _do_ want me to move here, but you want me to wait a while?"

"That's not it, either."

"Then what is it, Tommy? Because I have _no_ clue what you're saying!"

"I want you here, as soon as possible. Fuck, I want you here _all_ the damn time. But it's not just you, it's your kids. And I'm _not_ saying I don't want them here," He explains quickly, knowing exactly where my mind would have gone if he hadn't. "I'm just saying that... I have _no_ fucking idea what I'm doing. I know you say I don't have to be anything or do anything different, that I just have to be myself, but I can't stop worrying that I'm gonna fuck up. I have no clue who I am when it comes to those kids, Taylor. You _know_ you're their dad, you _know_ what your role is. _I_ don't have that. I don't know who I'm supposed to be, how I'm supposed to act, what I'm supposed to do-"

"You don't have to-"

"I _do_ , though!" He insists fretfully, raking his fingers through his hair. "I do have to do _something_ , but I don't know _what_ and I don't know _how_! I thought I'd have some time to figure it out, but then everything started happening, and I started panicking, and... I didn't know how to tell you how I was feeling without making _you_ feel like I was backing out and I didn't want you here."

"So you figured that _acting_ like you were backing out and didn't want me here was the way to go?" I ask, my tone much sharper than I'd meant for it to be.

"I didn't mean to do that. Like I said, I shut down, and I'm sorry. But _you_ freaked out, too-"

"Because you were pushing me away!"

"That's just how I handle things sometimes! It doesn't mean I feel any differently than I did before, it just means I'm too scared out of my fucking mind to function like a normal human being!"

"And you think I'm _not_ scared? I'm scared _all_ the time, Tommy. I can't think of any point in my life when I haven't been afraid! Right now, for example, my parents and my older brother aren't speaking to me, my career is basically over, my son hates me, and the guy I'm in love with, the person I'm counting on more than anyone for solace and support, would rather shut down and shut me out that actually tell me what's on his mind! I'm _terrified_!"

"Me too! You're right, you _are_ counting on me, and I'm _so_ afraid that I'm gonna let you down, that I'm gonna let your kids down-"

"You _will_ if you run away whenever you get scared!"

"I didn't run away!" He protests adamantly. "I mean... I did, kind of, but... not really. I'm still here, Taylor. I was never _gone_ , I just needed some time alone to like... cool off and calm down. I _need_ to be able to do that sometimes without you assuming that I'm bailing on you permanently."

"Then _I_ need you to do it without making it seem like you _are_ bailing on me permanently."

"I'm _not_ going anywhere! I meant it before, and I still mean it now. I don't wanna lose you, I..." His eyes fall to his untouched drink for a second, and I watch his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh before he meets my stare once again. "I seriously can't think of anything worse."

Me either.

Except for my kids getting their hearts broken _again_ if someone else they love disappears.

"I _want_ to believe you. I want to believe you're gonna be there. But... what you said before, about how it's easier to talk about this than it is to do it-"

"I already said I didn't mean it, I was just being a jerk-"

"But you were right. It _is_ easier said than done. And I know you _want_ to want this, and you think you can handle it when it's just an idea... but what if you can't? What if when it's real, it's too much?"

I wait for him to argue with me, to swear up and down that he'll be here, that he can do this no matter how difficult it gets. But he doesn't. Maybe because it's a promise he's not sure he'll be able to keep. And maybe it's not fair of me to need that from him, but I do.

If that's not something he can give me... then I guess this really is it.

"I have to go." I tell him regretfully, my voice wavering as I fight like hell to keep it steady and even. "My flight's boarding."

He still doesn't speak. I'm not really sure if he heard me, it's like he's not even here anymore. Maybe he just doesn't want to say anything if the only thing left to say is "goodbye".

I pick my bag up off of the floor and slip off of my stool, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and forcing myself to walk away from him. Everyone and everything around me fades into nothing but vague shapes and colors as I make my way through the terminal, trusting the memory of my countless prior trips to this part of the airport to get me where I'm going. But before I can make it to the terminal train, strong, slender fingers wrap themselves possessively around my wrist and pull me to a stop. And then he's kissing me, right in the middle of LAX, where anyone and everyone can see us.

Aside from the clandestine kisses we shared at the airport in Tulsa when I dropped him off for his flight last week, this is the most public display of affection that we have _ever_ shared. I know that's entirely intentional on his part; he's trying to prove to me that he's _really_ in this, that he's ready for the whole world to know that we're together, that this is real.

And it's working.

Maybe it shouldn't, maybe I'm letting him make this too simple. I know one kiss shouldn't sway me, but if you could feel it, if you could _feel_ this...

"Don't give up on me." He breathlessly implores in the fleeting seconds that he can bear to part his mouth from mine long enough to speak. "Not now."

"I don't _want_ to." I assure him wholeheartedly, capturing his lips with my own once again, wanting to feel more of that absolute certainty, that addictive sense of security. "But you can't give up on me, either."

"I won't. I know I messed up today, but... you gotta understand, when I do shit like that, when I give you _every_ fucking reason to doubt me, I really _need_ you not to. 'Cause when I act like that, I'm already doubting myself enough for both of us."

This time when I kiss him, it's not in a desperate attempt to feel something _from_ him, it's in a desperate attempt to convey how I feel _to_ him, to express something to him that I could never adequately put into words. I don't know if I succeed. Despite my best efforts to pour every ounce of _everything_ I feel for him into one embrace, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to show him how much I want him, need him, _love_ him.

Maybe it's something that I can only show him by being there, _every day_. By believing in him, in us, and by holding on even when things feel completely impossible and I'm absolutely terrified that we're not going to make it. In order for me to do that for him, he has to do the same for me. I can't be there for him if he's not there at all, I can't hold on for him if he gives up on me.

And vice versa.

We _have_ to take a chance on each other. We have to _give_ each other a chance.

A _real_ one.

 


	25. Chapter 25

  


 

 

I came _so_ close to changing my flight home just so that I could spend a little more time with Tommy, so that we could help each other recover from an incredibly grueling day. I tried telling myself that if I got the earliest flight possible this morning, I could still be back in Tulsa in time for a late breakfast with my kids. But I'd _promised_ them that I would be there when they woke up, and there was no way I could keep that promise if I stayed in Los Angeles even a few hours longer.

As I walked away from him at the airport after our goodbye, I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't even glance around me to see if anyone had noticed us kissing. I didn't _care_. The weight that had been lifted as a result of our heart-to-heart, and the immensely freeing feeling of kissing him in public without giving a damn who saw us left me flying before I even set foot on the plane. And after I got a text from him just before take-off that read: _That house is amazing btw._ I was on cloud nine. In the space of an hour I'd gone from feeling like the future I'd been longing for was vanishing right before my eyes, to seeing it more clearly than ever. My fantasy wasn't just me and my kids and Tommy sitting on a non-specific beach in Southern California anymore, it was me and my kids and Tommy in a house. _That_ house.

 _Our_ home.

I could barely wait to get off of the plane in Tulsa and call Laura to tell her to fax me over the paperwork so that I could make an offer (even if I would have to leave her a voicemail because it would be the middle of the night for her).

It's three am by the time I pull my car in the driveway, but my mind is still racing and I'm wide awake. Everything is dark and quiet, just as I expected it to be. What I didn't expect was to walk into my bedroom and find Zac lying on the bed in the dark, watching an almost mute TV.

"Hey." I frown uncertainly, closing my bedroom door carefully behind me and toeing off my shoes. "You weren't waiting up for me, were you?"

He shakes his head, offering me a small, tired smile. "Couldn't sleep."

"How were the kids today?"

"Good, mostly. They got some school work done, and we went by Wendy's for 'after-school' Frostys."

"You spoil them." I snort softly, crawling onto the bed beside him and collapsing against the pillows with a yawn.

"Hi, Pot, I'm Kettle. Would you like a extra pillow with your hypocrisy?"

"Eh... guilty as charged." I concede.

"So how was the trip?" He asks somewhat warily, preparing himself for news that could be considered bad for one of us even if it's good for the other.

"It was..." Long. Exhausting. Emotional. Draining. "Great. In the end."

"In the end?"

"Yeah. It was a disaster for a while there, but I'm kinda glad it was."

"Good. 'Cause if he screws you over again, I have _no_ problem flying out there and shoving drumsticks into every hole in his body, both God _and_ man made."

"Ouch." I chuckle softly, trying _very_ hard not to picture this musical torture method for even a second. "I don't think that'll be necessary. Besides, his best friend is a drummer, too. I'd hate for him to seek similarly brutal vengeance."

"Is he a big guy?"

"Hmm... average."

Zac shrugs unconcernedly, turning his attention back to whatever it is he's watching on TV. "I could take him."

"Probably. But again, I'm hoping it won't be necessary for anyone to have drumsticks inserted anywhere in their body. Unless they like that kind of thing."

"I bet Tommy does." He observes, so straight-faced that I can't tell if he's kidding or not. "He looks the type."

"Hey! That's my boyfriend you're talking about."

"It's _so_ weird hearing you say that."

"It's weird to say." I admit as a delighted grin spreads across my face. "But it's weird in the _best_ way."

"You're kind of disgusting when you're happy, you know that?"

"I do now."

"I'm glad you are, though." He tells me sincerely, looking me in the eyes once again. "Happy, I mean, not disgusting."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I'm serious, Zac. _Thank you_. You're the only one, besides Alex, who's stuck by me through all this. And it's different for him because it doesn't affect his life in the same way that I _know_ it's gotta be affecting yours."

"It's no biggie." He objects quietly, his gaze falling to the TV remote in his hands as he idly turns it around between his fingers. "You're my brother."

"I'm Ike's brother, too, but that hasn't stopped him from shunning me for my selfish, gay ways. And mom and dad..." I shake my head sadly, my heart hurting at the mere thought of the fact that they haven't tried to contact me in days. "I just know you didn't have to support me, and I'm _so_ grateful that you did."

We settle into a comfortable quiet, staring at the screen in front of us even though I'm sure neither of us it actually watching the show that's airing. My head is too full of everything that's happened over the course of the last seven days, the last twenty-four hours, and everything that _could_ happen over the coming days, weeks, and months. It's terrifying, but it's exciting, too. So much is going to change, but I believe it will change for the better. And all I can do is hope that eventually my family will _see_ that. They'll see how much better off my kids and I are in Los Angeles. They'll _see_ how much happier I am than I've ever been before. They'll _see_ how wonderful Tommy is, and how much my kids and I love him.

I have to believe that if they see all of that, they'll be happy for me. I _have_ to.

Because what kind of family, what kind of people, wouldn't?                                                                  

I'm not sure how long it takes me to get to sleep, but I wake up to the sound of Depeche Mode mingled with my little brother's snoring. I quickly retrieve my phone, accepting the call before it has a chance to disturb Zac further. He merely grunts and rolls over in his sleep. He's always been able to sleep through anything.

"Hey." I greet Tommy in a hushed, groggy voice, trying to inject as much enthusiasm into my tone as I'm capable of first thing in the morning.

"Were you asleep?" He asks, sounding much more alert than anyone has any right to at this time of day. "I figured you'd be up with Asta already."

I glance at the alarm clock, noting that it's almost seven. "Not yet. I guess Zac kept her up a little later than usual last night or something."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Don't be sorry. I'm glad you called."

"Yeah? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"I guess not." He allows, laughing softly. "How come you're whispering?"

"Zac's still asleep." I reply unthinkingly, realizing one second too late how bad that probably sounded to him. "It was _really_ late when I got home, so he spent the night here."

"On the couch?" I can tell from his tone that he already knows exactly where Zac slept, and even though I don't have anything to feel guilty about, I still feel like I've done something wrong as glance down at my snoozing sibling. "Pleading the fifth on that one, huh?"

"Look, I _know_ it sounds weird, but all we did was watch a couple of episodes of _Fraiser_ and fall asleep." His lack of reply is nerve-wracking, but I try to keep my anxiety on hold until I've carefully maneuvered myself off of the mattress and escaped into the hallway. "Tommy, I swear, all we did was sleep."

"Okay."

"That part of my life is _completely_ over, _nothing_ has happened between us since Fools Banquet. Zac is my brother and my best friend, and that's _all_."

The heavy sigh on his end of the line doesn't make me feel any better, but strangely enough, when he speaks again, he sounds completely sincere. "It's okay. I believe you."

My first instinct is to question his acceptance, to defend myself some more until I succeed in making it into a bigger deal than it actually is. Because that's what I do: I take bad situations and make them worse by talking. But this time, somehow, I manage to keep my mouth shut.

"So... what're you doing up so early?" I ask in a blatant attempt to change the subject. "I would've thought you'd be off of our Australia schedule by now."

"I haven't been to sleep yet."

"Seriously?"

"Yup." He sighs again, sounding tired for the first time since I answered the phone. "It was just one of those nights, I guess. I had way too much on my mind and I couldn't fucking switch off."

I've known that he's an insomniac for almost as long as I've known _him_. Once we started texting and talking on the phone and via webcam on a regular basis, I noticed how late at night (or early in the morning) he tended to be up. He says he's tried everything, but nothing has worked for him. Not counting sheep, or warm milk, or pills, or alcohol, or even healing crystals.

And yet, whenever we've spent the night in the same bed together, he's never seemed to have a problem getting to sleep _or_ staying asleep. Maybe it's all of the exhaustingly mind-blowing sex we tend to have.

"I've been thinking..." He begins somewhat apprehensively, leaving me fighting against my natural inclination to expect the worst.

"Uh-oh." I reply as lightly as possible, trying to make a joke out of it (and probably failing). "How'd that go?"

"This is probably gonna sound really dumb, but... I think we should come up with a safeword."

O-kay...

Maybe Zac actually wasn't so far off last night when he said Tommy looks like the type to enjoy that kind of thing. "Um... well... I-I guess. I mean... I didn't know you were into that, but-"

"No!" He laughs, which only confuses  me more. "You're such a fucking freak sometimes, I swear."

"You're the one who wants us to have a safeword!"

"Yeah, for like... relationship stuff, not for S&M!"

"Oh." Now I feel stupid. But it's not my fault! "Well, you weren't very clear on that."

"'Cause I didn't think you'd jump straight to bondage!"

"I didn't realize safewords were used for anything else!"

"They're probably not." He admits once his amusement has died down a little. "But I was thinking about what happened yesterday." Oh God. Do we _have_ to dwell on that? "I was a passive-aggressive asshole, yes, but you have to admit that you _totally_ flipped out on me."

"I might have flipped out a _little_." I tease as I make my way downstairs.

"Right, because you're predisposed to expect things to turn to shit. You're not the guy who gets what he wants. You're used to things being fucked up and just having to accept it and live with it, whether you want to or not. That's been your life forever." He explains so accurately and logically that I can tell he really _has_ been thinking about this whole 'safeword' idea all night. "And like I said yesterday, I'm not great at admitting when I'm afraid, especially not when I think you're going to assume the worst and flip out on me for it. Which, as we just established, it's kind of in your nature to do anyway. I need a way of telling you I'm terrified without you thinking I'm running away. And you need a way of telling me that you're afraid of this all going to hell without me thinking you have zero faith in me and so therefore I obviously can't handle this. Because whenever I think that _you_ think I can't do this, I get scared. And then I freak out, and then you freak out, and it's not fucking pretty."

"So you're saying that the safeword would kinda be the same thing as calling a time-out?" I ask with a small smile, wondering if any other couples have conversations like this. I know Natalie and I never did. "Like entering a 'no fault zone'?"

"Exactly! It would just be a really quick way of saying 'nothing has changed, I don't feel any differently about anything, but I'm freaking the fuck out right now, and I need you to know that and not hate me for it'." He explains earnestly. "That way, we can both be honest without worrying that the other person is going to totally lose their shit over whatever we have to say."

"Okay." I laugh, wedging the phone between my shoulder and my ear while I go about making a pot of much needed coffee. "So what should our safeword be?"

"I don't know."

"You've been awake _all_ night and you haven't come up with _anything_?" I chide teasingly. "Jeez."

" _You_ try and come up with something! It's not as easy as you'd think."

After giving it a moment of though, I start to realize that he's right. It seems as though it should be obvious, but it's not at all. It has to be something that neither of us is likely to say on any other occasion, otherwise we're just asking for a whole bunch of unnecessary misunderstandings. But beyond that conclusion, my mind is pretty much blank.

"Um... how about..." This is the part where I'm probably supposed to make a suggestion. It might help if I actually had one. "Uh..."

"See!"

"Give me a minute!"

"Take ten." He taunts playfully. "I bet you still won't come up with anything."

With that challenge officially set, I really begin wracking my brain to come up with _something_. I devote so much effort to it that I have to cease coffee making and give this endeavor my full attention. _That's_ how serious it is! I start by thinking about us, about things we've said to one another that stand out, but no _single_ word comes to mind. So I switch to thinking about places we've been together that hold some kind of special significance, but again I can't really think of one that would make a good safeword.

"Still there?"

"I'm thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself."

Oh, if only he could see me glaring at him right now. "Shut up."

Suddenly, as I cycle back through everything I can remember about our relationship, like a slideshow on high-speed rewind, the blur of memories comes to an abrupt end. Or rather, they come to the beginning.

"SNAFU."

He laughs, clearly forgetting the importance of that word and therefore wondering why it would occur to me. "Huh?"

"The bar in New York? The one where we met?" I remind him with a smug grin, resuming my all-important coffee making. "It was called SNAFU."

"Oh yeah."

"And it seems kind of fitting."

"True... I like it."

"Ha! I knew I could come up with something."

"Pity when I bet you that you couldn't, you didn't negotiate any terms." He points out in quite possibly the most phony 'what a shame' tone I think I've _ever_ heard. "You could've totally gotten yourself a blowjob every day for the rest of your life."

"That's okay. I'll probably still get one everyday anyway."

"Oh yeah? From who?"

"Oh my _God_ , you're _so_ funny, I think I'm gonna laugh." I reply sarcastically, listening as he snickers quietly to himself. "Wait for it... wait for it... nope, guess it was just a tickle in my throat or something."

"Fuck you, I'm _hilarious_."

He is. And the fact that I am poised to spend the rest of my life laughing and joking with him, teasing him and having him tease me... sometimes I don't know how to accept that it's real. I'd given up hope of it ever happening, and now suddenly it _is_. I must have done something incredible in a past life, like saving a baby from a burning building or jumping in front of a bus to save an old lady, because I sure as hell haven't done anything in this life to deserve him.

We continue talking while I drink my coffee, discussing that one _amazing_ house from yesterday and my plans to call Laura and have her make an offer for me. And even once Asta wakes up I try my best to carry on a conversation while changing and feeding her. But after the rest of my kids begin to trickle down into the kitchen, it's not so easy. We eventually admit defeat when Viggo starts _screaming_ because Ezra hid his Buzz Lightyear action figure and won't give it back, and I dutifully head off to try and resolve the conflict.

Or at least find the doll and stop the bloodcurdling screams.

Zac wanders down to the kitchen sometime around nine, helping himself to some cold coffee and Poptarts, which is a very unusual combination for him. He doesn't really say much, but then he's never been a morning person. He's barely human before breakfast, so I leave him to rediscover his humanity while I get my kids started on some math problems in the next room. Ezra is still lagging _way_ behind where he should be; at this point I don't know how he's going to avoid repeating fourth grade. I know it's not a matter of him not understanding the work he has to do, he's just refusing to do it because he knows it frustrates me. And he knows I can't do anything about it, either. I can't _force_ him to do his school work, I've tried. I've tried bribing him with his favorite things, I've tried confiscating his 3DS, I've tried taking away his TV privileges, but nothing I do seem to change anything. It just makes him even madder at me than he already was, which makes his behavior even worse..

The first thing I'm going to do once we get to California is find him a therapist. I don't care that whenever I've brought the idea up in the past he's flat-out told me that he _won't_ talk to anyone. If I have to drag him kicking and screaming all the way to a therapist's office, and then pay a hundred bucks an hour just so that he can sit there and be surly and silent with them, so be it. Maybe they'll be able to get through to him even if he won't say a word. Maybe something _they_ say to him will make him rethink the way he's handling his grief.

Maybe...

God, I hope so. Because at this point I can't think of anything else to try that I haven't tried already.

"How'd you sleep?" I ask Zac as I reenter the kitchen and grab a notepad and pen to start on a grocery list.

"Not great." He sighs, staring down at his half-eaten Poptart. "And not long enough, either."

"Yeah, I kinda expected you to sleep until noon, to be honest. But I guess you have to be getting home, huh?"

"Yeah..."

There's something in his tone that I can't put my finger on. It's not reluctance or sadness, exactly, but it's somewhere in that ballpark. "Are you okay?" His lack of response is all the answer I need. "Zac, what's going on?"

"I uh... I can't go home." He admits quietly, dejectedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Kate kicked me out." I swear that my jaw just hit the floor, and I'm too stunned to figure out how the hell to pull it back up again. "She told me that if I came over here yesterday, she didn't want me to come back."

"Wh..." I can't form words right now. I don't understand how he kept this from me, how he could have _done_ this. "Zac... _why_ didn't you say something?"

"You were so happy last night, I didn't want to ruin it."

"No, I mean why didn't you say something _before_ I even left? Why didn't you just call me and tell me you couldn't come over?"

He shakes his head, raising his eyes to meet mine slowly. "It was too late for you to find anyone else to watch the kids, you would've had to cancel your whole trip."

" _So_?! I would've rather waited and gone another time than ruin your marriage!"

"You didn't ruin anything, Tay. It's not your fault, she doesn't have to be like this about it."

"She _seriously_ said that you couldn't come home?" I ask in complete disbelief, taking a seat beside him at the kitchen table.

"She said that if I helped you move away, and if I supported your relationship with Tommy, I was helping you to ruin your kids lives." He mumbles, pushing a few of the larger crumbs around on his plate. "I told her that you weren't, that you were doing what you thought was best, and that I wanted you to be happy. And she said that you were putting your happiness before everyone else's, including your kids. She said you were being totally selfish by breaking up the band and tearing our family apart. She said..." I wait patiently, with an increasing sense of dread and nausea, as he takes a long, slow breath. "She said you were sick, and that she doesn't think your kids are safe with you anymore, and that... if I in any way agreed with what you were doing to them... she wasn't sure if our kids were safe around me, either."

"That's _bullshit_!" I exclaim in unconcealed disgust. "She's crazy!"

"I kinda said the same thing." He smiles very faintly, grimly. "She just said that I had to decide which was more important to me, you or my family. I told her you _are_ my family... but..." His voice falters suddenly, and I instantly wrap him in a protective hug.

It's been a long time since he's looked so small to me. In fact, I can't think of a time since we were kids that I've honestly felt like the stronger one. He's always been more stable, more self-assured, at least off stage. _I'm_ the mess, _I'm_ the one who you'd expect to find crying over a crappy breakfast pastry and a cold cup of coffee at nine o'clock in the morning. And yet, here he is doing precisely that.

I guess it comes as no surprise that it's ultimately my fault. This wouldn't be happening to him if it weren't for me and my choices. Yes, Kate it being an unreasonable bitch about the whole thing, but still... I can't help but feel as though I've done something wrong here. I must have, because he doesn't deserve this. My happiness can't come at a detriment to his.

I won't let it.

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

  


 

 

"Go home."

Zac shakes his head against my shoulder, not understanding what it is I'm telling him to do. "I told you, I can't. Not right now. Maybe once she's had a chance to cool off-"

"No." I sigh, forcing myself to let go of him a little so that I can look him in the eyes. "Go home, tell her you've thought about it... tell her you choose your family."

"What?" He frowns, pulling back even further in confusion and defiance. "No way! I can't do that to you."

"You can't lose your wife and kids because of me, either."

"I won't. She'll come around eventually."

I can't tell if he honestly believes that. I'm certain I don't. I don't see Kate accepting me for who I really am or forgiving me for what I've done any time soon, and I don't see her forgiving Zac for siding with me unless he goes back _now_ and begs her to before it's too late.

"Please?" I insist, putting on my most convincing rational-big-brother act when all I really want to do is fall apart. "Just go home, give her what she wants. I'll be okay, I promise, as long as I know you're okay."

"I'll be fine-"

"Zac-"

"I'm serious!"

"I don't want you to risk it. I would never be able to forgive myself if you lost your family because of me."

"If that's what happens, maybe it's how it's supposed to be." He protests weakly. "Maybe I'm not supposed to be with someone who would ever ask me to make a choice like this."

"You know you don't believe that. You love Kate, and your kids are _everything_ to you."

"But you're _you._ You're my _brother_ , Taylor. You're my best friend, you're..."

"I know." _Fuck_. This whole staying calm and keeping my emotions in check thing isn't going so well. "And that's not going to change. _Ever_. I know you love me, I know you want me to be happy, and I know you support me. I _know_ that, Zac. And it means _so_ much to me. It's enough, okay? It's more than enough."

"But-"

" _No_. There is no choice; it has to be them."

Rather than convincing him to do what he needs to, my insistence only seems to make him _more_ stubborn, and he pushes me away in frustration. "Why? You chose Tommy over your kids once!"

"No, I chose Tommy over Natalie." I correct him without hesitation. "But I didn't love Natalie the way I know you love Kate, no matter what she says or does." He still seems more than a little reluctant to accept what I'm saying, but he knows he can't argue with the truth. "Look... it's not forever. It's just until this all blows over. And it's not like we can't still text or talk on the phone if we're careful about it."

"But I won't be able to come over like this."

"I'm leaving the state soon." I try to joke, pushing aside the sharp pain that strikes me in my chest at the thought of leaving him behind. "You won't be able to come over anymore anyway."

"That's not funny."

He's right, it's not. Nothing about any of this is anywhere in the vicinity of funny, it's not even on the distant outskirts of slightly amusing. It _sucks_ , and it hurts, and I'm so sick of everything being so damn difficult all the time. I just want to be happy, and I want the people I love to be happy. And I don't understand why those things never go hand-in-hand.

"Zac, you _have_ to go home. She's more likely to hear you out and give you another chance now than she will be if you leave it until later, and you know it. I'm not going to be in Tulsa much longer, not if I can help it, and I don't want to leave without knowing that you're okay."

" _Please_ stop saying that." He sighs miserably, dropping his head into his hands.

"What?"

"The L word."

Guess I'm not the only one having a hard time dealing with the idea of our impending separation. "I'm sorry."

"What if all of this doesn't blow over?" He asks quietly after a lengthy pause. "What is she's never okay with me talking to you?"

"I don't know." I admit glumly. "Right now I'm clinging to the belief that she'll have to accept this sooner or later, they _all_ will."

"Why will they?"

"Because..." If they don't, I'll go from having a larger family than most people I know, to hardly having one at all. "They just will."

"Right." He nods, exhaling a bitter chuckle. "That's a _great_ reason."

"I don't like this any more than you do, okay? The idea of not seeing you all the time _sucks_ , if there's _anyone_ I'd consider staying in Tulsa for, it's you-"

"Really?" He questions in genuine surprise, his eyes searching mine for the truth. "If I asked you to stay... you'd stay?"

"... Apparently."

This is as much news to me as it is to him. I wasn't aware that anyone or anything besides my kids could keep me in this town, not now. But it makes sense that he still has so much pull with me; he probably always will, whether I want him to or not. With all of our history, everything we've been through together, everything we've been to each other, and everything he's done for me... no one else has ever been there for me the way he has, for as long as he has.

No one else has loved me the way he has, for as long as he has.

"Good thing I'd never ask, huh?" He finally replies, after waiting just long enough to make me wonder if he actually would let me to scrap my plans to move away. But the fond smile is gone almost as soon as it appears on his face. "Do you really think I should go home?"

"I really think... you'll regret it if you don't."

"What about you?"

I shrug, doing my best impression of a guy who is confident in his ability to handle his mess of a life alone. "What about me? I'll be fine."

"Taylor-"

"I'll be _fine_. I know you worry about me incessantly, but you don't need to. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself."

He looks incredibly skeptical about that statement, which should probably offend me. But honestly, it just scares me. His uncertainty over my capacity to _not_ crash and burn when left to my own devices stems from years, _decades_ , of evidence to the contrary. I'm a clutz. I trip over thin air, I break everything I touch, tangible and otherwise. I don't _try_ to fuck everything up, it just tends to happen. But with people like Zac around me, the damage has always been kept to a minimum (for the most part) and quickly cleaned up.

I've never really had to worry about controlling myself _by myself_ before. I've always relied on other people's guidance (judgment) and expectations to keep me in check. But now I'm basically rejecting all of that. I'm telling everyone who I really am and refusing to change just because they don't like it.

So I guess now I have to figure out how to live my life for _me_ instead of them.

What a strange concept.

"This feels _so_ wrong." He sighs in defeat. "I don't know how I'm supposed to just get up and walk out of here without knowing when I'm gonna see you again."

"Pretend you're mad at me." I offer half-seriously, but neither of us can summon even a hint of a smile. "You'll see me again. _Soon_."

"Sure. Maybe I can make up a lame excuse about needing to see my accountant just to get out of the house, and then we can rent a sleazy motel room in the middle of the day?"

"Sounds like a solid plan."

He shakes his head sadly, glancing at his surroundings in the kind of longing way that makes it seem as though he'll never see the inside of this house again. "I can't believe all this is happening."

"Me either."

"I guess... I should go and say goodbye to the kids."

"You don't have to say 'goodbye'. You can still see them whenever you want." I assure him wholeheartedly. "You can take them out or I can bring them over to your place and drop them off... without setting foot on the property, of course."

"What about Kate? I thought you told her you didn't want her around them anymore."

Ugh. I did say that, and I meant it. But even though it sickens me to let her anywhere near them when she's so full of obvious hatred for everything I am, if it could help heal some of the wounds I've inflicted, the wounds that are tearing my family apart, maybe I'm just going to have to let it go.

"As long as you're there... she can see them. But I don't want her talkingto them about Tommy _or_ California. If they come home saying anything that even vaguely resembles all of the bullshit she's been spouting-"

"They won't." He quickly guarantees. "I'll make sure."

There's really nothing left for him to do but leave, and I know he's as loath to do it as I am to see him go. Ever since we were kids, we've always been able to go to one another with anything, any time we needed to. The only time we ever stopped was during our strained, who-hurt-who-more, post-breakup phase after Tommy and I first got together. But that was _our_ doing, _our_ 'choice'. No one has ever tried to keep us apart against our wishes before. And even though I _know_ this isn't the last time I'll see him or speak to him, deep down it feels like it is. It's just the first of many painful adjustments and adaptations our relationship is going to have to endure over the coming months.

I was somewhat prepared for a lot of those changes, but I _wasn't_ prepared for this one.

Before getting out of his chair, he leans closer and hugs me one more time. I hold on to him as though how tightly I cling to him will determine whether or not I get to keep him, but I know that it won't. No one is here to pry him from my arms, but once I let him go he'll be gone. And I _have to_ let him go.

"Call me if you need _anything_."

"I will."

"Promise?"

I roll my eyes, a melancholy smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Scouts honor."

"You were never a boy scout." He points out as we reluctantly let each other go. "And I'm not sure you even know what honor _is_."

"It's just an expression!" I exclaim, doing my utmost to maintain the slightly lighter frame of mind we've managed to find. "If I do the boy scout salute, will that make you feel better?"

"A little." I raise my hand, separating my fingers into the Vulcan salute instead, and in return he smacks me playfully in the forehead. "Loser."

We share one last loaded look before he forces himself to get out of his chair and leave me alone in the kitchen. The second he's out of sight, the smile on my face that had been mostly for his benefit is gone. I can hear him saying goodbye to my kids, sounding like his usual, boisterous and cheerful self, putting on a brave face to hide the fact that _everything_ is wrong right now. I should probably go out there and do the same, but I just can't. I need a moment to absorb everything that's been said and the implications of it all.

I need a moment alone to get used to the fact that I _am_ alone.

A few minutes after I hear the door shut behind him, a small voice says my name from across the room (well, it says "daddy", which is my name as far as my kids are concerned). When I lift my head from my hands, I find Penny frowning at me concernedly, clutching her schoolwork to her chest as she lingers by the refrigerator.

"What's the matter, baby?"

"I don't understand it." She says almost apologetically, taking a step further into the room with me. "I keep trying to do it right, but it's always wrong."

I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that I can relate. "Let's take a look."

She's clearly hesitant, which makes me feel like crap. I don't want her to think she has to tiptoe around me or worry about disturbing me. Yes, I'm having a shitty morning, but that doesn't mean I can't help her with her school work. After a moment, she walks over to me and lets me lift her onto my lap.

"Can you show me what you did?" I coax her encouragingly as she sets her math book on the table in front of us and begins explaining her work to me.

While she's walking me through the math problem, I can't help but observe how grown up she sounds. It's not the first time I've noticed it. Aside from things that she's powerless to prevent, like nightmares and normal seven-year-old emotions, she's been acting much more mature than I'd like since Natalie died. She plays "mom" to her younger brothers and sister, and she worries about things she has no business worrying about (me, for example). I don't _want_ her taking on that role and those responsibilities, it's not right. I want her to be a little girl, and I want her to have as much of a normal childhood as anyone who loses their mother at her age possibly can.

I know I can't be two parents at once, but that doesn't mean _she_ has to be one.

Sometime after lunch, while I'm in the middle of trying to get Viggo and Asta down for a much needed nap that I only _wish_ I could partake in, I receive a very unexpected phone call... from my mother. I don't think I've ever had such a stilted conversation with her, it was like talking to someone I barely know. We exchanged polite (and awkward) "how are yous", and she made some tense small talk about how my younger sister is doing in New York, before finally getting down to business and inviting me to dinner. To say I was shocked would be putting it mildly. The last time I saw her, she fled the room in tears after declaring that she couldn't even look at me. Then she didn't speak to me for a week... and now suddenly she wants me to come over for a home-cooked meal?

She assured me that she and my father just wanted to talk things over and "try to understand" where I'm coming from. She made it sound like an olive branch, a white flag of sorts, which is something I _so_ desperately need from _someone_ in this family. So I apprehensively agreed, afraid to get my hopes up that maybe my parents might approve of (or at least accept) my relationship with Tommy if I give them a little more time to get used to it. And I quickly called one of our old, go-to babysitters to come and watch the kids for the evening.

I'm not used to being nervous around my own family, and it's not something I want to _get_ used to. I've been anxious about telling them things in the past, but I've never been so anxious for a simple dinner to go well. After what happened with Zac today, if I could at least start to get my relationship with my mom and dad back on track, it would be a _huge_ step forward for me. I don't expect them to be one hundred percent supportive, but if they could just see their way to _trying_ to understand how I feel, that would mean _so_ much.

After sitting out in my car for a while, psyching myself up for an evening with two people I've never before felt anything but comfortable around, I finally make my way to the front door and ring the bell. My dad answers it, with a smile on his face that's not entirely genuine. But at least he's making an effort to be welcoming, right?

"Glad you made it." He greets me, holding the door open and gesturing for me to come in. "Boy, it's starting to get chilly out there, huh?"

Weather, dad? _Really_? "Yeah, it's... cold."

"Guess winter's officially on the way now."

"Seems like it." I smile faintly, shrugging my coat off as he closes the door behind me.

"So... how are the kids doing?" He asks civilly, walking me through to the living room. "We've missed them."

"They've missed you, too."

"Maybe you can bring them over sometime this week?"

That really all depends on how the rest of this evening goes. "Yeah, maybe."

"There you are!" Mom chirps in a cheery tone that's so painfully forced it almost makes me cringe as much as nails on chalkboard. "We were starting to think you weren't coming after all."

"Sorry... the babysitter was a little late." I lie with a small smile as she hands me a glass of water and waves me over to sit on the couch. I can't think of anything to say to either of them, which isn't a problem I'm at all used to having when I'm around my parents. I _hate_ this. "What's for dinner?"

"Oh... um..." Mom glances at dad, who in turn glances in the direction of the kitchen, as if the oven is going to holler back a reply.

And that's when I realize that I can't smell anything cooking.

Usually when I come over for dinner, I'm welcomed into the house by the familiar scent of my mom's cooking. Chicken frying, potatoes roasting, apple pie baking... but not tonight. There's _nothing_ , not even the faint smell of coffee brewing.

"We thought we might talk first." Dad explains carefully. "There are a lot of things we didn't get the chance to say last time we saw you."

"Oh... okay."

"We just wanted to try to express our feelings a little more... calmly."

Calmly.

Calmly but not differently?

Am I about to be treated to a repeat of last week's opinions, but without the sobbing? Because if that's the case, I think I'd rather just go home right now. I can't handle hearing _again_ how they want me to live a "normal" life and figure out how to "do something" about who I am. I came over here hoping that they were willing to work on looking beyond their long-held beliefs about homosexuality, but I get the feeling they just want to rephrase them in a more composed way.

Before I have a chance to prepare myself to hear these "calmly" expressed feelings of theirs, the doorbell rings. Dad is quick to get off of the couch and hurry to answer it, and all I can do is sit in strained silence with my mom until he comes back.

With Isaac.

"Hi honey." Mom smiles at him lovingly, sympathetically. It's exactly the way she talked to me in the weeks after Natalie's death.

Did someone die and no one told me?

"What're you doing here?" I blurt out, sounding much more resentful of his presence than I meant to. It's not that I don't _want_ him here, I just wasn't informed that he would be joining us. And without Nikki to be his reasonable, rational keeper. "I mean... I didn't know you were coming."

"We thought it would be better if we could all talk together." Explains mom in the same, controlled manner that she's said and done everything since I arrived. "As a family."

"Is Zac coming?" God, I hope so.

Dad shakes his head uncertainly, looking to mom for corroboration. "I don't think so..."

"Well... who else _is_ coming?"

Right on cue, the doorbell sounds again, and off dad goes like an obedient dog to fetch the latest arrivals. Who just so happen to be my sister and brother-in-law. That makes me feel a _little_ better; Jess is a pretty passive, gentle person, and Joe and I have always gotten along well. Having them here should definitely help to balance out the bucket loads of hostility I'm feeling from Isaac.

But just as I finish greeting my sister and thanking the universe for sending her to act as a buffer, dad is off to the front door again, and this time he returns with two faces I definitely did _not_ expect or want to see tonight.

"Pam?" I frown in confusion, looking back and forth between her stony expression and the matching one that Kate is wearing. "What's going on? Where's Zac?"

"He's at home with Shep and Junia." Kate informs me plainly as she and Pam take their seats with the rest of my family.

It dawns on me how divided the room feels, with them on one side and me on the other.

"We're all here tonight because we're worried about you." Mom begins after taking a moment to prepare herself. "We love you, and we want to help you."

I think I'm going to be sick.

"I can't believe this."

"No one is here to judge you." Dad insists quickly, a statement which is so ludicrous that I can't help but laugh bitterly at how sincere he made it sound. "We just want to... share our concerns with you."

They've all lost their fucking minds! "Is this an _intervention_?"

"Of course not!" Exclaims mom in horror, as though the very idea never crossed her mind. "It's just an opportunity for us to all sit down and try to come up with a solution-"

"A _solution_? To _what?_ "

"Maybe solution isn't the right word..." She sighs fretfully, turning to her cohorts for assistance with finding the perfect way to tell me that I'm a problem they want to fix.

"The way you've been behaving recently is... troubling." Offers Pam uneasily. "You seem unconcerned by how your actions affect the people around you-"

"What I'm _concerned_ by is making sure my children are happy and healthy, and right now they're not! So I'm doing something about it."

"You're dragging them to another state so that you can be with the man you left their mother for! It's _sick_!" Accuses Kate sourly. "If you really cared about them, you wouldn't take them away from their family, and you wouldn't expose them to that kind of lifestyle!"

"Kate, we agreed that we weren't going to-" My dad tries to protest, but as usual Kate has her heart set on being a bitch.

"You're being selfish, and I'm _not_ the only one who thinks so."

"She's right." Ike readily chimes in. "The only people who get _anything_ out of this are you and Tommy. You don't care what this does to your kids, or your family, or the band-"

"The band is the _least_ of my problems, Ike! You're right, I _don't_ care. If I have to choose between giving my kids a fresh start in L.A. or staying here and making another record, I choose L.A."

"You're not choosing L.A. for them, though! You're choosing it for _you_!"

"There are hundreds of cities closer to Tulsa that you could move to if all you really want is a fresh start." Pam maintains, practically pleading with me to see things from her point of view. "You don't _have_ to take those children away from us like this."

"I'm not doing it to take them away from you!"

"But when you _choose_ to move them a thousand miles away, that's exactly what you're doing!"

God, get me _out_ of here!

"I think maybe we should all take a step back and try to start over." Suggests dad, like maybe if they reevaluate their approach I'll magically change my mind. "Jess, honey, I know you had something you wanted to say..."

All eyes, including mine, turn to my younger sister. She seems nervous, maybe even intimidated, like all hopes of "saving" me have been placed squarely on her shoulders. _I'm_ nervous because I'd stupidly thought she'd be my ally in this. I thought that, if there was anyone in this room who would see my side of it, it would be her.

"I just..." She takes a deep breath, fixing me with those big, blue eyes of hers. Eyes almost identical to my own. "I'm scared for you, Tay. I love you _so_ much, we all do. You're my big brother, I've always looked up to you, I've always thought you were special. I want to support you, but... what you're doing is wrong. You _know_ that-"

"Jess-"

"We were _all_ raised with the _same_ beliefs and the _same_ values." She reminds me, her eyes shimmering with tears as Joe clutches her hand supportively. "We're the _same_ , Taylor. We're _family_."

"I _know_ that." I promise her, my own voice now thick with unshed tears. "I'm still the same person I've always been. Just because I'm gay, that doesn't change who I am."

"But it's _wrong_. It's unnatural-"

"What's unnatural is forcing myself to be straight, pretending to feel things I don't, just so you won't hate me!"

"We don't _hate_ you, sweetheart." Mom stress honestly, getting out of her seat beside dad and moving to sit next to me. So apparently I _don't_ have the plague anymore? Good to know. "We love you, and we love those children, and we only want what's best for _all_ of you."

"Then why can't you trust that I know what that is? When I told you I was moving to L.A., you supported me! You said you believed I'd never do anything to hurt my kids, you said I had to do what was right for us, not everyone else."

"But at the time we didn't realize that there were... other factors influencing your decision."

By "other factors", she means my sexuality. Apparently being gay is the same thing as being an alcoholic or a drug addict; it clouds your judgment and makes you do things that you wouldn't otherwise do.

"You don't understand." I sigh wearily, too tired and unprepared to fight this battle against all of them by myself.

"You're right, we don't." She admits sadly. "But we _want_ to. We _want_ to support you."

I look up at her in surprise, my hope renewed for a fraction of a second. "You do?"

"Of course we do!" Dad asserts earnestly.

"Your father and I have been doing a lot of talking this past week, and we've done some research, and-"

"Research?"

"There's a ministry, here in Tulsa. They provide support and counseling-"

"Mom-"

"It _works_ , Taylor." She pleads emotionally. "I've spoken to them, they've helped _so_ many people to overcome unwanted attraction to members of the same sex."

"No, they haven't, because you can't 'overcome' it! Trust me, I've _tried_ , it doesn't go away just because you pray for it to. You just get really good at pretending to be straight so that you can fit in and be accepted, but deep down you're _miserable_ because you know you're living a lie!"

"Maybe you just couldn't do it by yourself. Maybe if you had proper help-"

"It's _not_ proper help, mom, it's ignorance."

"Please," She weeps plaintively, clutching for my hand, _begging_ me. "Please try for us. _Please_."

"They have a live-in program in Georgia." Pam informs me hopefully. "I can bring the children, we can stay with Matty. You'd still see them all the time-"

" _No_!" I rip my hand out of my mother's grasp, standing from the couch and stepping away from her, from all of them. My heart is racing with panic, and I feel as though I need to get out of this house _now_ before they strap me down and attempt a fucking exorcism! "I'm not going _anywhere_! I'm not going to therapy, and I'm sure as hell not going to some... gay rehab!"

"It's not-"

"I didn't come here tonight so you could all tell me how horrible and selfish and sick I am. I came here because I thought you _might_ want to hear me out and try to understand how I feel." I snap at them all, noting that not one of them looks even the slightest bit guilty for their behavior. None of them see anything wrong with what they've done; the only thing wrong in their eyes is me. "But clearly you're not ready to listen, all you want to do is shut me up and force me back into a life I _never_ wanted."

"That's _not_ true." Dad protests, offended by the allegation. "We aren't trying to force you to do anything, we're just trying to help."

"You can call it whatever you want. If labeling it 'help' makes you feel better, fine, let's go with that. But I don't need your 'help', I need your support."

"How do you expect us to _support_ you?" Asks Ike indignantly. "You're so wrapped up in your relationship with Tommy that you're willing to screw everyone else over just to be with him! Your kids have a life here, they have friends and family, and you're going to take them to a strange city where they don't know _anyone_ -"

"For the last time, Ike, they _want_ to go!"

"They're _children_! They don't know what they want, and they certainly don't know what they _need_!" Kate informs me haughtily. "And the fact that you would even give them a choice in the matter shows what an irresponsible, reckless parent you are!"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know that those children are better off here with us than they are with an inattentive and immature father who has been _so_ absent for most of their lives that he has _no_ clue how to be the kind of parent they need!"

That's _it._ I am _done._

"Taylor, wait." My dad sighs as I push past Ike's pathetic attempt to block my path and head straight for the door. "Taylor!"

"Don't leave like this!" Mom urges me desperately, following me down the hall and watching as I snatch my jacket off of the coat stand. "Just talk to us!"

"I _tried_ , you're not listening to anything I have to say!"

"You're not listening to us, either!"

"Then what's the point?" I ask with a dismissive shrug. "If you don't want to even _attempt_ to see my side of things, and I have no interest in trying to 'pray away the gay', we can talk all night and it won't change a damn thing."

"Taylor, sweetheart, _please_ try to understand how we feel."

"I have. Believe me, I've done nothing but worry about how this would make you feel my _whole_ life. I knew you wouldn't understand, and that's why I never told you before. I never wanted to do anything to hurt you or disappoint you. But I can't spend the rest of my life pretending to be someone I'm not. I _won't._ " I tell her, trying as hard as I can not to raise my voice. But the ache in my chest is making me want to scream out loud. "I'm in love, mom. I am _so_ in love, and he makes me _so_ happy. I've _never_ felt this way before, and I wish that you didn't want to 'fix' that. I wish you could just be happy _for_ me."

For one, fleeting second, I wonder if what I've said has finally gotten through to her. She looks at me, and for the first time since she found out that I'm gay, I feel as though she truly _sees_ me. She sees that I'm her son, and she still loves me the way she always has. But just as suddenly as it appeared, it's gone again.

"I wish I could, too."

But she can't.

And with the implications of that realization wedged firmly between us, there's nothing I can do but turn and walk away for her, from my father, from my family.

I will _never_ again be willing to hide who I am or how I feel. I spent almost thirty years playing a role, faking my way through too many days, and I'm done now. I'm tired, and I want to take off the mask I've been hiding behind and breathe. I want to be _me_ and I want to be happy. I can't compromise on that, I _won't_. If I could meet them half-way I would, but there's no way for me to do that. So until they're willing to accept me for who I really am, until they no longer want to change me...

I guess there's no place for me in their lives.

Or for them in mine.


	27. Chapter 27

  


 

 

After leaving my parents house, I began driving home. I had nowhere else to go, so I didn't even think about it. I just got in my car, started the engine, and drove. But as I drove, it really started to hit me just how angry I was, how hurt and betrayed. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white, even my driving was noticeably more erratic than usual. I didn't want to go home and risk letting my kids see how upset I was. I knew they were safe with a babysitter, I didn't _need_ to rush back. But I still didn't have anywhere to go or anyone to turn to. I couldn't go to Zac, and there wasn't anyone else in Tulsa that I felt I could confide in. No one else knew the truth, and I definitely didn't have it in me emotionally to come out to even one more person that I cared about. Not after having my family take it as badly as they had. I didn't know who else I could trust with the truth.

If my own flesh and blood couldn't accept me, I wasn't sure who would.

Tulsa being Tulsa, there really weren't all that many options for places to go after eight o'clock at night. The only places open were bars and clubs, and as much as I wanted a drink, I didn't want to be surrounded by other people. Which really only left me with one option.

After making a quick stop at a liquor store, I headed over to our studio space downtown. I knew no one would be there; Zac was at home looking after his kids so his wife could help Ike and my parents ambush me. I'd have the whole place to myself. I could be somewhere familiar without having to see anyone I knew. I could feel at home without having to actually go home.

At least, I thought so.

Now that I'm here, I realize that I don't feel at home at all. In fact, I've never felt more out of place in this room than I do tonight. Even though I've spent countless hours here, and I'm surrounded by instruments and personal possessions that are _mine_ and that I've owned for years, it all feels foreign. Cold.

With the way things have been going between me and Ike lately, I'm not sure I'll ever record another song in this space. As I sidle onto the piano bench with my bottle of tequila in hand, I wonder how we're supposed to go about dividing all of this up. I don't want to take anything more away from my brothers, especially not Zac, not when I'm already breaking up the band and calling the future of their careers into question. But a lot of this stuff _is_ mine, and a lot of it was _insanely_ expensive. Maybe I should just let them have it all. I have my kids and Tommy, I don't need bits and pieces of a recording studio. I don't even know if I'm going to have any use for it. I have my own baby grand piano at home, and a couple of guitars...

The least I can do is leave them this.

For a while, I alternate between playing and drinking. My trusty bottle of golden liquor sits beside me on the bench while I try to beat a song idea that I've been working on for months into submission. And every time it fights back, I take a long, consoling sip of tequila and try again. Obviously, the more tequila I down, the less successful the writing process becomes, and the more I drink as a result.

It's just after nine when my phone starts to ring. And even though it's Tommy calling me, I let it go to voicemail. It's not that I don't want to speak to him, in fact nothing could be further from the truth. What I don't want is for him to have to deal with me right now. I'm pretty much drunk, and I'm miserable, and I've got nothing to offer him besides _more_ problems and complaining. I'm tired of dragging him down with all of my emotional bullshit and family feuding. Just for once, I want to be able to tell him everything's great, I want to have good news to share.

Eventually the ringing stops, and a moment later a notification appears on the screen to tell me that I have a new voicemail. Even if I'm in no state to talk to him right now, at least I still get to hear his voice.

" _Hey, it's me_." I close my eyes tightly, gripping the phone, clinging to the rush of warmth I feel simply from hearing him speak. " _I was just calling to see how tonight went, but I guess you're still at your parents or something, so... hopefully that means it's going well? Call me when you get a chance. Bye_." Just as I'm about to pull the phone away from my ear and replay the message, he suddenly thinks of something else to say. " _Oh, and... I love you.  So... yeah. Bye. Again_."

My eyes immediately start to sting as tears gather faster than I ever would have expected, and then I'm blubbering like the inebriated idiot I am. I bat at my eyes to clear my vision, tapping the screen with a trembling finger to restart the message, and then dragging the slider along the timeline to those precious last few seconds.

_Oh, and... I love you._

_Oh, and... I love you._

_Oh, and... I love you._

I listen to it over and over again, desperately wishing that he was sitting right here with me. I glance down at the bench, and suddenly I find myself angry at the bottle of Patron beside me for taking his spot. The part of my brain that would usually remind me of how incredibly immature and _dumb_ that thought is has apparently already passed out for the night, so there's nothing to stop me from picking the bottle up and hurling it across the room. It hits something somewhere and I hear it smash, feeling a small sense of satisfaction for one, fleeting moment.

But smashing a bottle of tequila, which up until this point in the evening had been my only friend, doesn't make anything any better. It doesn't make my parents any less disgusted by me or disappointed in me. It doesn't make my older brother any less angry at me. It doesn't get me my little brother back. It doesn't make my son hate me any less.

And it doesn't make Tommy magically appear in front of me.

My pathetic little pity party is interrupted by my phone ringing once again. For a second, my heart leaps with hope that maybe it's Tommy. But it's not his ringtone, or even a phone number I recognize. I'm about to ignore the call when it strikes me that the number has a Los Angeles area code, and curiosity gets the better of me.

"Hello?"

"Taylor?" Asks an unfamiliar female voice.

"Yes..."

"Hi, it's Laura."

It takes a minute for my sluggish mind to remember who Laura even is, but as soon as it does, she has my full attention. "Hey! Sorry, I didn't have your number in my phone, so I didn't know who it was."

"Oh, that's okay, it happens all the time." She assures me with a chuckle. "Is this a bad time? I know it's getting late where you are."

"No, no. It's fine. I was just..." Drowning my sorrows in alcohol. "Hangin' out."

"Well, I have some _sort-of_ good news and some potentially bad news. Which would you like to hear first?"

I'd prefer no bad news, but if that's not an option... "I could really use some sorta good news."

"Okay. I heard back from the seller's agent just a little while ago. They didn't accept your offer," How is that sort-of good news?! " _But_ they did make a counter offer."

"What's their counter offer?"

"They're not requesting their full asking price, but they are asking you to meet them halfway between it and what you originally offered."

"I can do that." I reply confidently, even though the nagging voice of responsibility in my head is telling me that I should probably make this decision when I'm completely sober. "What's the bad news?"

"The bad news is, they want a much shorter than usual escrow."

"What does that mean?"

"Basically, it means they're paying two mortgages right now, and they'd rather not have to make another payment on a house they're not even living in. And in order to avoid that, they want to close by the end of the month."

"Wow."

"And if you accept the offer, and it's contingent on an inspection, they want the inspection completed within a week."

"That's... fast."

"I know." She commiserates understandingly. "You don't have to accept those terms if you're not comfortable with them. We _can_ try to negotiate and buy you a little more time."

A couple of days ago, I might have told her to go ahead and do just that. I would have been intimidated by the idea of having to close on a house in another state in less than four weeks. But in the past couple of days, the past couple of _hours_ , my reasons for prolonging this move in any way have significantly diminished. It's not going to be easy to pull this off, but I want to get the _hell_ out of here. The sellers couldn't have picked a better time to make this request; I have no reason to decline it.

Okay, so maybe I do have a couple of reasons. Like my stress levels and having _no_ clue how the hell I'm going to make this happen when I have no one to help me. But thankfully I'm not thinking clearly enough right now to care about 'little' things like that.

"No, I don't want to counter. I want to accept."

"Are you _sure_?" She presses seriously. "You can sleep on it if you-"

"I don't need to. I want that house, it's _perfect_ , and if that means paying a little more and moving a lot sooner, then... I'll just have to make it work."

"Okay then! I'll email you the paperwork. Just print it up, look it over, sign, and fax it back."

"Thanks, Laura."

"My pleasure! Have a great night and call me if you have any questions."

With a new sense of purpose to keep me from wallowing any further, I make myself some strong coffee and head back to my office to wait for her email and read over the fine print. I'm one hundred percent aware that I'm rushing this, not even just the move itself, but merely accepting their offer tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow morning. And maybe I'll regret this when it truly registers what I've committed myself to, but right now I feel as though I have no reason to hesitate. I can't see Zac, I don't _want_ to see anyone else, and the only person I _really_ want to be around right now is a thousand miles away. The sooner this move happens, the sooner I can be with him, and the sooner my kids and I can start over.

By the time I'm done signing the paperwork and faxing it back to Laura, it's a lot later than I'd intended to stay out. Luckily, the coffee seems to have helped to sober me up enough to drive, and I head home to relieve the babysitter and hope that she's not so mad at me that she won't ever come back again. I'm probably going to need her help a lot over the next few weeks...

She doesn't seem to hate me too much for keeping her waiting indefinitely (though the extra forty bucks I gave her probably helped with that), and hopefully she means the "call whenever you need me" that she cheerfully throws out as she leaves. Almost as soon as the door has closed behind her, and I'm alone in the silence of the house, the evenings events come crashing down on me like a ten foot wave. And just as though I've been swallowed whole by the ocean, I feel as though I can't breathe. There's _so_ much to think about, _so_ much to get done. And I don't even know where to begin. I don't know how to deal with my family's feelings about my sexual orientation, I don't know how to deal with not being able to call Zac whenever I want to talk, I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to get my whole life (not to mention my kid's lives) packed up and shipped to another state in the next four weeks!

And I definitely don't know how I'm going to tell Tommy what I've done.

But I'd better figure it out _soon_ , because he's calling me again...

I could pretend I'm asleep, but I'm going to have to talk to him eventually. Besides, he already left me a message asking me to call him and tell him how dinner with my parents went. If I ignore this call, too, he's going to think that I went to bed without so much as texting him, that I just left him wondering all night like a thoughtless asshole.

I guess it's time to face the music.

Or something less melodious.

"Hey."

"I was starting to think you weren't gonna pick up."

I wasn't. "Sorry, I just got home."

"Long dinner!" He exclaims dubiously. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Actually, dinner didn't last that long." _Dinner_ didn't happen at all. "I was at my office."

"How come?"

Here goes... "Laura called to tell me that the sellers made a counter offer, so I was just faxing her some paperwork to say I'd accepted."

"Yeah?" He sounds almost excited. But that's because he thinks I'm going to be moving there in a couple of months, not by the end of _this_ month. He was so overwhelmed by the pace things were moving at already, and now I've gone and sped it up even more! "That's awesome! So you officially own a house in L.A.?"

"Well... not yet. I have to have an inspection done-"

"Yeah, but that's just a formality, right?"

"Unless it turns out that the house is about to fall down."

He laughs softly, which just makes me feel even guiltier. "Okay, but assuming it's not a total money pit, it's basically a done deal?"

"Basically."

"Then how come you don't sound even slightly happy about it?"

"It's nothing." Liar. "It's just... when they countered, they asked for more money."

"Oh. Well that sucks."

"Yeah..." But it's not the reason for the uncertainty he's obviously detecting. "They also asked for a shorter escrow."

"And that translates to what in normal person terms?" He asks curiously.

"Laura thinks they've probably already bought another place, so they don't want to keep paying the mortgage on this house any longer than they have to."

"Makes sense." There's a pause, and I close my eyes as I wait for him to fully understand the implication of what I've just said. "But like... what does that mean for _you_?"

"It means that they want the house sold and all the paperwork taken care of by the end of the month."

"Wait... _this_ month?"

"Yeah."

"But that's like... four weeks from now!" He notes in surprise. "Can they even _do_ that?"

"I guess. I mean, if they're not living in the house anymore, they don't have to move out. And as long as all of the financial stuff goes through on my end, which it will, there's no reason it has to take any longer."

"True..." I can hear the hesitance in his voice, and I feel terrible for springing this on him again. I should have waited, I should have talked to him _before_ signing the papers. "And it's not like you _have_ to be here by the end of the month, right? I mean, you can own the house and not have to be living in it. So there's no real rush or anything."

I want to tell him he's right. And technically, he is. But I don't want to own two houses any more than the sellers of my new house do. And I _want_ to be living there. I want out of Tulsa and away from all of this fucking _pain_ once and for all.

"Taylor? You still there?"

"SNAFU."

"What?"

"I need to call a SNAFU, or... however we're supposed to say it."

He takes a deep breath, doing his best not to freak out because that was the deal. Saying SNAFU means we get to say whatever we want and the other person can't freak out or get upset. Nothing changes when you say SNAFU, you get to be honest and nothing has to change.

Or that's how it works in theory, at least.

I guess we're about to test it...

"What's going on?" He asks, his mostly calm tone laced with palpable anxiety.

"Yesterday you said you felt like things were moving too fast, and it made you panic. But I need you to not panic, okay? Just because things are moving fast, that doesn't mean you have to be ready for anything any faster, or do anything any sooner. I'm the only one who has to do anything."

"What're you trying to say?"

Now it's my turn to take a deep breath. "I know I don't have to move out there by the end of the month... but I want to. I know it's sudden, and I know it's going to take a lot of work and a lot of planning, but I want to do it. Because there's nothing here for me anymore, everything I want is there-"

"Are you _crazy_?!"

And now he's freaking out.

So much for SNAFU.

"Tommy, please, just hear me out-"

"You seriously think you can pack up that _whole_ house and tie up _every_ fucking lose end you have in Tulsa in _four weeks_?! Taylor, come on!"

"You're not supposed to get mad!"

"Well I _am_ fucking mad!" He snaps. "The whole idea of SNAFU wasn't so you could go making dumbass decisions without talking to me first and then not get yelled at!"

"No, it was so you could run away like a child whenever you got scared and never have to grow the fuck up!" _Fuck._ "I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did."

Maybe a little. "Look... this doesn't have to affect you-"

"How the hell do you figure that?"

"Because it's true! Just because I'm moving out there a lot sooner than either of us expected, that doesn't mean you have to do _anything_ , okay? You don't have to move in with me, you don't even have to come over for dinner every other night. Hell, if it makes you feel better, you don't have to come over _at all_. You can just pretend I still live here until you're ready to deal with having me in the same city day in and day out."

"You _know_ it's not about that!" He argues defensively. "I want you here, I've told you that a thousand fucking times. I just feel like you keep pulling the damn rug out from under me! Every time I get my footing and I think I know what's going on, you do something to change it! I'm _trying_ to prepare myself for all of this, okay? I _really_ am. But it's a little hard to do when you keep springing shit like this on me every five fucking seconds!"

"I'm sorry! It's not like I _plan_ this stuff, okay? I just..." Oh, great, now I'm on the verge of crying again! I feel like that's all I fucking do anymore. I try to fight the tears back, but they keep building and building like flood waters rising, threatening to spill over the levee. And I'm so tired. I'm so, _so_ tired. I just don't have it in me to keep them at bay. "I don't want to be here anymore, Tommy."

"Hey," His tone, so harsh only a few seconds ago, is suddenly so gentle. The mere sound of tears in my voice immediately saps all of the anger and impatience from his. "What's going on?"

I don't even know where to start. Today began so promisingly. Everything between us was good again after the hell we went through yesterday, and I was going to make an offer on a house I absolutely loved in a city I'd always wanted to live in... but then bit by bit, everything began falling apart around me so quickly that I couldn't even attempt to hold it together.

"Talk to me." He urges me, pleads with me. "Did something happen?"

"Zac told me this morning that Kate wants him to choose between her and the kids or me."

"Are you serious? Who _does_ that?"

"I told him he had to choose them. Which basically means we can't see each other anymore or even really talk unless we're careful about it."

"Why didn't you say anything when we talked this afternoon?" He sighs sadly, mistakenly thinking that he's finally dragged the whole story out of me. "You told me everything was fine."

"I don't know. I guess I was just tired of always having all this crap going on. I feel like I never have anything good to tell you, and I don't want you to always have to listen to me whine"

"That's bullshit! Trust me, if all you did was whine, talking to you wouldn't be the best part of my day."

Now I want to cry for an entirely different reason. "You're crazy."

"Yeah, and?" He retorts playfully, successfully coaxing a hint of a smile onto my face. "I'm sorry about the Zac thing."

"You don't have to be. I know you hate him."

"I don't _hate_ him..." He begins, but he sounds so unconvincing that he doesn't even bother to take the statement further. "Okay, so maybe I kinda do. But I know he's important to you, and he's been there for you a lot... and, yeah, it does weird me out a little that you guys are still so close, considering... everything. But I wouldn't ever ask you to stop talking to him or anything."

"Yeah, well, unfortunately his wife isn't quite so considerate."

"Fuck her. She's being an unreasonable bitch."

"You don't know the half of it." I tell him bitterly.

"Why? Did she do something else?"

"Let's just say that tonight turned out to be less of a family dinner and more of an intervention."

For a moment, he's entirely silent. Possibly lost for words. And when he does find his voice again, it's clear that he's in almost as much shock as I was while the whole thing was unfolding around me. " _What_?"

"They all got together and told me that how I feel about you is wrong, that it's unnatural."

"Unnatural my _ass_." He mutters furiously. "What's unnatural is living your life according to a set of rules handed down from some make-believe man in the sky. It's fucking _fiction_. You may as well go to the nearest Barnes and Noble and pick up a copy of _Harry Potter_ or some shit and declare Dumbledore your god!"

Despite my tears, I can't help but laugh, not only at his analogy, but at the fact that he knows who Dumbledore is. "I don't think they see it that way."

"Most Christians don't. They're so fucking wrapped up in their black and white world of right and wrong that they care more about what their precious God might think than how they treat the people they supposedly love. It's so fucking backwards. And I'm pretty sure it's the _opposite_ of how Jesus told them to behave."

"They think God wants them to 'save' me, I guess."

" _They're_ the ones who need to be saved. From their own fucked up delusions!"

"Yeah, well, maybe when someone comes up with a rehab for religion, I can return the favor and hold an intervention for them."

"Rehab?"

Oh, right, I forgot to mention the best part. "They want me to go to some... 'live-in' program or whatever for gay people."

"You have _got_ to be shitting me!"

"I wish I was."

"Have they completely fucking lost it?!" He cries in pure outrage. "That's _so_ fucking messed up! Do they honestly think you can like... detox from homosexuality or something? Like if you don't fuck a guy for a couple of months, it'll be out of your system? And then you can go to Assaholics Anonymous meetings and be like 'Hi, I'm Taylor, and I'm an Assaholic. It's been twelve weeks since I last sucked cock'!"

His mocking comments have me laughing so hard that for a moment my amusement is the source of my tears. But as it dawns on me all over again how _not_ funny this is, I'm just plain crying. Because this is my life. This is my family, and these are their thoughts. They probably _do_ believe everything he just said. They do think that I can "get this out of my system" if I just cut myself off from temptation. They don't understand _at all_.

And I'm not sure that they ever will.

"I'm _so_ sorry." He sympathizes sincerely as soon as he realizes that I'm no longer laughing with him, I'm sobbing alone. " _Don't_ let them do this to you, Taylor. Please, baby, you're _so_ much stronger than them."

I sniffle pathetically, reining in my unruly emotions just long enough to point something out to him. "You just called me 'baby'."

"Yeah... I guess I did."

"You've never done that before."

"I know. It just kinda... slipped out."

"I liked it."

He chuckles quietly as I wipe my wet cheeks and try to calm myself down. "Good to know."

"I don't know what to do, Tommy. I feel _so_ fucking alone right now. My parents think I'm a freak, Ike won't talk to me, Zac _can't_ talk to me, and I'm too afraid to tell anyone else here that I'm gay in case I lose even more people than I already have."

"Okay, that's it, I'm coming back out there."

"No."

" _Yes_. You just said you feel alone-"

"But I wasn't trying to guilt you into flying out here _again_!" I insist earnestly. "You can't afford-"

"I'll figure it out." He cuts me off in protest before I can finish trying to talk him out of it. "It's not like I'm broke or anything, and I have some miles saved-"

"Tommy-"

"If you're gonna be moving out here in less than a month, you're gonna need someone to help you pack and get shit ready, right? And I wanna help."

"I know, but you have your own stuff going on, and you're supposed to be going to Australia with Adam in a couple of weeks, and-"

"And me coming out there doesn't change any of that." He continues to assert forcefully, making it almost impossible for me to object. And the fact the I _want_ him here makes it entirely impossible. "Like I said, I'll figure it out."

"I love you."

"Yeah, you'd better."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure everyone is going to be WAY too busy with the holidays to read this any time soon, but for those of you who might not be, Merry Christmas! <3

  


 

 

_ Tulsa, Oklahoma - October 6th, 2012 _

__

This past week has flown by in a flurry of anxious activity. On Monday I was house hunting, and by Wednesday morning I officially owned a house in the Hollywood Hills, pending a home inspection. That inspection took place on Friday afternoon, with Tommy there to keep an eye on things on my behalf. There were no major problems to be found, just a couple of little things that Laura recommended we take to the seller and either ask to be compensated for, or that they knock the equivalent cost of repairs off of the asking price. I did, and they did, and now it's official. Our tentative closing date is three weeks from Monday, which means that I have to be in L.A. to sign the paperwork and pick up the keys by then.

Which means that I have _a lot_ of packing to do.

I've moved a couple of times in my life, but mostly when I was too young to have any real responsibilities besides throwing out toys that I no longer wanted. When I was older, I moved from a furnished apartment in New York to a furnished house in L.A. Not exactly a huge ordeal. And then Natalie and I bought this house just over seven years ago, and I haven't had to deal with packing on this scale since then. It's more than a little overwhelming; I'd forgotten how many people you have to inform of your change of address, how many companies you have to contact to cancel or set up utilities. It's a never ending list of phone numbers and dates.

And _fees_.

All I'll say is, it's a damn good thing I was never one of those child stars who wasted their entire 90's earnings on twenty sports cars, a fourteen bedroom mansion that they never had any real use for, and mounds of butt-ugly "bling". I've lived a _relatively_ modest life. Tulsa isn't an expensive city to reside in, my brothers and I fly coach on domestic flights and only really splurge on first or business class tickets when we're traveling to Australia or Asia. And no, having five kids isn't cheap, but my children aren't spoiled, Hollywood brats who wear designer clothes and get every toy they ask for.

Thanks to my dad's very wise management of our money when we were younger (having an accountant for a father definitely paid off there), my brothers and I have never had money troubles, and there's no good reason we ever should. Still, after a lifetime of sensible living and being (mostly) frugal, it's a bit of a shock to the system to suddenly be shelling out thousands of dollars left and right. I feel like I'm racing towards bankruptcy, even though I _know_ I'm not. I keep having to take deep breaths and remind myself that it's okay, and that I can handle this.

It's so much easier to believe that today than it has been all week. Because today, Tommy will be here.

In ten minutes, to be exact.

I had Jenna, our babysitter and my current favorite person in Oklahoma, come over to sit with the kids while I pick him up from the airport. It's partly so that I can bring him home and surprise them, but mostly so that I can greet him the way I really want to without having to worry about explaining it to them first. I know that particular talk is looming on the horizon, and I _do_ want to tell them the truth so that Tommy and I can relax around them and not have to sneak kisses whenever we find a moment alone. But I'm still in the process of dragging myself out of the messes I've already made with my excessive honesty. I want to at least make it safely to California before breaking it to them that their dad is going to hell and taking their beloved Tommy right along with him!

Just after his flight status changes from "on time" to "arrived", I get a text message from him telling me that he's on his way down to baggage claim. And I immediately respond with just one word: _RUN!_

I'm pretty sure I'm the most excited person in the room right now. There are a couple of people trying to compete with me for the title, but none of them are suffering from uncontrollable, anxious energy like I am. I probably look like I desperately need to pee or something, I can't stand still! And when I _finally_ see him round the corner, it's insanely difficult to stop myself from shoving everyone else out of the way so that I can run right at him and tackle him to the ground. Instead, I settle for matching his quickened pace and meeting him halfway. I had intended to hug him, but as soon as he's within arm's length, I'm pulling him into a greedy kiss that's bordering on being a little _too_ affectionate for baggage claim. Especially a baggage claim in this part of the country.

"God, I _missed_ you." I sigh contentedly as I wrap my arms around him and hold him against me, savoring the way he feels, the way he smells, the way my whole body seems to hum in satisfaction when he laughs.

"You saw me five days ago! You make it sound like it's been five _years_."

"Shut up." I mutter playfully, squeezing him even tighter. "You always act like it's no big deal, but you _know_ you missed me, too."

"Nuh-uh."

"Whatever."

"I didn't miss you, but I _did_ bring you something." He tells me as he slowly pulls away from me and takes a step back. "Wait right here, okay?"

"But... what..." I frown, watching him walk off in the direction he just came from. "Tommy!"

"I had to leave it over here." He explains, turning on his heel to look at me again. "It's pretty heavy."

I have _no_ idea what he's talking about or what he's up to, but despite my curiosity, I do as I'm told and stay right where he left me. He disappears around the corner, out of baggage claim, and after waiting for a few seconds, I take a hesitant step forwards. But before I can get very far at all, he reappears... with Alex at his side.

"Oh my _God_!"

"Damn right!" Alex beams, flashing that insanely large grin of his at me as he opens his arms for a hug. "Who's your daddy?"

I laugh in complete and total shock, gladly welcoming the embrace. "I can't believe you're here!"

"You and me both! No one else could get me to give up my weekend and spend it in _Tulsa_ packing boxes, that's for damn sure."

I didn't think my smile could spread any wider, but when he places an exaggeratedly loud kiss on my cheek, that's exactly what happens. And barely a second later he's being yanked away from me by Tommy, who scowls at him as he smacks him on the chest.

"Back off, or your scrawny ass is gonna spend the rest of the weekend hogtied on a fucking baggage carousel."

"Ooh, _kinky_!" Smirks Alex, rubbing his chest and wiggling his eyebrows at Tommy. "But I think I'll pass."

"I _knew_ I was gonna regret letting you come. I just figured we'd be here longer than five minutes before it happened."

" _Let_ me come? Don't forget whose air miles helped get your ungrateful ass out here!"

Tommy rolls his eyes and mutters something almost indecipherable (and entirely unrepeatable) under his breath. "So much for _not mentioning it_ , fucker."

"As much as I enjoy watching the two of you bicker, and I _really_ do, maybe we should take this outside?" I chuckle softly, noting the odd looks we're getting from some of the less spirited people around us. "You're not in Los Angeles anymore, Totos."

Neither of them seem all that bothered by the silent judgment they're receiving, and honestly, I'm not too fazed by it either. They may not use the cleanest language, but that doesn't make them bad people. In fact, they're two of the best people I've known in my whole life, and I've known _a lot_ of people. I bet half of the bystanders scowling at them right now for using the word "fuck" in public have done something a hell of a lot worse.

Like trying to ship their gay son off to rehab in Georgia, for example.

"So are you staying until Tuesday, too?" I ask Alex as I lead them back through the airport towards the parking lot.

"Nah, just until Monday morning." He tells me almost apologetically. "And don't worry, I've already booked myself a hotel room, so you two lovebirds will have plenty of 'quality time' together."

"You didn't have to do that-" Tommy suddenly elbows me in the side in an attempt to shut me up. "I mean, thank you."

"You're welcome." Alex snorts in amusement.

The drive from the airport back to my place is chock full of more squabbling and name-calling than I think has ever taken place in my car before. And considering how many children I have, that's saying something! It's petty, and stupid, and they're being completely immature... but it's so _hot_. Don't ask me to explain how or why; I can't. I don't know why I find it so arousing to listen to them hurl insults back and forth. I guess any time I get to see Tommy worked up is a turn on, even if I'm not the one _doing_ the working up. As far as I'm concerned, as long as Alex keeps his hands to himself, he can provoke Tommy all he wants.

I have _no_ problem being the one to help him work off that frustration later.

"Dude, this is _totally_ not what I pictured your house looking like." Alex notes as I pull into the driveway and shut off the engine.

"Why? What did you expect?"

"Well, for starters, there's no white picket fence."  I guess I should've seen that coming. "I thought it'd look like something out of a family friendly movie, you know? Painted 'buttercup yellow' or 'powder blue', with a wrap-around porch, and a swing, and a... gnome or something."

"It kinda looks like a bank." Tommy points out.

"A _bank_?" I laugh in surprise, suddenly seeing my house in an entirely different light. "It doesn't look like a bank! Not... much."

"It totally reminds me of the Wells Fargo by my apartment building." He insists with a shrug. "On the outside, at least. It looks less like a bank on the inside."

"Well that's only because I never found the time to install a vault and hire a bunch of tellers."

"Slacker."

Practically the moment I open the front door, Viggo has his arms wrapped around my legs. I'm not surprised; I knew he'd be waiting right here. He has been almost every time I've gone out without him this year. Not that I've had the opportunity to do that very often, but whenever I have he's spent the majority of my absence lingering by the door, awaiting my return. One time I even came home and found him curled up asleep on the stairs. Zac said he'd tried moving him to his bed, but Viggo wouldn't let him.

"Hey, kiddo." I greet him with a ruffle of his hair. "Look who I found at the airport!"

"Tommy!" He immediately lets go of me and turns his back on all three of us, bellowing towards the family room. "River! Come see who's here!"

"Brace yourselves." I murmur to them as more excited children come stampeding towards us, their faces lighting up as soon as we come into view.

"You're here!" Penny grins gleefully.

"I didn't think you were coming back until Halloween!" Adds River in elated astonishment. "Are you _staying_ until Halloween?"

"I wish I could, but I have to get back to work in a few days. I just came by to help you guys do some packing."

"Who're you?" Viggo questions Alex curiously, cocking his head to the side as he takes in everything about the stranger in our midst. "You need to brush your hair."

Tommy dissolves into uncontrollable giggles beside me, and I have to take a moment to regain my composure so that I can answer my youngest son's very blunt question. "Guys, this is Alex. He's an old friend of mine from Los Angeles."

"You don't _look_ old." Offers River kindly.

"I like you!" Smiles Alex, crouching down in front of him so that they're eye-to-eye. "What's your name?"

"River."

"Well, River, unless your brother and sister can come up with a better compliment than that, you're officially my favorite."

River frowns, his smile crooked and a little uncertain. "What's a compliment?"

"It's something nice that you say about another person." I explain to him. "If I was to tell Tommy that I like his tattoos, that would be a compliment."

"I like your tattoos!" Viggo pipes up with a grin. "'Specially the cowboy one!"

"Thanks, buddy."

"I think the rose one is pretty." Agrees Penny, blushing faintly as soon as Tommy smiles down at her.

"Look who's home!" Beams Jenna as she joins us by the door with Asta in her arms, and I quickly respond to my daughter's impatient squirming and grabby hands by lifting her out of her babysitter's grasp. "Sorry, I tried to hold them off until you'd made it over the threshold, but..."

"It's fine." I assure her sincerely. "Sometimes no amount of holding them off works."

"This is _so_ weird." Alex remarks, watching me with my baby girl, surrounded by three of her older siblings. "You're a _dad_."

"You knew that."

"Yeah, but knowing it and _seeing_ it are two entirely different things!"

Tommy smiles softly as he plays 'I've got your nose' with Asta over my shoulder. "It definitely takes some getting used to."

"Look at you two being all domesticated and parental like a little old married couple!" He teases, but the smirk quickly falls from his face when I shoot him a blatant ' _No_!' look. "Or... not."

I probably should have given him advanced warning of all the things he should and shouldn't say around my kids. I was just so blindsided by his presence that preparing him for the dos and don'ts of it all slipped my mind. I guess that needs to go straight to the top of my ever-lengthening, never-ending to-do list...

It turns out Jenna is a moderately enthusiastic Adam Lambert fan. Not big enough to be flustered by Tommy's presence, just enough to be vaguely aware of who he is. Once she realizes why he looks so familiar, the two of them end up in deep discussion about all things Adam, so Alex and I leave them to keep an eye on the kids while we go and get some lunch. Well, _I'm_ going to get lunch. I'm pretty sure Alex is just going to stand around and... be Alex.

I've been so busy this week that I never got around to grocery shopping, and the only thing I really have enough of in the house to serve eight people is boxed macaroni and cheese. But me being me, I have to add my own flare to it with the help of a little goat cheese and bacon. What can I say? Apparently I'm not happy unless I'm making things more difficult for myself than they need to be.

"Sorry about before." Alex tells me, leaning against the kitchen counter at my side while I pour the macaroni into a saucepan of bubbling water. "I forgot that your kids don't know about you guys yet."

"No biggie." I shrug, offering him a reassuring smile. "I don't think they picked up on anything based on what you said."

"Do you know when you're gonna tell them?"

"Um... not exactly."

He smiles understandingly, and even though we both know he can't possibly relate to this situation, I still _feel_ like he totally gets it. It's always been that way. "Scary, huh?"

"Terrifying." I admit in a near mumble, lost in thought as I slowly stir the pasta. "After all the crap I've had thrown at me over the past couple of weeks from my family, I'm more afraid of telling my kids than I've ever been."

"But they're young enough that they haven't had it drilled into their heads that it's bad, right?" He points out hopefully. "I mean, do they even know what 'gay' is?"

Unfortunately, yes. "I don't think Viggo really understands, and River probably doesn't totally know what 'being gay' means. But Natalie explained it to Penny and Ezra a while ago. Ezra came home from school asking about it, because apparently one of his classmates has two moms and other kids were making fun of him for it. And then Penny wanted to know, too, so..."

"What did she tell them?"

"Basically, she said that being gay means that boys want to be boyfriends with boys, and girls want to be girlfriends with girls."

"Well that's... cute and harmless."

"Yeah. The part where it makes God mad, and we're not supposed to do it if we want to go to Heaven is _less_ cute and harmless, though."

Alex's amused smile immediately morphs into a cringe of disgust. "Oh jeez, are you serious?"

"I wish I wasn't."

"Well... maybe once you explain it to them your way, they'll believe what you say instead."

"I doubt it. Penny always took everything Nat said as gospel. And Ez..." I take a deep breath, unable and unwilling to finish that sentence because merely talking about it exhausts me. "I just don't think it's going to go over well."

"At least they seem to like Tommy." He reminds me optimistically. "It's not like you're bringing this evil step-mom into their lives who they'll be forced to sabotage via a series of elaborate and well executed pranks."

"Have you been smoking pot and watching Disney movies again?" I tease, and he nudges me playfully in response. "You're right, though. They _do_ like him. But I don't know if that makes it worse or not. I don't want to turn them against him or anything."

"I think it'll be fine."

"Oh yeah?" I quirk an eyebrow at him over my shoulder as I walk across the kitchen towards the fridge. "And what makes you so sure of that, Uncle Alex."

"Because I said so."

"That was _very_ grown up sounding of you."

"Yeah, well, I figure I have some catching up to do. Seeing you and Tommy being all responsible is making me feel really fucking immature."

"You're mature... in your own way."

"Thanks." He snorts, throwing a dishtowel at me. "I'm really feeling the love."

"I mean it! Okay, so you don't have a wife and kids or anything, but that stuff doesn't automatically make someone more mature. Believe me, I was the world's most immature husband and father for a _long_ time. Sometimes I think I still am."

"Believe _me_ , you're not."

"I appreciate that, but you've been here for less than an hour-"

"Yeah, but I can just _tell_." He insists adamantly. "Honestly, I've never been able to picture you with kids. I've _seen_ pictures, but it still never seemed real, you know? I think, in my head, you've always been this incredibly talented, ridiculously beautiful, eighteen-year-old boy. I could never shake that image of you. Even today at the airport, I still saw you that way."

"I _wish_ I was that way." I laugh. "I feel so _old_ lately."

"You're not old, you're just old _er_. And I _finally_ got that the second I saw you with Viggo out there. It was like the picture of you in my mind was shattered, and now I see you the way you really are."

"You mean washed up and wrinkled as opposed to talented and beautiful?"

"I mean grown up. And strong, and committed, and selfless..." If only my family could see me through his eyes. "And yeah, sure, kinda wrinkled around the edges-"

"Hey!"

"I'm kidding!" He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at me. "I think you'll probably always be one of the most gorgeous guys I've ever seen. _Definitely_ the most gorgeous guy I've ever fucked."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be! I've slept with some _very_ good looking men."

"I don't doubt that."

"Anyway, my point is..." A frown furrows his brow as he stares off across the room, his lips slightly parted, poised to state his point. If he can remember it. "Fuck, what was I even saying?"

I laugh out loud, laying some strips of bacon in a frying pan ready to cook. "Um... let's see... I'm mature, and selfless, and the most gorgeous guy you've ever had sex with... did I forget anything?"

"Wrinkled around the edges." He smiles mischievously, dodging the slap to his arm that I attempt to administer. "Do you wanna know what my point is or not?"

"Do _you_ even know?"

"I'm proud of you." He tells me sincerely, leaving me so surprised that all I can do is stand here and stare at him in shock.

I can feel my cheeks warming as a blush spreads across them, and eventually I manage to tear my gaze from his face and bashfully focus it on the stove instead. I never would have expected that hearing those words from him would leave me feeling so shy and speechless. But I guess, after all of the other things I've been called lately, hearing something so kind from somebody who knows me, the real me, and still loves me... it means _a lot_.

"Thanks, Alex."

"Any time, babe." He smiles, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into a hug that I don't hesitate to return. " _Anytime._ "

"I can't leave you alone with him for five minutes!" Remarks Tommy from the doorway in feigned annoyance. "Every time I turn my damn back you're making a move."

"Can you blame me?" Asks Alex unapologetically, cradling my jaw gently in one hand and turning my face towards Tommy for his viewing pleasure. "He's got the ass of a porn star and the face of an angel."

"Yeah, and you can keep your hands off of _both_."

"You think? I dunno..."

Just as Alex's hand comes into contact with my ass, Tommy is pushing him away exactly like he did at the airport. I'm sure that his possessiveness is more playful than serious, but I also know that some part of him really _is_ warning Alex off of _his_ territory. They might be laughing and joking about it, but there's an undeniable significance to it all. It's not the first time they've pretended to fight over me, in fact they tend to do it any time the three of us end up in a room together. But it feels different now. It feels real.

Because now, finally, Tommy and I are real.

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY CHAPTER!!!

  


 

 

I've never been very good at the whole... boyfriend.... relationship... thing.

I _try_... most of the time. I just never seem to get it right. Girls are really into me at first, it's like I can do no wrong during weeks one through four. They love that I'm "different", they love that I wear makeup, they love that I'm so "refreshingly honest", and I've never heard any complaints about the sex (I'm just sayin').

 But eventually the "subtle" hints start.

Maybe I could _not_ go out with my friends tonight. Maybe I should _not_ have another drink. Maybe we could _not_ watch another episode of M.A.S.H..

And then, when the hints don't yield the desired results, they start why-ning.

 _Why_ do I need a night to myself? _Why_ can't I skip band practice and go out for dinner instead? _Why_ don't I want to go and see a lame ass movie about some annoying chick who has a thing for vampires that prance around in stripper glitter?

Because!

Because I like to spend time alone. I _need_ to. And because music is my _life_. And because I can't fucking stand ' _Twilight_ '!

No, I don't want to go camping in the desert with you and your friends this weekend. No, I don't want to watch ' _Grey's Anatomy_ ' with you. No, I don't like Britney Spears, and I don't want to see her in concert, no matter how "misunderstood" and "underappreciated" you claim she is. And _no_ , I won't stop kissing my guy friends for fun just because _you're_ too insecure to handle it!

By the time they dump me, it's usually a fucking relief.

Yes, I know, I'm a selfish, immature, irresponsible, insensitive jackass. Believe me, I've been informed of this at the end of pretty much every relationship I've _ever_ had.

But the thing is... I'm not that person.

I mean, okay, maybe I am kind of immature and irresponsible compared to a lot of guys my age. Like my boyfriend, for example (God, that's still _so_ fucking weird to say). But I'm not selfish and insensitive in any other area of my life. With my family, and my friends, and even my fans, I put in the effort. I frequently go out of my way to make them happy whenever I can. It's important to me, I make it a priority.

I don't know why I'm so damn terrible at doing the same for my girlfriends.

Maybe I just never met someone who I could see myself sticking with long term, so I never bothered to try all that hard? I wasn't about to change my life to suit someone else when I already _knew_ that they weren't going to be around much longer.

Liz was the first girl I've ever dated who actually made it past the six month mark without me actively _trying_ to sabotage the relationship just to get her to give up on me. It took me a long time to really commit to her. I was pretty messed up over Taylor for a while, and I was determined not to get involved with anyone else... pretty much _ever_. I just wanted a distraction. I wanted to forget him. I was willing to date her, to go out a few times and have fun, but that was _all_.

Going out a "few times" turned into going out every weekend for a few months. Thanksgiving rolled around, and I found myself agreeing to spend it with her family. And on Christmas Eve, she came over to my mom's house and met my sister, brother-in-law, and niece. We spent New Years with my friends, and after that it was kind of official, even though she always counted our "anniversary" from the first date we went on the previous summer. Everyone was always inviting us out as a couple, we were no longer single entities, we were "Tommy and Liz", joined at the hip, incapable of attending social gatherings unless both of us were able to go. I kinda hated it, honestly. But I didn't hate _her_. I was used to resenting girls and relationships once we got to that disgusting, co-dependent stage, but I never resented Liz. I knew I wasn't in love with her, but I didn't hate her. I wasn't sick of her.

I wasn't looking to leave her.

And then I ran into Taylor at that festival in Iowa, and... I don't know. I guess it's hard to keep up the pretense of wanting someone when you're confronted with what it's like to _really_ feel that way. I'd fallen into a comfortable little rut with Liz, one that I might never have bothered to find a way out of. But my feelings for Taylor yanked me out of it with no patience and _no_ mercy.

Now, for the first time in my life, I have a boyfriend. And I actually _want_ this relationship to succeed. I've never gone into a relationship thinking "God, I hope I don't fuck this up". I've never been all that bothered one way or the other, I always just figured things would go however they were gonna go, and I couldn't change that. But now I'm _determined_ to make sure that things go well. Better than well. I _refuse_ to lose him again. I'm willing to do whatever the hell I have to do to hold on to him, whether that means limiting the amount of cussing I do when his kids are around, or giving up my precious "alone time" to help him take care of them.

Fuck, I'd probably even watch ' _Twilight'_ if it turned out he liked it.

I'm not used to being so... flexible. I'm pretty damn open-minded about how other people live their lives, but I'm not all that open to changing who _I_ am or how I live _my_ life. Not for someone else's benefit, anyway. But it doesn't feel like an obligation when it's for him. For _them_. It feels like something _I_ want for myself. Because he is something I want. So I want them, too. And I want to be whatever I need to be for them.

I'm just... still not sure what that is, exactly.

He keeps telling me that I only need to be myself and be here, but that sounds _way_ too easy. I mean, if I'm watching them for him for a while, and they're acting up, how am I supposed to handle it? I'm not their dad. I'm basically just the babysitter that their dad sleeps with. I'm a fucking cliché!  And I'm _nothing_ to them. Yeah, right now they think I'm cool and awesome or whatever, but what about when I have to start telling them no, or making them clean their rooms? Am I still gonna be awesome then? Or am I going to repeatedly be informed that I can't tell them what to do because I'm not their dad? And then what am I supposed to do? Run and tell Taylor that they won't do what I say? Or am I supposed to leave _all_ disciplining and order giving to him and just change diapers and make dinner like I'm nothing more than a father's helper who gets paid in sexual favors? 

I wish he'd fucking _tell_ me.

But I'm starting to think that maybe he doesn't even know.

I guess that's fair; it's not like he's ever had to figure this stuff out before, either. He's never been a widower or a single parent, and he's never had a boyfriend. Unless you count Zac, which I don't. I try very hard to not think about Zac whenever possible. Just because I accepted that part of Taylor's life, just because some part of me might even be able to understand how it could have happened, that doesn't mean I _like_ it. I feel like an asshole for thinking this for even a second, but I'll admit... this whole thing where Zac's wife won't let him see Taylor is kind of a relief.

See? _Asshole_.

And it's stupid, because I _know_ it's over. I trust Taylor, and I don't believe anything is going to happen between them. But they have _so_ much fucking history, more than any siblings I've ever met. They've been through _everything_ together and they have this bond that I've never seen between two people before. If I'm honest... I'm a little jealous. And I _hate_ being jealous, I've _never_ been the jealous type. But when it comes to Taylor, I go fucking crazy just thinking about him with anyone else.

And I swear to God, if Alex doesn't stop winking at him every five fucking seconds, I'm gonna stuff him head first into one of these boxes and mummify it in packing tape!

"Dude, what _is_ this?" Alex asks Taylor with a look of repulsion, holding up a... I'm not actually sure what the hell it is. "Do I even wanna know what you put in these holes?"

Taylor rolls his eyes, taking the contraption out of Alex's hands. "It's an egg toaster."

"An egg _toaster_?" I frown, trying to figure out exactly how you toast an egg.

"Well, technically it's a steamer. But they pop up when they're done, kinda like bread in a toaster."

Alex snorts softly, shaking his head as he returns to packing up the contents of one of the kitchen cupboards. "I never would've pegged you as one of those infomercial addicts."

"I'm not." Taylor shrugs, still studying the egg toaster thing like it's a prized possession. "Nat bought it a couple of years ago. Penny was going through a phase where she wanted egg salad sandwiches _every_ day, and Nat got tired of boiling eggs."

"Oh..."

"A week after she bought it, Penny decided that she hated egg salad. It's been sitting in that cupboard collecting dust ever since."

A moment of silence follows that little anecdote, as though we're honoring Natalie's memory. But really, I think Alex and I just don't know what the hell to say in response. And I'm a little too busy battling my irrational jealousy and nagging self-doubt to come up with anything. I don't know why I let these thoughts get to me; I _know_ he never loved her the way he loves me, and it's not like I have to be afraid of losing him to her. But knowing those things doesn't make the vindictive voices in my head shut the fuck up. I'm jealous of the life she had with him, even though I know he never wanted it. And I'm jealous of all of the memories he has that are tied to her, even though I know we have the rest of our lives to make memories of our own.

And when it comes to his kids, I'm afraid that I'm never going to be enough. Which is so fucking stupid, because _no one_ will ever be enough. No one will ever replace their mom, and I don't even want to _try_ to.

Fuck, I don't know what I want, or what I am, or what I'm supposed to be.

"So... if it's just been sitting in a cupboard for years..." Begins Alex carefully, shooting a sideways glance my way to see if it looks like I'm sending him psychic signals to shut up. "Maybe you shouldn't bother taking it to your new place?"

"Maybe." Taylor sighs tiredly, setting the egg toaster down on the floor beside him and looking wistfully around the room. "I know I can't take everything, and I don't really want to... it's just hard to know what to keep and what to leave behind. I don't want to regret getting rid of anything, you know?"

"Well, if it was me, I'd get rid of anything I hadn't used or thought about in over a year." He proposes logically. "Unless it's insanely expensive or a family heirloom or whatever."

"Sounds fair, I guess." A cry suddenly erupts from the baby monitor on the kitchen counter, and Taylor pushes himself off of the floor and onto his feet. "Looks like nap time is officially over."

"Where's your babysitter? Isn't it her job to sit on the baby?" Alex points out as Taylor makes his way across the room.

"She took my other _four_ children to the park."

"I wondered why it was so quiet around here." He chuckles, staring after Taylor until he disappears from view. And then he turns to me. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

With a shrug that's as bogus as the neutral look on his face, he goes back to packaging a punch bowl in bubble wrap. "Just... seeing him getting all nostalgic over that egg thing-"

"I don't care."

I do. I _totally_ fucking care. God damnit.

"Okay."

"I _don't_."

He holds his hands up in defense, playing innocent when he's always anything but. "I said okay!"

"Yeah, but you didn't mean it. Ass-face."

"You're cute when you're jealous."

"Fuck you, I'm _not_ fucking jealous!" God, I hate it when he's right. And he's _always_ fucking right! It's not fair. "He never really loved her, and now she's _dead_. What's there to be jealous of?"

"Absolutely _nothing_." He replies sarcastically, earning himself one hell of a death glare. "Except that she's the mother of his children, they all inherited at least one of her facial features, and she'll always be the perfect parent in their minds because they're too young to remember any of her flaws. Plus... people always seem to become more perfect to everyone after they die."

Fuck you, Alex. Get the fuck out of my head! "Whatever."

"On second thoughts, they probably won't even remember her in a few years."

"That's not true." I argue. "Taylor's not gonna let them forget her."

"Yeah, you're right... I'm sure he'll talk about her _all_ the time. He'll tell them how wonderful she was, and how much she loved them-"

" _So_?"

"Are you gonna be okay with that?" He questions, his previously mocking tone now entirely serious. Bordering on concerned. "Having to hear all about what an amazing mom she was _all_ the time."

"Why wouldn't I be?" I shrug, averting my eyes to the roll of packing tape in my hands. "She was their mom. And she probably was amazing, so why shouldn't they think she was?"

"And what should they think of _you_?"

"I don't know. They can think whatever, I guess."

"Right. 'Cause you don't give a crap whether they like you or not."

"What's you fucking point?" I snap. "Or are you just trying to make me feel like shit for your own amusement?"

He shakes his head, smiling sadly, in a way that makes it seem like he might actually feel bad for me. "I'm not trying to _make_ you feel like shit. I'm just trying to get you to admit that you already do."

"Why?"

"Because admitting you have a problem is the first step."

I'm not sure which I hate more: being mocked by him, or being pitied. "I don't have a problem." He doesn't say anything, he just _looks_ at me, which is somehow worse. "I'm fine." More staring. Shit. "I'll _be_ fine."

"But you're not right now?"

"I'm not _not_ fine." Wow. What a compelling argument. "I just... I don't know. I'm not sure where I fit in, you know?"

He nods understandingly. "Does Taylor know how you feel?"

"Basically. Kind of..."

"Maybe you need to be a little more clear about it?"

"But-"

Before I can tell him that it's completely fucking impossible it is to explain this fear to Taylor without sounding like a paranoid idiot, and that Taylor is just as clueless as I am about how to deal with all this, we're interrupted. Taylor walks back into the kitchen with Asta in his arms, and I quickly turn my face away from him because I'm convinced that I look as guilty as I feel right now. I'm not sure _why_ I feel guilty, but I'm familiar enough with this particular emotion to recognize it.

"She's so freakin' cute." Alex coos over the baby as Taylor rejoins us on the floor. "Look at her, she looks _just_ like you."

"She does not."

"She has your eyes!"

"Her eyes are _brown_!" He laughs softly, his knee brushing against mine. "She has Natalie's eyes, just like the rest of my kids."

It's still crazy to me how meaningless, unintentional little touches like that can make me break out in goosebumps. It was nothing, his _knee_ touched mine, it wasn't even skin on skin contact! But there goes that stupid shudder shooting through my body anyway.

"Yeah, but they're the same shape as yours." Alex contends insistently. "They're your eyes, they're just... Natalie's color. You know what I mean."

"Not often, but in this case I do." He assures him before turning his attention to me. I'm not even looking at him, but I _know_ he's looking at me. I can almost feel myself trying to become smaller somehow. "You okay?"

Damnit.                                      

"Yeah, I'm fine." I take a breath and force a smile before daring a look in his direction. Bad idea. Abort, _abort_! "We're all out of boxes. I'll go grab some more."

"Sure..." He replies uncertainly as I get up off of the floor. "There should be some in the den."

"Okay."

For a moment, I feel a sense of relief knowing that I'm about to leave the room and escape his anxious gaze. But then I realize that there's a good chance that Alex is gonna blab everything we just talked about as soon as I'm gone. If he talked to me about Taylor when Taylor left the room, odds are he has no qualms talking to Taylor about me once I'm out of earshot. It's so messed up that we can both tell Alex things we can't or won't tell one another. And even more messed up that he usually knows what we're feeling before we even say a fucking word!

But as messed up as it is, and as annoying as _he_ is... I'm still grateful. Right now, I don't have many people I can go to about all of this; especially with Isaac out of the country playing shows with other people. Explaining it all to someone else would be too exhausting, and I don't even know who else I want to tell yet anyway. Having someone who already knows the whole situation and just _gets_ it, even if he is a totally smug jackass about it, is oddly comforting. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he opened that big mouth of his and told Taylor everything I just said.

Maybe it might even help.

God knows I can use _all_ the help I can get.

As I make my way down the hall towards the den, the doorbell rings. I stop in my tracks, looking around for any sign of someone with more right to answer it then me, but there isn't anyone. It feels a little weird to open the door in someone else's home, but it'd be even more weird to stand five fucking feet away from it and call out for someone else to come and do it.

When I pull the door open and find myself face to face with Taylor's dad, however, I wish I'd done just that.

He seems surprised (and not exactly thrilled) by my presence. Not that I was expecting him to be happy to see me or anything. "Hey..."

"Tom, right?" He asks uneasily, standing up a little straighter. It makes him appear even taller than he already looked before, which makes me feel even shorter than I actually am. I should _never_ take my fucking creepers off e _ver_.

Stupid tall family with their stupid tall genes.

"It's Tommy, actually."

"I didn't realize you were in town. Again."

I hate how he says 'again' like I'm here all the fucking time, when in reality I've spent a grand total of forty-eight hours in this shit-hole in the past year. But mostly I hate the fact that I can't think of anything to say in response beside "yeah".

"Is my son home? I'd like to talk to him."

"Oh... um..."

Should I invite him in?

I'm not sure if Taylor wants him here, but I don't want to give him one more reason to hate me by making him wait outside while I check. Luckily, I'm not forced to make that decision. Taylor appears behind me a second later, opening the door a little further, just far enough so that he can step by me. He positions himself in front of me, in a way that practically screams over-protective alpha-male. I'd be offended... but I kinda dig it.

 _So_ not the time, Tommy.

"What're you doing here?" He asks, trying for harsh indifference but instead only sounding as hurt as I know he feels.

"No one's heard from you in days-"

"Because the last time I saw you, you tried to convince me to check myself in to some kind of twelve step program for gay people!" Taylor bites angrily. "I didn't really feel like subjecting myself to more of the same."

"We didn't..." Walker heaves a deep sigh, shaking his head sadly. "Things got... a little out of hand. The live-in program was Pam's idea, your mother and I told her it was taking things too far."

"So you're saying you _don't_ want me to get help?"

"We want you to do what's right, for you _and_ for our grandchildren." His dad argues stubbornly. "We don't claim to know exactly what that is, but we don't believe you know either."

"That's funny, because I still vividly remember you saying that you knew I'd never do anything to hurt them, you said you supported me leaving Tulsa-"

"That was _before_."

"Before you knew I was gay, right? And that changes _everything_? Suddenly I'm incapable of making sound decisions and taking care of my own kids just because I'm attracted to men? Well you're wrong! I know what's right for me, and I know what's right for them, and it sure as hell doesn't involve me going to gay reform therapy or some 'live-in' program in fucking _Georgia._ "

"But it involves moving them out to California to live with a man they _barely_ know?"

On the one hand, I kinda wish I wasn't here right now. But on the other, I'm glad I am. As strong as Taylor's pretending to be, I know it's not how he feels on the inside. I know he probably just wants to slam the door shut and hide in the hall closet. He doesn't want to deal with this _again_ , but he has to. And the least I can do is stand behind him.

Figuratively and literally.

"I don't want to argue with you about this anymore, okay? It's not up for debate; we _are_ moving. In fact, we'll be gone by the end of the month-"

"And when were you planning on telling us?!" Asks Walker in utter disbelief. "When you were done loading up the moving van?"

"No, when you were done ambushing me and holding interventions!"

"It _wasn't_ an intervention-"

"Yes it was! You invited me over for a non-existent dinner just so you could corner me and have everyone tell me how 'concerned' they are about me, and how much they want to 'help' me."

"You make it sound as though it's ridiculous for us to be worried! For the last thirty years, you've been straight-"

"For the last thirty years I've _pretended_ to be straight." Taylor corrects him forcefully, and I have to bite back a proud smile. "I know this is new to you, but it's not new to me. It's not something I _just_ realized or _just_ started feeling, and it's definitely not something I _chose_ to feel. It's not fixable, and it's not controllable-"

"You've controlled it your whole life!"

"And I'm _done_ now! I'm sick of pretending to be someone else, I just want to be _me_. I want to be _happy_. And I want you to be happy for me, but obviously that's asking too much."

"You're being unreasonable." Walker replies sternly, in that unmistakable 'dad' tone that I'm pretty sure you don't have until you _are_ a dad. I guess I'll never know. "You act like this is no big deal, like we should just accept it and be okay with it, when you _know_ it goes against our beliefs, our ideals-"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that who I am goes against your ideals, and I'm sorry that _I'm_ not ideal-"

"That's _not_ what I was trying to say." He sighs tiredly, and for the first time I realize how much older he looks now than he did only a month ago at River's birthday party. I _almost_ feel sorry for him. "Look... I know we haven't handled this well up until now, but neither have you. You can't spring something like this on us and then hold it against us when we have a hard time dealing with it. Maybe you knew that you were gay your whole life, but _we_ didn't. You're right, you did pretend, you did hide who you were from us for _thirty years_ , and it's going to take longer than a week for us to come to terms with the fact that we don't even know our own son!"

"But you _do_ know me, dad." Taylor insists, his voice cracking faintly as he fights back tears. I gently place my hand on the small of his back to remind him that he's not standing here alone, and I feel him automatically lean into my touch, just a little. "I'm who I've always been, _nothing_ else about me has changed, so I don't understand why this _one_ thing makes it impossible for you to see me as the same person."

"We don't understand it, either. We don't understand _any_ of this."

The two of them fall silent. It's suddenly so quiet that I'm pretty sure I can hear the wind in the trees... except that it's not even all that windy. _That's_ how quiet it is, though; I can hear wind that doesn't even fucking exist! I almost want to say something just to put an end to this stalemate, it's insanely awkward. But there's nothing anyone really _can_ say, they've already said it all. They're just going round and round in circles, getting more and more upset at each other, hurting each other over and over.

As stupid as I know it is, I feel guilty. Taylor was gay long before he met me, he was _born_ this way. But he'd somehow managed to avoid coming out to his family before. And then I come along, and suddenly _everyone_ knows and _everyone_ is miserable. And I know it's not my fault, and it's better that he was honest and that he can be who he really is now... but it's hard to remember that when he's stuck in such a shitty situation and I can't do anything to help make it better.

"Grandpa!" Walker turns towards the overjoyed shouting coming from River and Viggo as they run up the driveway towards him, with Jenna, Penny, and Ezra close behind them. "We missed you!"

"I missed you guys, too!" He assures them, crouching down to catch them both in a tight hug. "Where've you been?"

"Jenna took us to the park!" Viggo grins. "I went all the way up to the top of the tallest slide this time, and I went down it all by myself!"

"That's awesome, bud! You're getting _so_ brave!"

"Is Grandma here?" Ask Penny hopefully, looking around for her. "I wanna show her the new Belle shoes I just got. They're gold and the heels light up when I walk!"

"Those sound really pretty, sweetheart. Grandma didn't come with me this time, but I know she'd _love_ to see them..." He looks up at Taylor, the forlorn expression on his face blatantly begging for permission of some kind. "Maybe your dad will let you guys come over tonight, and you can bring them with you?"

It's _seriously_ unfair of him to do this in front of the kids, but I guess he thinks he has no other option. And now Taylor is faced with four (well, three since Ezra isn't really participating) pleading children, all incessantly asking to be allowed to spend a Saturday night at their grandparent's house.

And what kind of father would he be if he told them no?

"I guess... I can bring them by after dinner." Taylor grudgingly concedes to cheers of excitement.

"Thank you." Walker replies sincerely, which I can tell only makes Taylor feel worse than he already did. "We've been wanting to see them all week. It's actually one of the main reasons I came by."

He nods, keeping his eyes trained on his children to avoid looking at his dad. "Why don't you guys go inside with Jenna and wash up? I bet Tommy will watch a movie with you while I make dinner if you ask him _really_ nicely."

That's my cue... "Heck, yeah! What're we watching?"

As I help Jenna to usher them back into the house, listening to them all suggesting movies and disagreeing with one another, I glance back over my shoulder at Taylor. I'm a little surprised to find that he's still watching us, and when his eyes meet mine, he smiles faintly, sadly, and mouths a silent "thank you".

I don't know what he's thanking me for, though. I feel like I've done absolutely fuck all. I wish I knew how to _really_ help him, but I don't.

I am _so_ completely out of my depth.

 


	30. Chapter 30

  


 

 

I never would have thought there'd come a time when I would be reluctant to take my children to their grandparent's house.

Afraid, even.

But standing here in my kitchen, mindlessly mashing potatoes as I stare down at the stove top, that's exactly what I'm feeling. I've always trusted my parents, especially with my kids. I've never had a reason not to. But now I feel as though my family doesn't trust _me_ anymore, and that scares me. Maybe it's paranoid of me to worry that they'll say something to my kids about the move, or about Tommy, something to try to poison them against it all so that it'll make everything more difficult for me. But a week ago, I would have laughed at the idea of them suggesting I go to some Christian ministry a thousand miles away from here to get de-gayed.

A lot of things I thought I knew, I no longer know. People I trusted are now people I'm suspicious of. People who loved me are suddenly claiming not to know me. My world looks very different now than it did only seven days ago.

I'm so lost in thought that I don't even realize someone else has joined me in the room until they're standing right beside me with their hand on my shoulder. For the briefest moment, I think it's Tommy. But I can tell before I even turn to look that it's not. I just know.

"Those potatoes are well and truly bludgeoned." Alex informs me, squeezing my shoulder gently. "It's starting to look less like you're making dinner and more like you're committing a violent crime."

"Oh..." I blink dumbly, gazing down into the saucepan at possibly the least lumpy mashed potatoes I've ever made. "Right. I got kind of... distracted."

"Judging by the look on your face, it wasn't by anything fun."

"Not really."

"You're tense as fuck."

I smile weakly, tapping the masher on the side of the pan until almost all of the potato has fallen off. "I didn't realize it was possible to be tense as fuck."

"Me either, until I felt your shoulder muscles just now." He tells me, shifting to stand behind me so that he can give me a neck rub.

"If Tommy sees you doing that, he's going to do cruel and unusual things to you with the garlic press." I warn him playfully, already feeling a small amount of the stress that had been weighing on me begin to lift. "Oh, God... that feels good."

"You need to get laid."

"Alex!" I exclaim, smacking his hands away from my shoulders.

"What? I'm not suggesting _I_ should be the one to do it! But Tommy needs to step up and start relieving some of this pressure before you explode in all the _wrong_ ways."

"For your information, he has relieved _plenty_ of pressure recently. It just... doesn't happen to have been sexual."

Alex cocks an eyebrow at me, blatantly unimpressed. "Then he missed a spot."

"We're both just... busy. There's been a lot of other stuff going on, between finding a house, and taking care of the kids. We can't all be single like you, ya know."

"That doesn't mean you can't get your freak on every now and again." He argues insistently. "You could do it now, for example."

"I'm kinda busy making dinner, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I could finish up in here, and you could drag Mister Missed-A-Spot upstairs and have him do a more thorough job."

Oh, how nice it must be to live in Alex's version of reality. "Thanks, but I try _not_ to have sex while my kids are _all_ conscious and in the same building. They hear everything, especially when you least want them to."

"Okay, well... how about you and Tommy go out after you drop the kids off with your parents?" He suggests with a shrug. "You could make a night of it! Go on a 'date' or whatever, make him _woo_ you. May as well make the most of being child-free, right?"

"I'm not going to be child-free, though. Asta's staying here."

" _Why_?" He asks, a frown of profound confusion furrowing his brow. "You're already giving your parents four of your rug rats, why not give them all five? It'd be kinda like a free gift with purchase!"

I shrug, lifting a pile of dinner plates out of the cupboard in front of me. "It just didn't pan out that way this time."

It didn't pan out that way because I stupidly felt better holding on to at least one of my kids. Like I couldn't possibly lose them _all_ if I still had one of them here with me.

"Fine, so let _me_ sit with Asta." Even though I try to keep my expression entirely neutral, I'm pretty sure I fail horribly. And I'm pretty sure that he noticed. He saw my eyes widen, he saw the momentary terror flash across my face. "Unless, of course, you don't trust me..."

When he puts it like that, it makes me feel like an idiot for calling his ability to care for my daughter into question. I trust him with my life. Right now, I trust him more than the majority of people I know. He's never betrayed me, he's never let me down, he's _always_ there for me. And, okay, so maybe he doesn't have a whole lot of experience taking care of children... but as long as she's asleep by the time I leave the house, all he really has to do is watch TV until I get home.

Or that's what I tell myself in order to calm my nerves enough to accept his offer. "I guess... if you're sure."

"I'm sure you need to get laid, _that's_ what I'm sure of." He teases, nudging me gently with his elbow as I roll my eyes at him. "And don't you dare come home until you get some, you got it?"

"And where _exactly_ do you suggest I 'get some'? On the back seat of my minivan? I'll just have Tommy wait while I move all of the booster seats out of the way; that'll be _hot_."

He seems momentarily stumped, and I almost feel bad for crushing his hopes and dreams of me having sex tonight. But I should've known he wouldn't let minor details deter him, and it's not long before the bright smile is back on his face.

"I'll call the hotel I'm supposed to be staying at, tell them my flight got delayed and my friend needs to check in without me. I'll give them Tommy's name, and that way he'll be able to pick up the room key."

"You want us to have sex on _your_ hotel bed?" I ask with an uneasy chuckle. "That's a little weird, even for you."

"I booked a room with two queens, no pun intended." He winks. "Try to only use one of them."

"We'll do our best to restrain ourselves from doing it _all over_ the hotel room."

"That's all I ask."

Dinner turns out to be an unexpected rollercoaster ride of emotions (at least for me). I was in a pretty good mood after my talk with Alex, and he kept my mind off of my anxiety over having my parents (and him) babysit by telling me all about his upcoming tour with JJAMZ while he helped me to serve dinner. But then Ezra kicked up a huge fuss over coming to the table, and he ended up locking himself in the bathroom, which put a pretty big dampener on the evening.

Until River noticed that Alex didn't have any chicken on his plate, which led to a discussion about why he doesn't eat meat.

I swear my forehead almost hit the table when Alex informed them that he was "fundamentally against the cruel and inhumane treatment of animals raised for human consumption". I think he saw the color actually drain right from my face, because he quickly followed it up with "and I don't like the taste". Tommy almost choked on a mouthful of carrot in his attempts not to laugh, which was enough of a distraction to keep any of my kids from interrogating Alex any further about what "inhumane" and "consumption" meant. Although Viggo has decided that he wants to be a "veggie-terrier", too.

You know, as long as he can still eat those chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs.

By the time we've finished eating, cleared the table, and they've all completed the insanely lengthy and painful process of choosing _one_ pair of pajamas and _one_ toy to take to their grandparent's house, I'm kind of exhausted. I'd been excited about the idea of getting a night "off" to spend with Tommy, but at this point I'm not sure if I'll have enough energy left to do much of anything.

Tommy has to literally drag me out of the house while I continue to call back pointless instructions to Alex on what to do in the unlikely event that Asta wakes up. Alex nods and tells me 'okay' repeatedly, but I get the distinct impression he's not actually listening to a word I'm saying. I know I should just take a breath and relax, but it's the first time I've left her alone in the house with someone who has absolutely _no_ child care experience at all. As much as I trust him, it makes me more than a little nervous.

Speaking of nervous, as we pull into my parent's driveway, my stomach is in knots. I don't know if I'm more anxious about seeing them or leaving my kids with them. I can't decide if I should give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that they won't try to change their grandchildren's minds about moving and about Tommy, or if I should warn them off of doing so. I don't want to be an ass about it, but I feel like my family have left my with very little choice in the matter. They're reacting badly to all of the changes in my life, and I'm reacting badly to their reactions.

It's a vicious cycle that I don't know how to even attempt to break.

"Should I wait here?" Tommy asks uncertainly once I've turned the engine off and pulled my keys out of the ignition.

I open my mouth to say "yes", but something makes me reconsider. Maybe it's because I get the feeling that he honestly wouldn't mind helping me take the kids inside. Or perhaps it's that I want my parents to accept that he's a part of our lives, and the best way I can think of to do that is to include him in everyday things like dropping the kids off for a sleepover.

"You can come in... if you want?" I shrug, trying to sound casual about the whole thing when really my heart is hammering away in my chest so hard that I'm surprised he can't hear it. "It's not like we'll be here very long."

"Okay."

I don't have chance to worry if I did the wrong thing by inviting him in, we're so busy unloading my kids and helping them put their backpacks on that my main focus is keeping them somewhat close by in the quickly descending darkness. But when my mom opens the front door and sees Tommy, and her smile noticeably falters, I instantly feel bad. Not for her, not really, but for him. I don't want him to feel unwelcome, or judged, or any of the crappy things I've felt whenever I've set foot inside this house recently.

"Don't worry, we're not staying." I tell her quickly, guiding my energetic litter over the threshold. "They all have their PJs and toothbrushes in their bags. Penny's CD is in the front pocket of her backpack, but call me if she has trouble sleeping." Mom nods, her eyes glued to Tommy even as her grandchildren vie for her attention. "They've all had dinner, but I didn't let them have dessert because I figured you guys might want to do something with them."

"Okay." She finally replies, forcing a smile before looking down at them. "Good thing I didn't let your grandpa finish all of the ice cream, huh?"

"Just call or text me tomorrow when you want me to pick them up."

"We can bring them home-"

"No, it's fine." I insist, unable to soften the sharp edge in my tone no matter how hard I try. "We'll probably take them out to a movie or something anyway."

"Can we see ' _Frankenweenie_ '?!" River asks, looking hopefully back and forth between me and Tommy.

"We'll see what's playing tomorrow." I smile, crouching down and holding my arms out to them all. "Come on, you know I can't go anywhere without my goodnight kiss."

Penny and River immediately throw themselves at me, wrapping their arms around my neck and hugging me tightly as I place loud, exaggerated kisses on both of their cheeks and gladly receive the same in return. As soon as they're done, Penny waves to Tommy and tells him goodnight. He seems a little caught off guard by the fact that he's been included at all, but he quickly smiles back at her. His smile only grows wider when River tackles him, and he lifts him off of the ground and returns his enthusiastic hug. I can't help but sneak a look in my mom's direction, desperately hoping that maybe seeing her grandson hugging my boyfriend will make her realize that there's nothing wrong with either of us, and that he cares about my kids and they love being around him.

Sadly, she only seems _more_ unnerved by the whole exchange.

I'm not foolish enough to expect a hug or even a wave from Ezra, but I would never _not_ tell him that I love him and wish him goodnight, even if I know he won't say anything back. Viggo more than makes up for Ezra's lack of concern over my departure, though. He grasps at my leg, his eyes brimming with tears as he gazes up at me and begs me to stay. We go through this _every time_ I leave him with anyone else. I used to try and sneak out when he wasn't looking, but that only seemed to make his reaction _worse_. And it doesn't matter how many times I see that little lip wobbling or hear that panicky voice pleading to be allowed to come with me, it never ceases to tear my heart to shreds.

"Viggo, buddy, it's okay." I assure him earnestly, stroking his back as I crouch down in front of him and he buries his face against my chest. "You're gonna have lots of fun, and I'll come and get you in the morning. I _promise_."

"I don't want to! I wanna go with _you_!"

"Don't you want some ice cream, honey?" Mom offers, already sounding defeated because she _knows_ how this scene will play out. "It's chocolate fudge!"

"No!"

It's useless. No matter what treats are dangled in front of him, or what promises are made to him, he won't budge. He'll have to literally be pried off of me kicking and screaming. And I'll have to turn and walk away like I don't give a damn, with his cries echoing in my head long after the front door has closed between us.

"I gotta go, kiddo." I sigh apologetically, giving my mom the "okay, let's get this over with" look that became part of my drop off routine with the kids a long time ago. It's a relief to know that she and I can still cooperate for their sake when we need to. "Grandma's here..."

"Come on, Viggo, let's go have some of that ice cream!"

" _No_!"

"I'll see you tomorrow." I promise him again, making eye contact with him as my mom pulls him out of my arms. "Have fun with grandma and grandpa, okay?"

It's like he can't even hear me, he can't hear _anything_ , he's too scared to listen. Sheer terror is written all over his little face, and there's nothing but desperation in his voice as he chokes on his hysterical sobs. "Daddy! No! I want my daddy! Let go! _Daddy_!"

The more I try to calm him down, the more worked up he's going to get. I _know_ this, and yet it's still so hard to stop myself. My child is right in front of me, crying out to me, and turning away from him without a word feels completely cruel and unnatural even when I know it's for the best. Everyone keeps telling me that he'll get over this eventually, he'll realize that I'm not going anywhere, he'll trust that I'll come back for him...

God, I hope they're right.

Tommy slips his hand into mine, quite possibly before my mom has had chance to close the door. But I don't think either of us cares if she saw us. His fingers lace between mine easily, and I squeeze them tightly, grateful for the comfort he's trying to give me. I'm not used to having a hand to hold at this point. It's usually just me walking back to my car alone, trying to reassure myself that I'm not the world's shittiest parent. Having him here makes it a little easier to handle. It makes everything easier to handle.

"Are you sure you still want to go out?" He asks as I reluctantly let go of his hand and open the car door. "We could just go back to your place."

"No, not yet. Alex was right, I shouldn't waste an opportunity to take a break."

"Okay, so... what's there to do in Tulsa after dark?"

Not a whole hell of a lot, to be honest. Not unless there's a decent band playing somewhere or a movie worth seeing. "There's tequila."

"Tequila?" He chuckles, settling himself in the passenger seat and pulling the door shut behind him. "Tequila is an activity?"

"In Tulsa, yes."

"Can you have tequila and I'll have like... vodka or something?"

"We could give it a shot." I reply, and after a second or two he groans as he gets the joke. "Sorry, that was only semi-intentional."

"Good, 'cause if it had been completely intentional I would _not_ be putting out tonight." I smile to myself as I start the engine and check the rearview mirror before backing out onto the street, only glancing his way when he snorts softly and shakes his head. "Give it a _shot_. Jesus..."

"It wasn't _that_ bad."

"It was _painfully_ bad." He corrects me matter-of-factly. "It almost made me reconsider our _entire_ fucking relationship."

"Oh come on!"

"I'm serious! I flashed forward like fifty years and imagined us all old and hunchbacked, and you were _still_ making shitty jokes, and my eighty-year-old self looked _right_ at present-day me and was like 'what the fuck did I _ever_ do to deserve this?!'"

"Well, I'm sure eighty-year-old me isn't thrilled to be stuck with your miserable, geriatric self."

"Yeah he is, 'cause eighty-year-old me has removable teeth."

It takes me a moment to understand why he think his lack of teeth would be any kind of a plus... and then it hits me.

"Oh my _God_!" He cracks up, grinning proudly as I look over at him in horror. "You're so _gross_!"

"Hey! Old guys like to get head, too. At least, I assume they do. I've never asked one-"

" _Please_ don't. And please stop talking about toothless old men giving head, or else _I'm_ the one who won't be putting out tonight!"

As disturbed as I am by the turn this conversation has taken (and by the accompanying mental images), I can't keep the smile off of my face as I listen to him giggling quietly to himself. He's happy, so I'm happy. It's taking a while to get used to it, but I'm starting to learn that life really can be that simple sometimes.

Alex's hotel is only a couple of blocks from one of my favorite Mexican restaurants in town. Everything downtown is pretty much only a couple of blocks from everything else, it's all within walking (or biking) distance. I barely need to think as I navigate the streets, even if it is pitch black out; I know this part of town like the back of my hand. I pretty much know _all_ of Tulsa like the back of my hand, there's not a whole lot to it. And even though that kind of familiarity and small town feel is nice sometimes, and I'm sure I'll miss it, I still can't wait to get out of here and be in a big city. I can't wait to be somewhere that's forever changing, a place where I can simply get lost in the crowd whenever I want to.

It's pretty hard to _find_ a crowd in Tulsa. Unless of course there's free barbeque.

Aside from its spectacular tequila selection, El Gaupo's is one of my favorite restaurants in Tulsa because it's the _only_ restaurant with a rooftop bar. If you've spent as much of your life as I have feeling smothered and claustrophobic, finding a place where you can down shots of your favorite liquor while breathing fresh air and staring up at the stars is like finding your own personal Heaven!

This is the first time that Tommy and I have really been out together since I've been 'out'. I always thought that I'd be more nervous about it, that I'd second guess every smile, every touch, constantly looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. But it's not like that at all. I guess I could attribute it to the Patron, I'm definitely a little buzzed, but I think it's mostly just _him_. He's too damn tempting! If he's sitting right here, no way in hell am I going to stop myself from reaching out and letting my fingers brush his hand. I'm not going to hold back when every nerve in my body is urging me to lean in and whisper to him. Yes, it's still intimidating to think about what could happen when the rest of the world finds out about us, but compared to telling my family? It's nothing! The worst has happened, it's done, and I can't change it.

I may as well enjoy this new freedom, because I'm sure as hell paying for it.

We're on our second order of chips and salsa, and our fifth round of drinks, when his hand settles purposefully on my thigh. I hold my breath as he holds my stare, his fingers gliding closer and closer to my crotch... and just when I think he's going to stop before this gets truly indecent, he touches me, _grabs_ me. Then he informs me, in no uncertain terms, that he wants me to fuck him. _Now_. I'm about ready to let the waitress keep my damn credit card because it takes her so long to come back with the bill. And when she finally does present it to me, I pretty much just scribble on it, I don't even _try_ to sign my name properly because it would take too long!

It feels incredible to be kissing him as we stumble our way along the empty sidewalk towards the hotel. There's hardly anyone around, everything is so quiet, it seems as though our laughter bounces off of the buildings all around us, echoing in the darkness. _Nothing_ has sounded so good in a very long time. We make an effort to compose ourselves and keep our hands off of one another as we enter the lobby, and I hang back a little while Tommy puts on his very best sober face and checks in on Alex's behalf. Just as he'd promised, they were expecting us (well, one of us), and they hand over the keys without question. And as soon as we're concealed inside the elevator, we're all over each other again. He suggestively mentions that he's always wanted to fuck in an elevator, but before I can get my head to stop spinning long enough for me to reach out and hit the emergency stop button, we come to a stop at our floor.

"What's the room number?" I ask him between kisses as we fumble our way blindly down the hall.

"Five... something." He replies indifferently, already unbuckling my belt. "I think there was... a two... maybe..."

I laugh softly against his lips as I grasp at his hand, snatching the keycard from between his fingers and holding it up so that I can try to catch a glimpse of the number written on the paper slip surrounding it. It's a little tricky to split my attention between the key and what he's doing with his mouth. Apparently my other four senses aren't worth a damn when my sense of touch is so entirely overwhelmed.

He was right, there is a two. Five... two...

Oh _God_...

If he would stop licking and nipping at the side of my neck in the insanely tempting, teasing way he is right now, maybe I could figure out if that last number is a six or an eight! "Fuck... _don't_ stop."

Good job, Taylor. That was _really_ helpful.

After squeezing my eyes shut for a moment in an attempt to keep my inebriated vision from swimming in and out of focus so much, I force myself to devote every last shred of attention I have to that one last number.

"Six!" I gasp thankfully. "Five-two-six."

He takes the card back out of my hand, and the next thing I know he's sliding it into the lock on the door beside us. We almost fall into the room once it's open, not bothering to check to make sure if it closes properly behind us. I'm pretty sure I heard it click, and that's good enough for me. He yanks my jacket down over my arms, and I hastily tug my hands out of the sleeves and let it fall to the floor. By which time he's already removed his own coat, and he breaks our kiss just long enough to take off his t-shirt. The backs of my legs collide with the first bed we come to, and I allow myself to tumble backwards onto it, pulling him down on top of me. His hips immediately begin grinding against mine, his breath hitching in his throat only to be expelled along with a lustful groan.

My tongue grazes his bottom lip, catching a hint of the salt left behind by the tortilla chips. I unthinkingly bite at it, and he cries out in surprise, maybe even a little pain, but he only pulls me closer, kissing me more desperately than before. I feel his fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, and he makes pitiful sounds of impatience when it takes him a good ten seconds to get only _one_ of them undone. I make a vague mental note to burn all of the shirts I own that can't be removed in one swift tug over the head; they're obviously more trouble than they're worth.

With a little help from me, he eventually manages to get the shirt completely unbuttoned and off of my body, but instead of returning his mouth to mine, he leaves me breathless and wanting more as his lips begin to explore the skin he's just exposed. My eyes close in satisfaction, and I let out a long, unsteady breath as I try to calm myself down a little, combing my fingers through his hair slowly while he leaves a burning trail of kisses across my chest and down towards my stomach.

Everything he's doing is _so_ hot, every move he makes is a turn on. And I know he's turned on, too; I can feel it. Every time his body rocks against mine, I can _feel_ how hard he is.

Just like I can feel how hard I'm _not_...


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Christmas and New Years are done now, so I'm back to work tomorrow. Which sadly means I won't have as much free time to spend writing anymore, and we'll be back to our normal once a week (sometimes twice) posting "schedule". This chapter's a little longer, so maybe it'll make up for the wait? :p

  


 

 

I've never really had this problem before.

Usually I have to opposite problem,  truth be told. I can't count the number of inappropriate or unwanted erections I've had in my adult life, but I can count on one hand the number of times I've failed to get one when I _did_ want one. It's not like I'm even _that_ drunk! I'm buzzed, sure, but I've been wasted before and still managed to get it up.

What's _wrong_ with me?!

I have the most gorgeous guy on the planet writhing on top of me, I'm _insanely_ hot for him... but despite all of the things I'm feeling, that _one_ part of my body is refusing to cooperate. And unfortunately for both of us, it's the one part that _needs_ to cooperate! Of course, now I'm acutely aware of it, and I can't think about or focus on _anything_ else. Not until he starts trying to pull my pants off, and then suddenly I feel an urgent need to distract him before he can clearly see how _not_ up for this I am.

Just as he manages to tug my jeans over my hips, I push him onto his back and pin him to the mattress. He grins up at me wickedly, giving me one of those looks that always makes me weak when I'm trying to be strong. Usually getting a look like that from him would be enough to at least _start_ to cause some activity below the waist...

But it's _still_ not happening!

And I don't fucking get it, because he's _perfect_!

He's perfect and I want this, I _need_ this, and now I'm even more stressed out than I already was, and I feel like I'm letting us both down. I can't hear his soft moaning over the stupid, taunting voices in my head that are continuously reminding me that I'm completely fucking flaccid!

"What's wrong?" He asks breathlessly, that sinful gleam now gone from his eyes and replaced by concern.

"Nothing." I lie, offering him a smile which feels so unconvincing that I quickly hide it by kissing his neck instead. "I'm fine."

A second later, he reaches between us and unhesitatingly wraps his fingers around my non-existent erection.

Point taken; game over.

"What's going on?" He frowns as I collapse onto the bed beside him with a defeated sigh. "Did _I_ do something?"

"No." I assure him quickly and sincerely. " _Believe_ me, it's not you _at all_. I'm just... I don't know. I guess I'm tense or... something." Which, ironically, is why Alex gave us his hotel room in the first place. "I'm sorry."

His body shifts closer to mine, and he drapes his arm across my stomach as he presses his lips to my shoulder. "Don't be. It happens."

I have to bite my lip to stop myself from saying something petulant and cliché like "not to me". It's just so damn typical. Alex was right, I _am_ tense and I _do_ need this. And because it's an actual _need_ and not just a want, my body has decided to turn against me.

"It's not like it's the only chance we're gonna get to have sex while I'm here." He points out, clearly grasping for some way to stop me from beating myself up. "It's _definitely_ not the only chance we're gonna get to have sex for the rest of our lives."

There's no way I can _not_ smile when I think about that fact. He's right, tonight is nothing in the grand scheme of things. We've got _years_ of amazing sex ahead of us. The rest of our lives... 

"Does it freak you out that I'm the only person you're gonna have sex with from now on?"

"Wait, _what_?!I _never_ fucking agreed to _that_!"          

"Fuck you." I snort, giving him a pathetic, back-handed slap to the ribs.

He chuckles, pushing himself up onto his elbow so that he can look at me properly. "Why would it freak me out?"

"I don't know... some people hate the idea of only getting to be with one person for the rest of their lives. They think they'll get bored or something."

" _Honestly_?" Oh boy, here it comes... "It's a huge relief."

That wasn't the response I was expecting. "It is?"

"Yeah, I mean... the sex is pretty fucking amazing. Definitely be best _I've_ had, and I've had _a lot_ of sex in my life." He informs me matter-of-factly, before seeming to realize how bad that sounded and amending his statement. "I'm not like bragging or anything, I just have."

"Uh-huh."

"The point is, some of it was really _bad_. Like, the kind of sex that's so awkward or ridiculous that you can't even _look_ at the other person anymore without cringing." I laugh softly, unable to relate, and suddenly very glad that he's one of only four people I've ever slept with. "I slept with this girl once who seemed to think we were making a porno. It was _awful_ , she was so fucking over the top. I swear she must've gotten all of her facial expressions and sex noises from sitting at home in front of a computer watching _really_ terrible porn."

"I haven't watched a whole lot of straight porn in my life, but if it's as bad as a lot of the gay porn I've seen... I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Thank you." He smirks, settling back down beside me again. "It was traumatic, but I survived."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?" I tease, rolling onto my side to face him.

"In that case, my dick must be made of fucking _steel_!" Now there's a statement I never thought I'd hear (and I guess it shouldn't surprise me that he was the person I heard it from). I have to bury my face in the pillow to muffle my laughter. "I'm serious! Some of the shit it's been through, it's a miracle it hasn't given up entirely and just like... fallen off." If I could stop laughing long enough, I might beg him not to say another word because I can't _breathe_. "One of my ex's used to give really fucking obnoxious head. Like... the way she went at it, you'd think it was a popsicle and she'd been stranded in the desert for weeks. I was actually kind of afraid sometimes that I wouldn't get the whole thing back when she was done."

"Oh God..."

"And I know I haven't been with that many guys, so it's kind of unfair for me to judge, but you're like the _only_ one who's never randomly slapped my ass while you're fucking me." He shakes his head in dismay. "Is that like a turn-on for some guys or something? 'Cause I just thought it was annoying. Hair-pulling, I'm on board with. Biting? Bring it on! But being slapped was kinda belittling, you know? I wasn't sure how I was _supposed_ to react, but my first instinct was to turn the hell around and punch them in the face. It's like, I know there's not much goin' on back there, but I _do_ have an ass, flat though it may be, and it _doesn't_ appreciate being smacked around!"

I'm about to teasingly tell him that I love his barely-there butt, and that I promise to always show it the respect it deserves, but I can't get the words out. The implication of what _he_ just said suddenly has me too lost in thought to remember how to speak.

_I haven't been with that many guys._

He makes it sound like there have been at least a few others... and I only know of one besides myself. If there had only _been_ one... wouldn't he have just said "I know I've only been with one other guy"?

Maybe I'm reading too much into this. Maybe he just phrased it badly...

Or maybe his phrasing was totally accurate.

"Tommy?"

"Hmm?" He replies distractedly, too preoccupied with curling my chest hair around his pinky to even look at me.

"You said... you haven't been with 'many' guys." I begin apprehensively, noting the way his finger freezes mid-twirl. The easy rise and fall of his chest against my side comes to a stop for a moment, too. We're both holding our breath, him waiting for me to continue and me wondering if I should, if I even have a right to ask. "How many guys _have_ you been with?"

"Including you?"

He's stalling, but I don't really blame him. In fact, I'm almost grateful. "Not including me."

"Three."

Oh.

Okay.

So... he's slept with more guys than I have?

That's fine.

I think.

"Are you mad?" He asks carefully, his brow furrowed in concern. "I didn't mean to like... not tell you or anything. I just... I honestly never thought about it, and we haven't really talked about this stuff-"

"I know." I nod, forcing a small smile in an effort to reassure him that I'm handling this information just fine. But it doesn't seem to work on either of us. "I'm not mad, I'm just... surprised, I guess."

"I don't know if it'll make you feel any better, but... I did it 'cause I wanted you, _not_ 'cause I wanted them."

Does that make me feel any better? I can't really tell. Maybe it should, but the fact that _three_ other guys have had their hands on him is making it difficult to see that particular silver lining. I don't know why I was fine when he was talking about the girls he's been with, but now that we're talking about guys I just want to stick my fingers in my ears like a child and chant "la la la" until it stops.

It's stupid and selfish of me to want to be the _only_ person who has ever been with him this way, who has ever been inside of him. Especially when he can't claim to be the same for me. I've slept with men _and_ women (well, _a_ woman) before. Maybe not as many as him, but that's mostly because I was dumb enough to get a girl pregnant when I was a teenager. Who knows how many people I might have been with if I hadn't.

"I was just... really fucking messed up, and I missed you, and..." He continues to explain, shrugging one shoulder helplessly, unable to change the past or make it anything besides what it was. "It was just a stupid attempt to make it stop, you know? I thought I could get trashed, and get fucked, and as long as I didn't look at the guy, I could pretend it was you. But they weren't _anything_ like you. Even drunk out of my head, I could feel that. So instead of making me miss you less, it just made you miss you more. It was like... eating a burger when you're really _dying_ for a steak."

"I always knew I was just a piece of meat to you." I tease as lightly as I can, noting the relief in his eyes as he exhales a quiet chuckle.

"If you're cracking jokes, does that mean you don't hate me?"

I roll my eyes at him, giving his shoulder a gentle shove. "Of course I don't hate you. It's just..."

"Just... what?" He asks apprehensively, probably worrying that he's hurt me somehow and that I'm going to subconsciously hold it against him forever.

But I don't want that any more than he does.

"I don't know... I guess I just hate the idea of any other guy getting to be with you." I admit in a near mumble, feeling like a total asshole before I've even finished speaking. "And I know that's stupid, because you just _said_ it didn't mean anything, and you didn't want them, you wanted me. And even if you'd slept with them because you wanted to, because you were attracted to them, I _still_ have no right to be upset. We weren't together, you didn't betray me _at all_ , and rationally I know all of that. But..."

"But knowing it doesn't make you feel any less shitty about it." He finishes with a small, knowing smile. "Yeah... I know the feeling."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I frequently find myself wanting to kick Alex in the junk. Sometimes it's because he's being an annoying, know-it-all prick, but mostly it's just 'cause I know he slept with you. I'll like... see you two together, and suddenly I'll get this flash of him fucking you, just for a split second, but it's enough to make me wanna rip his head off and shove it up his ass."

I'm not sure if laughter is an appropriate reaction to this piece of information, but I can't seem to do much else. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"I had no idea. I know you were jealous when you first met him, but I thought you got over that pretty quickly."

"Not so much." He sighs, his gaze falling from my face to my bare chest as his fingers idly walk their way up the center. "And it's not just him. I'm _insanely_ jealous of Zac. And Natalie, which I _know_ is crazy, because you didn't love her and you didn't wanna be with her... but you _were_ , for _so_ long, and... I dunno. I guess I just hate how much history you had with her. With both of them. I feel like she shared something with you that I _never_ can. Same with Zac. It's like I'll neverbe able to compete with what you guys have-"

"Tommy-"

"I know, it's stupid. And I hate even using that word, because it's _not_ a fucking competition."

"No, it's not." I agree whole-heartedly. "Because you win."

"Nice try."

"It's true!"

"Taylor, come on. I know you're trying to be sweet or whatever, but he's your _brother_. You've known him your whole life, you're gonna know him your whole life, you're always going to have more history with him-"

"Yeah, _history_. That's all in my past. What I have with you is my present, it's real _now_. And it's gonna be my future. _You're_ my future." I remind him earnestly, curling my finger under his chin and forcing him to meet my eyes again so that maybe he'll _see_ how sincere I am. "I'm not just saying that to make you feel better, it's the truth. All those little things that Natalie and Zac learned about me from living with me for so long? You're gonna know them all eventually, too. And then some!" A genuine smile finally forms on his lips, and it's automatically mirrored on my own. "Getting to spend the rest of my life figuring you out is the most exciting thing that's _ever_ happened to me. I've _never_ felt this way about anyone before."

"Me either." He murmurs. "I love you."

Tingles suddenly invade every inch of my body, I wouldn't be surprised if I visibly trembled. "Say it again."

"I love you." His smile grows even wider as I groan softly, pulling him closer to me. "I love you."

"Mmm... _again_..."

I watch him, mesmerized, while he pushes me onto my back and crawls on top of me, his eyes locked unblinkingly with mine. "I love you."

"God, I want you."

He rolls his hips down, grinding his erection against mine slowly, deliberately, drawing another needy moan out of me and smirking in smug satisfaction. "I can tell."

"Shh!" I reprimand him playfully, wrapping my arms around him as I sit up on the mattress. "You'll scare it away."

It's hard to kiss him when he's laughing so hard, but it's a challenge I gladly accept. In moments like these, when it's just the two of us, everything feels _so_ incredibly simple. When he smiles, I forget all of the shitty things that are happening in my life. They cease to matter to me, even if only for a little while.

Despite the light-hearted way it begins, our embrace quickly becomes more meaningful as the minutes pass by. When desperation and desire creep in, the teasing stops, and the laughter and the mischievous grins fade away. After everything we've just said to one another, all of the insecurities and regrets we've confessed, all I want is to feel him, to hear him _say_ that he's mine. And I _know_ that he wants the same. I can see it in his eyes as he obediently surrenders the words the second I demand them.

He _wants_ to belong to me just as badly as I want him to.

No one has ever been as good at erasing any hurt or doubt that I'm feeling and leaving me with a sense of calm and certainty. I know it's probably all chemical; it's not like he has the power to negate every negative thing in my life with sex. He's amazing, but he's not a miracle worker. But as I lay beside him on the hotel bed, gasping for air while at the same time not really caring if I ever catch my breath again, I honestly believe that everything will be okay. I don't know _how_ , I just know it _will_ be.

And knowing that is the most reassuring feeling I've had in a _long_ time.

I don't mean to fall asleep. I tell myself I won't let it happen, that I'm only going to allow myself a few more minutes to bask in the tranquility of our post-sex calm, and then I'm going to get out of bed and take a shower. But the post-sex calm develops into a post-sex coma of some kind, and the next thing I know it's seven o'clock in the fucking morning!

"Shit!"

"What?" Tommy gasps in semi-conscious panic, sitting bolt upright in bed. "What's going on?"

"We fell asleep." I tell him as I grab my jeans off of the floor and root through the pockets for my phone. "I can't fucking _believe_ I did this!"

"It's my fault. You told me not to let you fall asleep-"

"Yeah and then you fell asleep before I did; It's not your fault." I insist, feeling only _slightly_ better when I see that I haven't missed any calls or texts from any of the people taking care of my kids. "No news is good news, right?"

"Right." Tommy agrees, scooting closer to me under the sheets and placing a soothing hand on my back. "If there'd been a problem, Alex would've called. He's not as dumb as he looks."

I know he's right, but I still feel guilty as hell. Of all the shitty things I've done in my life, I've _never_ left one of my children overnight with someone they hardly know. And I've certainly never stayed out all night without letting the person watching my kids know that I wouldn't be home.

What kind of crappy, irresponsible parent _does_ that?

I quickly pull up my contacts and scroll through them until I find Alex's name, then I hit the call button. With every ring that passes without him picking up, I start to panic a little more. Until _finally_ he answers. "You're grounded!"

"Alex, I am _so_ sorry, I never meant to be gone all night, I would've called-."

"Breathe." He chuckles softly, unconcernedly. "Everything's fine."

"I know, but I still feel _awful_."

"Well don't. To be perfectly honest, _neither_ of us missed you very much." I smile faintly, taking a deep breath as I try to let some of the shame I feel dissipate. "We were actually just about to have breakfast, weren't we, Asta?"

I can vaguely hear her babble something on the other end of the line, and that one, small sound is enough to put my mind at ease. "Okay. Well, we've gotta walk back to the car, but then we'll head straight home. We should be there in-"

"Don't rush." He instructs me sternly. "Wake up, take a shower, order some breakfast and eat it off of your boyfriend."

"Nice."

"On second thoughts, maybe you should wait on the shower until _after_ breakfast?"

"You're just full of good ideas this morning."

"I'm full of good ideas _every_ morning, thank you very much." He replies in mock indignation. "And at every other time of day, come to think of it."

"Are you _sure_ you'll be okay if we stay a little longer?"

"Peachy. But I can't promise I won't kidnap your baby while you're gone. I never thought I was father material before, but she's making me reconsider."

Now there's an interesting mental picture. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, she's just so cute and squishy-"

"Squishy? My daughter is _squishy_?"

"And cute! I said cute!" He reminds me defensively. "Why do you always focus on the negative? And why does squishy even have to _be_ a negative? Lots of awesome things are squishy."

"I'm hanging up the phone now."

"Marshmallows are squishy!"

"Bye, Alex."

"Who doesn't love marshmallows?!"

"What was that all about?" Tommy smiles at me uncertainly as I toss my phone aside on the comforter and turn my face towards his. "Did I just hear him say something about marshmallows?"

"Yes." I lean in and kiss him lazily, eliciting a soft sigh in response. "They're squishy."

"Forget I asked."

"Okay."

"So... do we need to get dressed?" He asks, his tone making it obvious what he's hoping the answer will be.

"Not yet." I murmur against his lips before trailing mine lightly along his jawline, savoring the unsteady breath he inhales. "Hungry?"

" _Starving_."

"Wanna order breakfast in bed?"

"Mmm..." With a devilish grin, he threads his fingers into my messy hair and pulls me down on top of him. "After."

Our long, leisurely wakeup is followed by a long, leisurely shower, most of which is spent kissing rather than actually making any attempts to get clean. Then we take Alex's advice and order pancakes from room service (but not his advice about eating them off of each other; we don't have time for a another shower). It's hands down the most relaxing twelve hours I've had in _months_.

Which of course means that the second we return to "reality", something stressful and unpleasant is waiting to pounce on me. Namely, my mom and dad. Apparently I didn't make it clear enough last night that I didn't need them to bring the kids home this morning. I thought that saying "no" pretty much covered it.

How stupid of me.

"Take a breath." Tommy tells me, calmly as we approach the front door together, because he knows me too well. "It'll be fine."

I wish I believed that. But he doesn't sound like he really does, so it makes it a little difficult to put my faith in his well-meaning attempt to placate me. I hate walking into situations like this, where I don't know what to expect or if the people I'm about to face have already decided I'm guilty of something. It used to happen to me and Zac all the time, we were forever wondering if we'd finally been caught out, but somehow we always managed to convincingly deceive our way out of any and all hot water we found ourselves in. But that was mostly because they all trusted us both, they never automatically assumed the worst.

The same can't be said for me and Tommy.

Everything seems normal when we quietly step into the family room. The kids are lounging across the furniture and floor in positions that look like yoga poses to me but which seem to be incredibly comfortable for them. Viggo and River are watching _'The Avengers_ ' while my dad and Penny snuggle in an arm chair, reading _The Cat in the Hat_. Ezra is engrossed in his handheld video game, as usual, and my mom sits beside him with Asta on her lap. A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about any of it; I would have expected it, it would have felt natural. Now I feel like I'm intruding on something. Like I don't fit in somehow.

"There you are." Says mom, announcing our presence to the rest of the room and sending Viggo scrambling off of the floor and into my arms. "We were wondering when you'd put in an appearance."

She's smiling, but it feels fake. And even though she's keeping her voice neutral and polite for the sake of the kids, I can tell from her choice of words that I'm already being chastised. I hate feeling like a naughty child in my own house.

"I thought I was picking the kids up at your place later."

"Viggo wanted to come home right after breakfast." Dad tells me, his tone tinged with slightly less hostility than mom's. "And we wanted to spend a little time with Asta, too."

"She's getting so big, so fast." Mom adds, stroking Asta's short, blonde hair. "It feels like she's already changed so much since the last time we saw her."

Oh good, a guilt trip. Just what my morning was lacking. "You're free to see her whenever you like. I never said you couldn't."

"Yes, well, given the circumstances..." She begins, leaving the sentence unfinished because there isn't much more she can say in front of her grandchildren. Besides, I don't really need her to say more.

"Where's Alex?"

"Your friend?"

The note of disdain in her voice makes me want to respond with something like "no, my _other_ boyfriend", but I know it would be childish of me to do it. Besides, I _can't_ say anything like that with my kids present, so I bite my tongue and resist the urge. I just hate the fact that everyone I socialize with and every decision I make is now being scrutinized because they know I'm gay. They never judged my friends this way before, not even Tommy. But now it's as if they think my entire existence is tainted with homosexuality, and the only thing about it that's worth anything anymore is my kids.

"I think he went outside." Probably to smoke. I'd kind of like to join him, to be honest. "Maybe Tommy can go and find him." She suggests oh-so-subtly. "It is Tommy, right?"

"Right." He replies with a tight smile before turning to me. "I'll go see where he is."

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine."

With a quick, reassuring squeeze of my arm, he walks over to the French doors on the other side of the room and disappears out onto the deck, leaving me to deal with my parents. If I wasn't so pissed at the fact that they basically chased him out of here within five minutes of us setting foot in the house, I might be depressed by the fact that I don't want to talk to either of them right now. I've never felt so detached from them before.

Almost as soon as the door has closed behind Tommy, my mom gets up from the couch and carries Asta over to my dad. He gladly takes her, cuddling both his granddaughters on his lap as she turns back to me, and I already know I'm about to be told off before she even requests that I join her in the kitchen. And yet, despite the fact that I'm a grown man, and this is _my_ house, I do as I'm told. It's like the part of me that was raised to respect my mother and fall in line is impossible to completely shut off. It's built in, genetic, instinctual.

"Where were you last night?" She questions the moment we're alone, as though I'm a thirteen-year-old boy who stayed out past curfew, not an almost thirty-year-old man with every right to do as he pleases without permission from his mom. "You left your baby girl in the care of a stranger-"

"He's _not_ a stranger, he's one of my closest friends."

"How close can he possibly be if we've never met him before? You've barely left Tulsa since Asta was born, and I certainly don't remember seeing him around here since then-"

"So?" I shrug, folding my arms across my chest. "My friends don't need to meet your approval before they take care of my kids, they only need to meet mine."

"He may not be a stranger to _you_ , but he _is_ a stranger to Asta. And you left her alone with him _all_ night!"

I take a deep, necessary breath, trying to count to ten in my head before replying in an attempt to keep my cool. I barely make it to five. "And she's _fine_."

"You say you don't understand why we can't see you as the same person you were before, but how can we when you're not _behaving_ like the same person? You _never_ would have done something like this before Tommy came into the picture. Isaac is right, you're putting your relationship before your children-"

"That's _not_ true!"

"Then where _were_ you?" She demands again. "What could possibly have been _so_ important that you had leave your baby overnight with a man none of us know-"

" _I_ know him. I'm the _only_ one who needs to know him. And how is it any of your business where I was or what I was doing?" I snap in frustration. "I'm not a child, I'm a grown man. I left _my_ daughter with someone _I_ know and trust, and that's all that matters. She's fine. Nothing bad happened to her, I would never let it, and you have _no_ right to accuse me of putting anyone or anything before my children. You have _no_ idea what I would do or give for them! I wouldn't even _be_ with Tommy if he couldn't handle the fact that they are _always_ going to be my number one priority-"

"It certainly doesn't seem as though they're a priority to you when we've been sitting here for almost an hour waiting for you to come home because you were out all night doing God knows what with _him_."

"I went on a _date_ , mom. I went out for a few drinks with my _boyfriend_ , and we spent the night in a hotel downtown. Happy?" The distraught look in her eyes makes it obvious that she's anything but happy with this information, but her disgust only makes me angrier. "I left my children with people I trusted. I had my phone with me the whole time, I was never more than a fifteen minute drive away from any of them, and Alex knew where I'd be if, for whatever reason, I wasn't answering my phone. My children were _never_ in danger, I was never out of reach, and you would have _never_ initiated this conversation with me if I'd spent the night with a woman instead of a man."

"That's not what this is about!"

"It is! If I'd told you I was in a relationship a woman, you never would have ambushed me the way you did last week. You wouldn't be accusing me of putting my children second, or being irresponsible for going on a date. You wouldn't have done a complete one-eighty from thinking that my move to L.A. was for the best to thinking that it was a huge mistake! Face it, mom, the mere fact that I'm gay is what changed your opinion of me, _not_ my behavior. And now you're desperately searching for things to disapprove of so that you can try to convince me that my sexuality is somehow making me a bad person."

"I never said you were a bad person." She argues emotionally. "I would _never_ say that."

"No, you'd just accuse me of leaving my child with any random guy I could find so that I can go out partying all night." I'm expecting her to protest, to deny that she was suggesting such a thing. But she doesn't, because we both know that was _exactly_ what she was saying. "Thank you for having the kids over, I'm glad they got to spend time with you. But I'm home now, and we have plans today, so I need to get them ready to go out."

"I see."

It doesn't seem fair that I have to feel like a jackass. She basically accused me of being neglectful, and then I ask her to leave, and _I_ feel guilty? As I watch her turn to leave the kitchen, I wonder if she feels any guilt at all, or if this is just one more thing I've done that she can use to prove how much I've changed.

Just as she's about to disappear from the room, she stops and looks over at me, fighting back tears. I already know that this moment is going to haunt me for days, weeks... hopefully not forever. "Can we see them again before you leave?"

"Like I said before, I'm not gonna stop you or anyone else they love from spending time with them whenever they want. I would never do that. This isn't about me, or you, or any of what's going on between us right now. You're their grandparents, no matter what."

She nods but doesn't say another word. It's probably for the best, even if it does hurt to be so at odds with her. It seems the more we talk, the worse things get. Maybe we just need to take some time away from each other to deal with the resentment and betrayal we both feel over everything we've already said to one another. Or maybe no amount of silence and breathing room will make any of this any better. Maybe I'm just going to have to accept the fact that my relationship with my parents will never be the same now that they know the truth.

I follow at a distance, lingering between the kitchen and the family room while my mom and dad say goodbye to my kids as though they might never see them again. Apparently they don't trust me not to smuggle them away in the middle of the night. The kids, of course, don't seem to realize anything is wrong. They're too engrossed in their cartoons and video games; Grandma and Grandpa are just hugging them a little longer and a little tighter than usual, that's all.

Once dad has set Asta down in her playpen and he and mom have left the house, I retreat back into the quiet of the kitchen and give myself a moment to deal with everything I'm feeling. Part of me can't wait to get the hell out of here so that I won't have to have conversations like that one anymore. But deep down I'm not sure that I'll feel any better once I'm a thousand miles away. In fact, I'm more than a little terrified that after I leave, my relationship with my family will only continue to deteriorate. Until they eventually become a group of people I feel obligated to visit once a year at Christmas for the sake of my kids. I _never_ wanted that.

But until they're willing to accept me for who I am and stop trying to vilify me, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do to fix it.

"You okay?" Tommy asks, startling me slightly. I look up from my seat at the kitchen table, shrugging one shoulder hopelessly. "That bad, huh?"

"I just don't know what I'm supposed to say anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Ever since they found out that I'm gay, it's like they don't even _see_ me. I feel like everything I say or do gets twisted around into something ugly. I don't even want to open my mouth because I _know_ they won't hear what I'm trying to say, they'll hear something else entirely. It's exhausting. I'm so sick of fighting with them, but I feel like... if I stop fighting with them, I won't even get to talk to them."

"Maybe they just need some more time?" He suggests gently, walking over to the table and pulling the chair beside mine a little closer before joining me. The second his fingertips graze my cheek, I feel as though I can barely hold myself up. I just want to fall into him, melt away with him. Evaporate. "Once you get out to L.A., and the kids start doing better, and everything settles down... they'll come around."

"What if things _don't_ settle down?" I ask sadly, my eyes scouring his for answers I know neither of us has. "What if the kids get worse... what if everyone's right and it's all a big mistake-"

"Don't you _dare_ go getting cold feet." He orders me sternly. "I spent all fucking day yesterday packing your shit up, and I _hate_ packing, so it better not have been for nothing."

I don't want to laugh. After the conversation I just had with my mother, I'm not really in a laughing mood. But as I let my forehead slowly fall against the wooden table top in exhaustion and defeat, I hear myself exhale a weary chuckle anyway.

"Everything is _so_ fucked up." I sigh, my voice sounding so strange at this angle, even to me, that I'm not sure he actually understood what I said.

But when I feel him lean over and kiss the top of my head, I know it doesn't matter. He didn't need to hear every word to understand. "We'll make it work. Everything's gonna be fine."

"How do you know?" I implore him pitifully as I raise my head to look into his eyes.

"Because I decided it is. Which means I'm not gonna give up until it happens."

He certainly sounds a lot more confident than I feel right now, and that strength is like a magnet for me. I pull him closer, clinging to him, to his words and his certainty, even though on some level I'm aware that he's just as afraid as I am.

"Thank you."

"Any time."

His tender kisses help to ease some of the aching left behind by my mother's harsh words. His soft lips soothe the open wounds until I can barely feel them anymore. He really is like a drug, like morphine for the soul, and it feels as though nothing can hurt me when he's this close.

But that fantasy is suddenly shattered, and I'm dragged through the jagged shards and back to reality by the weak, fearful sound of my daughter's voice.

"Daddy?"

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

  


 

 

This is the third time in her brief, seven years of life that I have found myself completely and utterly speechless in my daughter's presence.

The first was the moment she was born. Despite the fact that she was my second child and it was the second birth I had been present for, the way I felt as she took her first breath and let out that first, choked cry was something I'd _never_ experienced before.

The second was the moment I sat her down to tell her that her mom had died. It was hands down the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my whole life. Telling her brothers was painful and felt impossible, it was unspeakably awful in its own, cruel way. But telling my little girl that her mother, the woman she idolized and wanted to _be_ , was never coming home... the look in her eyes was something I _never_ want to see again.

Just like I never want to see this look again.

It's a gut-wrenching, heart breaking combination of confusion, shock, distress, and unmistakable _guilt_. As though she thinks _she_ did something wrong by walking into the room while Tommy and I were kissing. It's almost like the look she had in her eyes the first time she tried to paint her own nails without Nat's help this summer, and she spilled pink, glittery nail polish all over her bedroom floor. When she finally admitted it to me, she had a similar look to the one she has right now. A teary-eyed look that wordlessly begged me not to be mad at her.

"Penny..." Okay, that's a start... now what am I supposed to say? "It's okay."

"I-I'm sorry. I wasn't... I..." She shakes her head ashamedly, redirecting her gaze to the kitchen floor, anxiously wringing her hands. "I-I wanted to see when we were going to the movies..."

"Hey, it's okay." I assure her gently, trying to balance the urgent need I feel to close the distance between us with the need to not scare her even more by making any sudden movements. "You don't have to say sorry, you didn't do anything wrong." The moment she chances another look at me, at both of us, I can tell she doesn't believe me. Her eyes flit from my face to Tommy's, and immediately back down to her feet.

And then she takes a step back.

"Pen-"

Watching her flee the room feels like watching someone run away with my heart. It's painful and terrifying, and my first instinct is to make it stop, to go get her back. Even with the head start she has, I manage to get to the stairs before she has a chance to begin climbing them, and I try my hardest not to hurt her when I reach out and grab her arm to stop her from going any further.

"Penny, let me explain. Tommy and I... we-"

"Y-you were kissing him." She states, her voice so small and yet so sure.

There's no point in denying what she saw. And honestly, I don't _want_ to. "Yes."

"But he's a _boy_."

This is really happening, isn't it?

"I know-"

"Daddy, what's wrong?" Ask Viggo from the hallway behind us. Because apparently I can't do _anything_ without an audience anymore. "Why's Penny crying?"

"It's okay, bud." I turn back to my little girl again, wondering if she knows what pleading is well enough to recognize it when it's written all over my face and dripping from every word I say to her. "Listen, sweetheart, I want to tell you what's going on, okay? But I need to explain it to your brothers, too."

She eyes me warily for a moment longer, but eventually she nods and cautiously takes my hand when I hold it out to her.

I have _no_ idea what I'm doing; I didn't plan this. I always knew that I was going to have to tell them one day, probably not too far into the future, but I hadn't actually gotten around to planning that discussion in great detail. I hadn't thought up any delicate ways to put things, or any answers to the questions I'm sure they'll all have. I've been so caught up with the move, and with all of the drama I'm going through with the rest of our family, I thought I could put this off until things had calmed down a little.

I guess I was wrong.

It feels like all I do anymore is sit my kids down for serious, life-changing talks. I wonder if all fathers go through this kind of thing when the mother of their children dies.

Or maybe it's just the gay ones.

"Hey, guys..." Neither of my sons looks up from what they're doing to even acknowledges that I've spoken. River is too wrapped up in the movie he's watching, and Ezra... well, he never needs to be distracted by something more exciting in order to ignore me completely. "Guys?"

"Yeah?" River replies, still staring at the TV screen.

"I need to talk to you."

"'Bout what?"

"Um... it's kind of important. Can you turn the movie off and come into the kitchen for a minute?"

The whining that follows my request doesn't surprise me at all. Neither does Ezra's continued silence and disinterest. "Do we _have_ to?"

"I'm sorry, buddy. You can finish watching it when we're done, okay?"

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the TV remote and pauses the DVD. Sometimes it disturbs me just how technically knowledgeable they are for their ages. He didn't even have to _look_ for the button! I usually have to spend at least a few seconds staring at the remote before I find the one I need.

"Ez, you too." Nothing. He doesn't so much as blink. "Ezra-"

"I don't want to."

I'm _so_ close to taking that damn 3DS out of his hands and throwing it through a window. "If you don't put that thing down and come with us _now_ , you're not gonna get to play with it again for the rest of the week."

He rolls his eyes, making sure that when he irritably throws his handheld console it's onto the couch so that it won't break. He wants me to know that he resents my intrusion on his precious time, but he doesn't want to destroy his most prized possession just to make his point.

"Everything okay?" Asks Alex concernedly as my sons obediently file into the kitchen ahead of me.

"I'll let you know." I smile weakly. "Can you keep an eye on Asta for a while?"

"Yeah... sure."

Tommy's no longer sitting at the table like he was when Penny and I ran out on him, he's pacing beside it. I feel terrible that this is happening to him, too. I know we're in this together, and he was going to have to deal with it whenever my kids found out about us. But if this moment had been planned, he could have prepared himself for it. Or at least tried to.

"Do you want me to stay?" He asks nervously, keeping his voice down to a near whisper so that the kids are less likely to hear as they take their seats around the table.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"But do _you_ want me to?" Yes. As selfish as it is, I don't want to do this alone. And he knows that without me having to come right out and say it. "Okay... so..."

"So..." I draw in a slow, deep breath, turning to face my kids as they study us both curiously.

How am I supposed to explain this to them? They're just children! It was always going to be difficult to find the words to tell my kids about my relationship with Tommy so that they would understand and accept it, but it would have been easier to do if I could have broken the news gently, maybe even eloquently.

Right now I'm just a bumbling mess of half-sentences and uncertainty.

"Um... you know we're moving to Los Angeles soon," I begin hesitantly, and all but my eldest nod to show that they're listening. "And once we've moved into the new house... Tommy's probably gonna be around a lot."

"Good!" River grins at him excitedly. "I hope you come over _all_ the time."

"Me too!" Agrees Viggo, partly because he'll agree with anything his brother says, and partly because I know he genuinely does want Tommy around as much as possible.

Penny, on the other hand, is still too uneasy to be enthusiastic about this news. She knows something they don't, and I need to figure out how to bring her brothers into the loop. Fast.

"The thing is... when Tommy comes over..." Shit. _How_ do I say this? "You know how mommy and I used to hug, and kiss, and hold hands?"

"Because you loved each other." Viggo clarifies for me, gazing at me with those big, innocent brown eyes. "Right?"

"Right. And when two people love each other, they want to be close to each other. And... um..." I glance over my shoulder at Tommy, but there's nothing he can do to make this any easier on me besides offering me a sympathetic half-smile and a helpless shrug. "I love Tommy."

River smile fades as his forehead furrows in bewilderment, and Penny looks even more lost than she did before. Ezra is still scowling at the table top, his expression unchanged, like he never heard a word I said. Viggo is the only one who doesn't appear even slightly troubled by any of it, because he's the only one who hasn't been told that there's anything wrong with this.

"So are you gonna kiss Tommy?" He asks simply.

"Sometimes." I acknowledge gently, taking a seat opposite them all as I struggle to gauge their reactions and decide how to continue. "I know this is really confusing. And I know that you probably have a lot of questions-"

"Do you love Tommy like you loved mommy?" Penny cuts me off shakily, her eyes welling with tears.

"I... no." It's not even a lie, but I still feel like a liar. Probably because the truth is that I was never in love with their mother, and I hope like hell none of them ever realize that. "No, I don't love him like I loved mommy. It's... different."

River seems even more puzzled by this new information on top of everything he's been told so far. "So... does that mean you're not going to marry him?"

"Uh..." Of all the questions I'd assumed they might ask, I can't believe I didn't see that one coming. God, I'm making a mess of this! "I-I don't know. Um... in California, and in a lot of places, we're not allowed to get married-"

"How come?" Frowns Viggo.

"Well, because-"

"Because God says so." Explains Penny sadly. "Because boys aren't supposed to love boys the same as they love girls."

This is all a little too much for Viggo's almost-four-year-old brain to process, and I can _see_ him becoming more and more bewildered, and more and more upset by the second. " _Why_ not?"

"Because he _says_ so." His big sister reiterates earnestly, looking at me and Tommy with panic written all over her face. "It's _not_ okay. God says you shouldn't, and if you don't do what God says, you can't go to Heaven!"

"There _is_ no Heaven." Ezra suddenly snaps at her.

"Yes there is!" Argues Viggo adamantly, scowling at his older brother in outrage. "Mommy lives in Heaven with God!"

"No, she doesn't! She doesn't _live_ anywhere _,_ because she's _dead_!"

"Ezra, stop it!"

"If there is a God, why did he let mom die?" He questions fiercely, making it painfully obvious that he's put a lot of thought into this reasoning. "Why didn't he save her?"

"Because he needed a new angel." Viggo informs him naively, reciting word-for-word the comforting rationalization offered to him by his grandmother.

It's a justification that apparently provided absolutely no solace to his older brother. "Then why didn't he just _make_ one? If he's _so_ great, and _so_ powerful, why couldn't he just _make_ a new angel and not kill mom? He made the whole world but he couldn't make _one_ stupid angel?!"

"Shut up, Ezra!" Penny weeps, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes tightly shut in a desperate attempt to block his words out. "Just _shut up_!"

" _You_ shut up!"

"That's enough, Ezra! Go to your room."

"You a _lways_ take their side! You never even listen to me!" He accuses venomously, standing from his chair so suddenly that it topples over behind him and startles his younger siblings. "I _hate_ you!"

I wish I was immune to those words by now, but I'm not. And hearing them always hurts so much that I'm incapable of forming words fast enough to stop him from leaving the room after he's hurled them at me. All I can do is watch him storm out and try not to break down in front of my other children, all of whom seem to be in varying degrees of turmoil. Viggo looks upset about all of the yelling, but maybe not so much about the fact that I love another boy. River appears torn between being fine with it because he loves us both, and being concerned by it because his big sister has just adamantly insisted that it's wrong and we won't go to Heaven. Penny... if the look on her face when she walked in on us was heartbreaking, I don't even know how to describe the expression she has now.

I thought it was best to deal with it as soon as possible, to sit them all down and get it all out in the open. But maybe I should have waited until I had some idea of what I was going to say. Or maybe I should have taken them aside one at a time. Maybe then I would have had the chance to calmly answer all of the questions they so obviously still have without them arguing amongst themselves over the existence of God, and Heaven, and why their mom is dead.

I'm almost afraid to say anything else to them (not that I have a clue what else I should say at this point). I don't want to make this worse somehow, or confuse them even more. But there's no way I can possibly just leave things as they are.

"Are you okay?" I ask softly, for lack of anything better to say.

Penny still has her hands clamped over her ears, tear tracks staining her pale cheeks, and River merely shrugs miserably. Viggo is the only one of them who doesn't look as though his whole world has just been thrown into chaos _again._

"I'm okay." He tells me, frowning across the table at me as he studies my face. "Are _you_ okay, daddy?"

"Yeah, buddy. I'm okay." I assure him, forcing a smile to disguise yet another necessary lie. "I'm sorry your brother yelled at you."

He shrugs. "He _always_ yells at me."

"I know, but he shouldn't. He's just... very angry."

"Because mommy died?"

"Yeah." I sigh sadly, reaching for his hand across the table. "He misses her _a lot_."

"Me too."

"Can I go to my room?" Penny unexpectedly requests through a quiet sniffle, refusing to look up at me as she speaks.

"Pen..."

" _Please_? I just want to go to my room."

It kills me to let her walk away, to leave her alone with these thoughts and emotions that she's too young to know what to do with. But there's no way I can force her to stay and hear any more of what I have to say. She wants to be alone, she doesn't have the capacity to handle anything else right now. The least I can do is grant her that much.

"Yeah, sure... okay."

The chair scrapes slightly on the kitchen floor as she pushes it back and stands up, but that's pretty much the only sound that accompanies her exit from the room. I honestly can't tell what she's thinking or feeling.

Maybe she doesn't even know yet herself. Maybe none of them do.

"Do you guys want to talk about this a little more, or do you want to stop for a while?" I ask my two youngest sons carefully. "It's okay if you need some time to think about it all."

"I don't need to think about it." Viggo tells me confidently, turning his attention to Tommy and smiling up at him. "I like you!"

"I..." Tommy chuckles softly in surprise. "I like you, too."

"Are you gonna live with us now?"

 "Um... well... I-I don't know yet." He replies honestly, awkwardly. "But I'll probably be spending a lot of time with you and your dad after you move to L.A.... if that's okay with you?"

"It's okay with me!"

Viggo's definitely on board with the whole thing, which is a relief, but his big brother is still uncharacteristically quiet. Apparently he's stills stuck somewhere between the admiration he has for Tommy, and something he hasn't yet been able to put into words.

"River?" I prod gently, his eyes immediately rising from the tabletop to meet mine. "Are you okay?"

"I guess..." He murmurs, shrugging one shoulder.

"Do you have any questions or... anything?"

"I don't know." I can tell that he really doesn't know. He has no idea what he wants to ask, or if he even wants to ask anything at all. "No."

"Well... if you think of something later, you can ask me _anything_ you want, _any time_ you want to, okay?"

"Okay." He agrees as though it's an order that he's following rather than an offer that he's being made. "Can I go back and finish the movie now?"

I know I can't expect anything more from him, from any of them, but it still feels incredibly wrong to just let them leave this room while they're so entirely stunned and struggling to understand what they've been told. But just like with his sister, I don't know what else I'm supposed to do. I can't force them to sit here until they've come to terms with it, and I can't begrudge them some time alone, away from me, away from this.

"Sure."

"Can we have popcorn?" Pleads Viggo as he scrambles to get off of his chair and follow River back into the living room. "The buttery kind?"

I nod faintly, doing my best to smile. Anything to keep at least one of my kids happy. "I'll bring it in when it's ready."

"Thank you!"

The second they're out of earshot, and there's no one in the room with me besides Tommy, I feel as though I'm gasping for breath, like I haven't inhaled since the moment I admitted to my kids than I'm in love with another man.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_." I mutter quietly, my trembling hands raking through my hair in helpless frustration while Tommy tries unsuccessfully to comfort me. "What've I done? That was _not_ how they were supposed to find out. _Fuck_! I've made such a mess of everything-"

"Hey, take a breath-"

"I don't want to take a breath! I want to take back the last twenty minutes of my life!" I exclaim wretchedly, not caring how childish I probably sound. "I did this _all_ wrong, Tommy."

"It's gonna be okay." He insists, though he sounds less than convinced by what he's saying. "You'll give them some time, and you'll figure out how to explain everything, and when they're ready to listen again-"

"What if they're not? Ezra already hated me, now Penny won't even look at me and River doesn't know _what_ the hell he's supposed to think. The only one who wasn't crushed was Viggo, and that's just because he's too young to know any better!"

Taking a deep breath in an effort to stay calm, because one of us has to, Tommy turns my face towards his, holding it steady in his hands. "You love them. They may not know a hell of a lot else right now, but they _do_ know that, no matter what they say or do. You didn't mess this up, you did the best you could."

"I should've been more prepared." I tell him ashamedly as a tear rolls over my cheek and crashes into his thumb. "I knew that I was going to have to figure out how to tell them about us ever since we got back together, but I kept putting it off because I was too afraid. If I'd dealt with it, if I'd been prepared-"

"You don't know that it would have gone any better. It doesn't matter how you say it, you're still telling them the same thing, and they're still gonna feel the same way."

"Tommy..."

He nods understandingly, not needing me to say anything else, because he knows how terrified I am right now, and he knows why. "Whatever happens, you'll figure it out. _We'll_ figure it out, okay?"

"It's just... I already feel like I'm losing the rest of my family. I don't want to lose my kids, too. I _can't_."

"You _won't_."

"Why are you _so_ calm right now?" I frown, unable to fathom how he can possibly stay this cool and collected after everything that's just happened. "I'm going out of my mind and you're acting like nothing even happened."

"'Cause when we both melt down at the same time, it generally makes everything a thousand times worse." He admits with a small, somewhat sad smile. "I figure I have to keep my shit together while you're losing yours, otherwise between the two of us, we could _really_ fuck this up."

I knew it. He's just as scared as I am right now, but he's putting on a brave face and supporting me through my fears and self-doubt so that I won't have to deal with his, too?

As if I needed another reason to fall apart.

"I'm so sorry, Tommy." I sob pathetically, practically falling against him in exhaustion as he wraps his arms around me. "I _swear_ I'm gonna do _everything_ I can to fix all of my stupid messes. I _won't_ let this be your life."

"What're you talking about?"

"I don't want you to spend the rest of your life holding everything together because _I_ can't. I _will_ , I promise. It's not always going to be like this, I won't let it be."

"You're dumb." He informs me bluntly, his voice muffled by my shoulder.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Before I have a chance to argue with him and insist that it's _not_ dumb for me to want to promise him a life free of all of this ridiculous drama and stress, Alex walks into the room. Despite the fact that he quickly apologizes for interrupting and tells us to forget he was ever here, the moment is kind of over anyway, so there's no point in him leaving again.

"It's okay." I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt, taking a deep breath to steady myself before turning to look at him. "What's up?"

"I was just checking in. Your kids came out of here looking less than cheerful, and I got the distinct impression something big just happened." He explains gently as he takes a couple of steps closer to us. "And I'm guessing those aren't tears of immense joy?"

"Not exactly."

With a nod of acknowledgement, he makes his way over to us and takes a seat opposite me, his eyes narrowing slightly as they search mine. "You okay?"

"I've been better." I sigh, slumping against the rigid back of the chair. "Penny walked in on us kissing."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"So you told them you're together?" I nod, and he winces as though the very idea of it causes him physical pain. "I'm sorry, man. I can't even imagine..."

"It wasn't t he easiest thing I've ever done, that's for sure. And I know I could've handled it better..." I shake my head sadly, trying not to allow any part of that disaster to replay in my head for even a second. "I can't change it now, though. I just have to give them some time and hope they'll come around eventually."

"At least Viggo seemed fine with it." Tommy points out in a half-hearted attempt to find a silver-lining.

"Yeah, and Asta's gonna be okay with it because it's all she's gonna know." Adds Alex. "That's two outta five right there!"

Despite all of this morning's emotional curve-balls, I find myself smiling. Not because of anything either of them as said, exactly, but more because they said it. They're here, and they care, and I feel _so_ incredibly lucky to have them both in my life. Maybe I can't count on much right now, and I have no idea what's going to happen next, but I know that whatever it is, I'm not in this alone. I have my boyfriend and my best friend beside me, and somehow neither one of them is sick of letting me lean on them yet.

After taking a minute or two to pull myself together as much as possible, I force myself to get up from the kitchen table and make the popcorn Viggo asked for. When I deliver it to him in the living room, I can tell that River isn't really watching the movie. He's staring at the screen just like he was before, but his blank expression is entirely telling. He's not present, he's so far inside his own head that he probably wouldn't even react if I dropped the bowl of popcorn all over the floor.

As badly as I want to talk to him, to all of them, to find out how they're feeling, I manage to control myself and keep my mouth shut about it. In fact, I barely say a word to any of them, I'm too afraid that even just offering them a glass of juice or asking what they want for lunch will be too much right now. I half expect everyone but Viggo to turn down the sandwiches I make, claiming not to be hungry. And I wouldn't blame them, because I barely have an appetite myself. So it surprises me when Ezra is the only one who doesn't come downstairs to eat. Penny still won't really look at me, she only utters an almost inaudible "thank you" as she accept the plate from my hand, but at least she came out of her room.

I take the fact that she remains in the living room with her younger brothers all afternoon while Tommy, Alex and I continue packing to be a positive sign. She's no longer shutting herself away from us all like Ezra, she's willing to be around me, even if I'm not in the same room most of the time. It's a small step forward, but I'll gladly take it.

We get so caught up in packing that the afternoon seems to pass by a hell of a lot faster than the morning did. Then again, maybe it's because nothing significant happens. There are no arguments, no life-altering disclosures, not tears or shouting. It's a relief. But when Ezra still doesn't respond to my calls to come and get dinner when the pizzas I ordered arrive, I _can't_ just leave it alone. He hasn't eaten since breakfast, and even if I can't force feed him, I can try harder than just shouting up the stairs to him and hoping he'll emerge.

"Ez?" I tap my knuckles against his bedroom door quietly, not expecting him to invite me in or even open the door; he never does. But I still feel like I should give him the option before barging in. "There's pizza downstairs. I got your favorite..."

My voice falters when I open the door and step into the room.

The _empty_ room.

 

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while. I was struggling with chapter 41, and since I have a write one/post one policy, I didn't want to update until it was done. But... it's still not done. lol It's A LOT closer than it has been all week, though. And I was tired of waiting to update, so...

  


 

 

As I walk over to his closet and throw the door open, already knowing that I won't find him inside, my heart begins to pound at a sickening rate with pure panic. He's not in the closet, he's not under the bed, he's not in the bathroom next door or the one down the hall. He's not in Viggo's room or Penny's, he's not in my room or the nursery.

"Ezra!"

Tommy's already walking towards the staircase as I come barreling down it, almost tripping over my own unsteady feet and falling down the last few steps. He frowns at me worriedly, grabbing my arms to slow me down and force me to face him.

"What's going on?"

"He's not here."

" _Who_? Ezra?"

I nod frantically, my eyes sweeping unseeingly over our surroundings in a pointless search for my son. "He's not in his room, he's not _anywhere_..."

I hear him mutter an anxious "shit", but I'm already pulling out of his grasp and running towards the back of the house, ignoring the questions from Alex and my other children as I throw open the French doors to the deck and hurry outside into the frigid October evening.

"Ezra!" Nothing. "Answer me! _Ezra_!"

My next stop is the "fort" at the far end of the yard. I helped him and River to build it last summer, and they were _obsessed_ with it for months. They even wanted to play out in it when it was snowing and they could barely _find_ it. But ever since Natalie died, he's had no interest in it, just like all of the other things he once loved so much. I'm not really expecting to find him out here, but I'm still clinging desperately to the hope that I'm wrong. Because if I'm not, I have absolutely _no_ idea where he is.

And that's pretty much _the_ most harrowing thought I've ever been faced with.

After almost tearing the fort down in my search for him, I'm forced to admit defeat. He's not here. He's out there, _somewhere_ , alone, and I have no fucking clue how long he's been gone. He could have snuck out five minutes ago, an hour ago, or maybe right after he stormed out of the kitchen this morning. _Fuck_ , I can't even remember if I heard him slam his bedroom door! I was so preoccupied with trying to keep Penny, River, and Viggo from walking out on me in a similarly unforgiving manner that I just assumed that was where he was going. That was _hours_ ago; he could be _anywhere_!

"Anything?" Tommy asks as I approach the deck again, wracking my brain to think of where he might have gone.

"Nothing."

"Well... does he have any friends who live around here?"

I shake my head, pacing back and forth in front of him and feeling like I'm wasting precious time by doing so. But I don't know what else _to_ do. "Most of the kids in our neighborhood are older than him, and he hasn't seen any of his other friends since around the time I pulled him out of school in the spring. He hasn't _wanted_ to."

"Maybe he went to one of their houses anyway." Maybe. But I doubt it. "What about your parents? Or Natalie's mom?"

"What about them?" I ask anxiously, ceasing my pacing just long enough to look at him.

"Are they close enough for him to get to by himself?"

"Not really. Besides, if he'd gone to anyone in our family, they would've called or texted or _something_."

"Okay..." I wait hopefully for him to suggest something else, something my troubled mind hasn't already thought of. But apparently he's reached the same clueless point that I'm at. "It's okay, we'll find him."

I wish I could just accept his attempt to keep me calm, I wish it was enough to stop me from imagining the worst. But my child is _gone_. I don't know _how_ to stay calm. I don't know how to _breathe_ right now.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" River asks from the doorway, staring worriedly out into the darkness.

"It's nothing, buddy." I try to assure him, but I think it might be the least convincing lie I've told in my entire life. "Stay inside, okay? It's cold out here-"

"But _you're_ outside."

"I'll be in soon."

"Can we have pizza yet?"

 _Shit_ , I forgot about dinner. One of my kids disappears and I completely overlook the basic needs of the other _four_!

"Let me deal with it." Tommy quickly volunteers. "You focus on figuring out where the hell he would've gone, or calling people, or whatever you need to do, okay?"

I nod gratefully as he turns and guides River back indoors, and I take a slow, deep breath in a futile attempt to clear my mind so that I can think like a rational person. But even if I could get my brain to stop running in circles long enough to cooperate with me, I wouldn't know where to start! We've already established that he's not with anyone I know, because anyone I know would have called me when my nine-year-old son showed up on their doorstep unannounced and unattended. Even if it was just to gloat and point out what a shitty parent I am.

I guess I could call the parents of his closest friends. If I can even remember their names...

Damn it, I _suck_ at this!

Natalie would've known what to do. She would've not only known the names of his friends, but their parents as well. Hell, she would've known their fucking phone numbers off the top of her head! But she wouldn't have had to use them, because if she was here, none of this would be happening. He wouldn't be the way he is, and he wouldn't have run away like this.

I head back into the house, my body not even registering the drastic temperature shift as I close the door behind me and make a beeline for the address book Nat used to keep by the phone. The second I open it, I feel more overwhelmed. It's _full._ Full of names scrawled in her neat cursive, full of notes and post-its with new numbers and changes of address, birthdays, ages... I feel as though I'm going to have an anxiety attack just glancing at it!

How the hell did she ever find _anything_ in here?!

"What's going on?" Alex asks me gently, placing a hand on my shoulder as he appears behind me. "You're freaking out about something."

"Ezra isn't here, I don't know where he is, and this... _thing_ is like a fucking handwritten life history for everyone who lives in the entire goddamn city of Tulsa!"

"Okay, stay calm-"

"I can't stay calm, I can't find my son!" I snap at him in impatience, immediately feeling like shit for taking my frustration out on him when he was only trying to help.

"We'll find him." He tells me confidently, placing his heavy hands on my shoulders to keep me from spiraling any further out of control. "Where have you looked so far?"

" _Everywhere_." I sigh hopelessly, fighting back an intense surge of pure emotion, trying against all odds to hold myself together. "He's not here, Alex."

"Have you called anyone yet?"

I shake my head, holding up the address book for him to see. "I was going to, but even if I could remember the names of any of the people he _might_ have gone to, it'd take me forever to find them in this thing. I can't just sit here looking through a book, I should be out there, I should be looking for him-"

"Okay, then let's go."

He makes it sound so simple. "What about the kids?"

"Tommy's here, right?" He shrugs, grabbing his coat off of the stair banister behind him. "They'll be fine."

"I don't know..."

I've never left Tommy alone with them like this before. Not really. He's looked after the four of them while I was asleep, but I was always _right_ there in case he needed me. He sat with Ezra and Asta at the beach for a few minutes, but there's a big difference between watching two kids and watching _four._ And Viggo is _not_ going to want me to leave him here. I don't want to subject Tommy to the screaming, inconsolable hissy fit that he'll be faced with the second I leave the house...

But I _need_ to find Ezra.

"I'll go talk to him."

Alex nods understandingly, gesturing towards the front door. "I'll wait outside."

I find Tommy in the kitchen, with Penny, River, and Viggo crowding around him like a pack of hungry dogs waiting to be fed. It doesn't matter what else is going on in their lives, they're almost always ruled by their stomachs. One hand is holding Asta against his hip, and the other is holding a slice of Hawaiian pizza. And all three of my kids are doing the "I want" song and dance routine while he tries to figure out which one of them wants the kind of pizza he's trying to hand out. But it's a little tricky to decipher who wants what with them all talking over one another and waving their plates in the air expectantly.

"Guys, give Tommy room to move."

"I want just cheese!" Viggo informs me in the same whiney tone he uses whenever he's not getting his way fast enough. "I don't _like_ pineapple."

Without another word, I walk over to the kitchen counter, grab all of the pizza boxes, and place them on the table where the three of them can reach in and help themselves. Which they _immediately_ do. Normally I wouldn't dream of doing this; River will pick the toppings off of every other slice just to put them on the two he intends to eat, and Viggo will eat exactly half of about six different slices and then spend the rest of the night complaining that he feels sick.

But I don't care right now; it's the least of my worries.

"If I go out with Alex to look for Ez, will you be okay here with them?" I ask Tommy, lowering my voice to a near whisper so that none of them will hear us. "I know it's a lot to-"

"It's fine."

"You say that now, but Viggo is going to give you hell as soon as I leave."

He nods, casting an perceptibly nervous glance in my youngest son's direction. "I know. But he'll survive, and so will I."

"Are you sure?"

" _Go._ Find Ezra." He insists, placing the briefest of kisses to my lips before my kids have a chance to notice. "I've got this."

Even though I have every faith that he does, that he'll be able to handle whatever they throw at him while I'm gone, that doesn't mean I feel any better about subjecting him to it. And, sure enough, just as I set foot out of the house, I hear Viggo calling out to me. His voice gets louder and louder as he hurries down the hallway, and I feel like the most heartless human being on the planet when I quickly pull the door closed behind me. I can _still_ hear his tearful shouts on my way to the car, although part of me wonders if some of it is my own mind amplifying his voice to make me feel even worse.

"All good?" Alex asks me as I meet him beside my car, handing him the keys because I already know I'm in no fit state to be behind the wheel.

"Not even slightly." I sigh miserably.

"Any idea where we should start?"

None whatsoever. I feel as though I may as well spin in a circle and point in some random direction. "Let's just... drive."

Alex nods dutifully and unlocks the car for us. As we back out of the driveway and onto the street, I begin to feel even more lost than I already did. It's getting so dark, _so_ fast. The street lights are hardly any help at all, they may as well be off!

"It's gonna be okay." I hear Alex say beside me, obviously sensing how disheartened I already feel and wanting to offer me some kind of encouragement. "Even if he has a head start, he can't have gone far."

"But I have _no_ idea where he was headed or which direction he even went in."

"Yeah, but he's a nine-year-old kid; he can't walk as fast as we can drive. And he's probably gonna get tired pretty quick, so the further he gets, the slower he'll go." He reasons optimistically. "We'll drive around in circles for a while, up and down every fucking street in a five mile radius if we have to. We _will_ find him, Tay."

I hope he's right. I _know_ he's right, because the chances that Ezra has simply disappeared are incredibly slim. I'm not so worried about if we'll find him, what concerns me more is whether or not we'll find him before he gets hurt, or winds up spending any longer outside in the cold than he already has. I'd prefer not to have him brought home by the cops later tonight after they find him wandering the streets of Tulsa alone. Or to have him somehow end up with someone else in our family, which would only reinforce their belief that I'm an irresponsible father who doesn't know what's best for his kids.

But I'd rather either of those things than a phone call from a hospital to let me know that he's been brought into an emergency room somewhere...

"You think he ran off because of you and Tommy?" Alex asks after we've driven in silence for a few minutes.

I shake my head faintly, no more aware of what my son is thinking right now than a total stranger might be. "Who knows. Maybe that was the last straw. Or maybe he doesn't care whether I'm with Tommy, he just felt like running away today. Honestly, I have _no_ idea."

"I take it things between you guys haven't been going any better?"

"Worse." I admit dejectedly, staring out of the passenger side window. "I don't even understand _how_ , because it feels like it can't get any worse. But as soon as I think it's as bad as it could _possibly_ get, it gets worse somehow."

"Are you still thinking about taking him to see a therapist or something?" He questions sympathetically. "Or do you think he'll resist it completely?"

"I'm _sure_ he'll resist it completely, but it's still one of the first things I'm planning on doing after we move. I've already started looking into a few doctors."

"Good. 'Cause, no offence or anything, but that kid is messed up."

"Trust me, I know. I've been trying _so_ hard to help him, but it's like the more I reach out, the more he pulls back. At first he was just quiet, you know? And I figured that was probably normal, and I just needed to give him some time to deal with how he felt and then he'd start to come out of it." I almost want to laugh at the thought of it, of how naive I was to think that he'd ever be the same again. "But then he started to act out, ignoring me, getting into trouble at school, being _cruel_ to his brothers and sisters... I cut him a lot of slack for a while, because I felt like he was already going through enough without me punishing him left and right for handling his grief poorly. But then acting out turned into lashing out..." I heave a sad, tired sigh as I shake my head, at a loss to understand how things got to this point. "I feel like I messed up. I missed something, I must have."

"It's not your fault." Alex informs me adamantly. "It's a shitty situation, and you're doing the best you can."

"What if my best isn't good enough?"

"It _is_. I know you don't see it, especially right now, but you're an awesome dad, Tay." I wish I could believe him, but I don't see how my son running away from home can be considered a result of awesome parenting on my part. "You love those kids more than anything."

I shrug simply, failing to understand why he thinks that's anything special. "They're my kids."

"Some parents don't love their kids that much, though. Some people care more about themselves, or their significant other, and they put their kids second, or third, or they just don't even give a shit. If they wanted to move to Los Angeles they would, whether their kids wanted to go or not. If they wanted to be with someone who didn't want their kids, they'd ditch their kids with the grandparents and ride off into the sunset without looking back for even a second."

"I know you're trying to make me feel better, and I honestly appreciate it, but just because I'm not one of the _worst_ parents on the planet, that doesn't make me a _good_ father. Yeah, I could be worse, but I could be a _hell_ of a lot better."

"You'd jump in front of a fucking bus for any one of them. That's _all_ that matters."

"Right now, all that matters is finding Ezra. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him. I can't..."

I can't bear the thought of it.

For the next hour, I do my best _not_ to think about it. As we drive around in what feels like futile circles, up and down street after street, with the darkness outside only seeming to grow more formidable, I have to constantly remind myself to take deep breaths and not let my worst fears overthrow what little is left of my composure. The later it gets, and the further we go, the less hopeful I am that we'll find him this way. The chances were slim to start with, and they're only getting slimmer.

I should call my parents and Pam.

I should call the police...

"Stop!" I exclaim, reaching out and grabbing Alex's arm so suddenly and unexpectedly that he momentarily loses control of the car and swerves across the road. "Over there."

"What?" He frowns, peering out of the windshield at the empty street. "I don't see anything."

"The park." I unfasten my seatbelt and open the door before he's even brought the car to a complete stop. "Natalie used to bring them here all the time."

"You think he's here?"

I think it's my absolute last hope at finding him before I'm forced to admit defeat and call the cops.

As I run across the parking lot towards the playground, I start to wish that I'd bothered to grab the emergency flashlight out of the trunk so that I could actually _see_ my surroundings. But I'm not about to turn around and go back for it now. He's here somewhere, he _has_ to be. I'm about to call out for him, but I stop myself; I'm afraid that if he hears my voice, he'll run. And in this darkness, I wouldn't see him in time to stop him. If he doesn't know I'm here, I have a better chance at keeping him from fleeing again.

My first search of the swings, slide, and climber yield no results, and my optimism over finding him here takes an undeniable hit. But I refuse to give up that easily. There's still the picnic area, the basketball court, the soccer field...

Which is exactly where I find him.

I can just about make out his form as I warily approach the small set of bleachers. At first, I'm not even convinced he's real, I'm afraid that my eyes are playing tricks on me. But the closer I get, the more sure I become. I feel like an idiot for not looking here first, it makes _perfect_ sense that he'd come here. He used to play soccer at this park on Saturday mornings. Sometimes our whole family would come out to watch, and on those occasions, no other kid on his team had as many people cheering for them as he did. And Natalie always cheered louder and longer than anyone, she _never_ missed a game.

 _I_ missed plenty of them.

It's just one of many regrets I have, and one of many things I can't change now.

"Ez?" I begin cautiously, taking a seat beside him on the cold, metal bench.

He looks up at me in surprise, and even in this low light I can see the displeasure in his eyes the second they settle on my face. "Leave me alone."

"You know I can't."

"Why not?" He mutters miserably. "You're _always_ leaving."

I guess I should've seen that one coming, but despite how long his bad attitude has been on display now, I still can't get used to my own son being so spiteful. "That was before. I'm not going anywhere-"

"I _wish_ you would." He snaps, getting to his feet and pushing past me. "I wish you'd go away and _never_ come back."

It's hard to even get to my feet after an emotional blow like that, but I don't have time to sit here and dwell on his words. If I don't stop him, he'll be gone all over again. "I know you think you mean that, but you don't."

"Yes I do!"

"You're angry, and you miss your mom, and you hate me because I couldn't do anything about what happened-"

"Let me go!" He shouts furiously, trying so hard to tug his arm out of my grasp that I'm almost afraid I'll hurt him if I don't let go.

But I'm more afraid of what will happen if I do.

"I _can't_ let you go!" I tell him, trying so hard to contain my emotions and hold back the tears of pure heartache and frustration that are fighting their way to the surface. "You're my son, and I love you no matter what! I love you when you break your sister's favorite doll, or hit your little brother, or run away from home. I love you even when you tell me you hate me-"

"No you don't!"

"Ezra-"

"You _don't_! And I don't care!"

"You don't mean that." I state firmly in an effort to convince myself of the fact more than him. "You're hurting, and you want me to hurt, too. And I _do_ , Ez-"

"I don't care!" He screams insolently, pounding on my forearm with his free hand until I'm forced to grab that one as well. "Let me go!"

Watching my son thrashing in my grasp, kicking and screaming at me to release him, I feel as though I'm restraining a wild animal, and I have _no_ idea what to do with him. Am I supposed to hold him at arms length until he exhausts himself? Or attempt to carry him back to the car like this and then pin him down on the back seat the entire drive home?

 _How_ did I end up here, making these kinds of choices?!

"God damnit, Ezra!" I hear myself shout, so loudly that it seems to echo all around us. I'm not sure if it was the sheer volume or the level of distress in my tone that got his attention, but something has slowed his frantic struggling. "I don't know what to do anymore! I can't keep fighting with you like this, I _won't_! I'm not going to pretend to know how you feel, and I know you won't tell me what you're thinking, but if you won't talk to me, you're going to talk to _someone_."

"No I'm not!"

" _Yes_ you are! When we get to California, you're going to talk to someone who can help you-"

"I won't! I don't want to talk to _anyone_!" He vows in defiance. "You can't make me!"

"You're right, I can't, but I can try." I tell him earnestly as he glares back at me. His eyes seem to burn in the darkness, and yet the look he's giving me is so full of loathing that it leaves my whole body cold. "And I'll _never_ stop trying. You can't make me."

As petty and childish as my response probably sounded, it was entirely heartfelt. I don't care how long it takes, how hard it is, how much money it costs, I _will not_ give up on him. I won't stop looking for a way to help him until I either succeed or die trying. Unfortunately, I get the feeling that he doesn't believe me. He thinks I'm bluffing, or worse, mocking him. The resentment in his eyes only deepens.

"I hate you!"

I know. He's told me enough times, I have no doubt about it at this point. "You can hate me all you want, but I still love you."

Apparently that was the exact _wrong_ thing to say to him, because it sends him into another violent, thrashing fit as he fights to get away from me. And all I can do as I practically drag him through the deserted park towards the car is repeatedly tell him that I'm sorry. Even though I'm certain he can't even hear me over his own shouting.

I'm _so_ sorry.

 

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK if I'm losing some of you in the angst or not, but I promise there'll be some relief in the next few chapters. :p

  


 

 

If anyone had been around to see me all but throw my shrieking son into the backseat of the car, they probably would have called the cops to report an abduction. It wouldn't have looked like a father fighting with his unruly child, it would have looked like a little boy fighting for his life against a total stranger. I _felt_ like a total stranger. He wanted nothing to do with me, he didn't want me to touch him or talk to him.

He hasn't for months.

He doesn't even want to live in the same house as me anymore.

I think Alex was more than a little stunned by the whole thing. Ezra has barely said a word to anyone all weekend, so it was a harsh contrast to see him struggling to get away from me like that, to hear him repeatedly shouting at me to let him go, that he hated me, that he didn't want to come home. I'm not sure if he'd ever witnessed anything like it in his life, and it was obvious that he didn't know how the hell he was supposed to react or what he was supposed to do. I caught him glancing nervously at us in the rearview mirror as he drove us home. I had to sit beside Ezra because I wasn't convinced that he wouldn't jump out of the car at the first stop sign we came to.

And now that we're home, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to prevent tonight from _ever_ happening again.

Ezra takes off up the stairs to his bedroom the second I release my grip on his arm, slamming his bedroom door so violently that the picture frames on the walls in the downstairs hallway rattle. I lock the front door, but it's not enough to make me feel secure; he can unlock it. His bedroom door doesn't have a lock on it, so that wouldn't be an option even if the idea of locking him in there like a prisoner _didn't_ make me feel like shit. I guess I should take comfort in the fact that there's no way he can climb out of his bedroom window. There are no trees, trellises, or drainpipes he can use to get to solid ground. If he's going to leave, he has to come downstairs.

Alex follows me silently through to the living room, where Tommy is sitting on the couch watching TV. Viggo is asleep next to him, using his thigh as a pillow. I'm guessing that means he refused to let Tommy leave his sight until I came home. There's no sign of the rest of my kids, which I'm honestly a little surprised by. I figured he either wouldn't try putting them all to bed by himself, or they'd fight him on it enough that he'd let them wait up for me.

"I take it you found him?" He asks knowingly, the slamming door a blatant give-away."Is he okay?"

"Depends how you define 'okay'." I sigh, sitting down carefully beside Viggo's feet. "He's safe... that's good enough for tonight, I guess."

Tommy nods slowly, reaching across my sleeping son to squeeze my hand."How about you?"

How about me? Am I okay? "He's safe." I repeat with a small, sad smile. "How about _you_? Did they give you hell?"

"Only this one." He shrugs unconcernedly as I gently straighten Viggo's pajama shirt to cover the tiny patch of exposed skin at his waist. "He threw a fit right when you left, then he refused to eat dinner, he wouldn't even have ice cream. I finally convinced him to get into his PJs, but only if I let him stay up until you got back."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Honestly, it wasn't anywhere near as bad as I thought it was gonna be."

Well that's something, at least. If tonight didn't overwhelm him to the point of wanting to run away like Ezra did, there's not much I can think of that he can't handle. Alex, on the other hand, is still abnormally quiet. He hasn't even sat down, he's still lingering in the doorway like he's waiting for an appropriate time to excuse himself and get the hell out of this house of insanity.

"Alex?"

He looks up at me quickly, almost as though it surprised him to hear his own name. "Yeah?"

"You haven't said anything for about half an hour. That's gotta be a record."

"Right?" He lets out something that sounds like a cross between a weary sigh and a soft chuckle, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just... tired."

"Understandable." I offer him a small, apologetic smile. "Do you want a ride back to your hotel?"

"No way. I'm not gonna make you drive me all the way downtown after... everything." Thank God, because I _really_ don't want to leave this house again tonight. "I can just crash on the couch, if that's okay with you?"

"Yeah, of course. Help yourself." I slip my arms around Viggo, slowly lifting him up as I get off of the couch. He stirs very slightly, snuggling against my shoulder and instinctively wrapping his arms around my neck, clinging to me in his sleep. " _Thank you_ for tonight. Both of you. I don't know what I would've done if you weren't here."

"Any time." Alex assures me with a faint smile as Tommy and I pass him. "But hopefully _not_ , you know?"

"Hopefully not." I repeat in absolute agreement, letting go of Viggo with one hand just long enough to touch Alex's arm on my way past. Partly to emphasize how grateful I am for his presence, and partly in an attempt to return some of the comfort he's offered me tonight. I get the feeling he kinda needs it right now.

Tommy walks beside me in silence until we reach the top of the staircase, and then we both come to a slow stop. "Want some help?"

I shake my head, leaning in to give him a grateful kiss. "You've done _more_ than enough. I'll come to bed in a minute, I just want to get him settled and check on the others."

With a nod and another quick kiss we part ways, me heading towards Viggo and River's room and Tommy disappearing into mine. I somehow manage to get Viggo into bed without him or his brother waking up. But despite the fact that he's unconscious, I still whisper an apology to him as I kiss him goodnight. Every time I leave him, I feel as though I owe him an apology. I know what it does to him to watch me walk out of the front door and not know if he'll ever see me come back through it again. I can only hope that the more times I _do_ come home, the more his anxiety will diminish.

I barely have to turn around and take a step away from Viggo's bed before I'm standing over River's sleeping form. Their room is pretty small, which is why it used to _only_ belong to Viggo. But after Ezra started taking his grief out on River, I couldn't let them share the same room anymore. It's incredibly cramped and I feel awful that they're squeezed in here like this, even though it's brought them a lot closer to one another. But by the end of the month, they'll have a new bedroom in a new house...

A new start that will hopefully help us _all_ to begin healing.

Penny is sound asleep when I look in on her, with her CD playing as usual. I wonder if she put it on herself or if Tommy remembered to do it. It's been a couple of days since I've been woken up in the middle of the night by her calling out for me. I guess that means she's due any time now, and as selfish as it is, I can't help but silently plead with her _not_ to do it tonight.

I daren't go into Ezra's room. He's made it very clear that he doesn't want to see me, and there's no way he's already asleep. But I can't bring myself to walk away from his bedroom door once I'm standing outside. How am I supposed to go to bed? How am I supposed to _sleep_? What if I wake up in the morning and he's gone?

God, this is so stupid!

I can't live my life like this! I can't watch him all day, every day. I can't spend every minute listening for his footsteps on the stairs, listening for the front door in case he tries to sneak out. And I _need_ to sleep, there's no way I can stay up all night, every night just to make sure he stays in his room.

But that's precisely what I'm doing right now.

I'm sitting on the floor beside his bedroom door, because I don't know how to get up and go to bed. I'm too afraid.

I'm _petrified._

Tommy eventually comes looking for me when I fail to join him in my bedroom, and it's obvious just from the look he gives me when I glance up at him that he knows exactly what I'm thinking. He slowly sinks down against the wall, his arm brushing mine as he sits beside me on the floor. Neither of us speaks at first, he simply slides his fingers between mine, pulling my hand into his lap and holding it tightly.

"Sorry." I sigh, my voice almost failing, disappearing into the dimly lit hallway.

"Don't be."

"Tell me to come to bed."

His head rests against my shoulder, and he exhales a barely perceptible chuckle. "No."

"You're no help." I mumble in an attempt to make a joke. But my tone remains so solemn that I worry he might take me seriously. "I didn't mean that."

"I figured."

"You were _amazing_ tonight... today... it was horrible, and you handled it _so_ well. _Way_ better than I did."

"Yeah, well... I'm not sure most of it would've happened if it wasn't for me." He admits guiltily. "I feel like me being here is making things worse."

"That's _not_ true." I insist wholeheartedly.

"Has Ezra ever run away from home before?"

Well... "No. But it was probably only a matter of time, given the way things have been going."

"Maybe."

"Tommy-"

"It's okay." He insists calmly, which makes it so much easier for me to believe him. "I'm not freaking out, I'm not trying to talk either of us out of anything. I'm just... being honest."

"Thank you."

"For being honest?" He asks as though it's a stupid thing to be thankful for. "You can't thank me for that."

"Yes I can." I argue insistently, leaning my head gently against his.

We sit silently on the hallway floor for a while, finding much needed comfort in each other's presence. I can literally feel myself relaxing bit by bit the longer he's here. The tension in my shoulders, my back, my whole being slowly begins to ease. It's like I didn't realize just how badly my body ached until it started to subside.

"River was talking to Natalie." Tommy blurts out unexpectedly, and for a moment I'm at a loss for anything to say to him. "It was... I dunno. You told me he does it sometimes, and I saw him buying  juice at the store for her that one time, but..."

"It's different." I acknowledge, understanding _exactly_ how weirded out he probably was by it. I've grown used to it at this point, but I still remember the first time I ever saw River having a conversation with an empty chair. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just feel bad, you know? He's confused, and I feel like that's partly my fault, too."

"Your fault?" I frown as I pull back a little to look at him, and he tilts his head back so that he can meet my eyes. "How is it _your_ fault?"

"Because... I exist." He shrugs one shoulder helplessly.

"What're you talking about?"

I can tell from the long breath he inhales that this is something he doesn't know how to explain. But whether he can put it into words or not, he still feels it. And if he feels it, I need to take it seriously, no matter how insane it might sound to me.

"I didn't mean to listen. I feel like shit for doing it; he was talking to her, not me, he didn't even know I was there."

"I know what you mean." I assure him sympathetically. "I always tell myself to leave him alone, that I'm basically eavesdropping. But it's like I can't move. I'm afraid he'll say something that I really need to know, and if I don't stay and listen, I won't hear it."

"Right." Tommy nods in agreement. "And I was all set to walk away and everything, but then I heard what he was saying, and..."

I didn't realize there was room for any more dread and worry to reside in my body, but the added weight I now feel in my chest, the difficulty drawing breath, tells me I'm wrong. "And?"

"He feels bad."

"About what?"

"Liking me." He reveals sadly, looking down at his hands as he picks the polish off of his thumb nail. "It was like... he was begging her not to be mad at him." Oh God. "He said he thought I was just your friend, he didn't know you loved me 'like that'. And if it made her sad that he liked me, he wouldn't anymore."

"What did she say?" As soon as the words have left my mouth, I feel like a fucking idiot for uttering them, for even _thinking_ it. But luckily he seems to know what I'm really asking.

"From what _he_ was saying, it sounded like she said she loved him and she wanted him to be happy." Sounds like something Natalie would say. "I don't know, he just said he loved her, too. And he promised that he'd never love me more than her."

"He said that?" Tommy nods faintly, and I can't for the life of me figure out how he's feeling about all of this anymore. He seems sad, but at the same time... not. "Are you-"

"I'm okay." He cuts me off, already knowing what I'm worried about. "It's not like I ever expected any different. I mean, it's totally normal for him to feel that way."

"But I don't want you to feel like you're gonna be living in her shadow for the rest of your life."

"I know you don't. But... I am." I want to protest, but there's no point. He's right. "It's like... it wouldn't matter if my mom found the most amazing guy on the planet and got remarried, even if he _was_ a better man than my dad, he's never gonna _be_ my dad. He'll never measure up. And... I think that's just the way it is." He shrugs, reconciled to this indisputable fact. "It's the way it should be. I don't _want_ to take her place, I'm not _trying_ to get them to like me more or whatever. If we're gonna do this, if I'm in this with you, I _can't_ pretend to be someone I'm not when I'm around your kids. I mean, I can limit how much cussing I do and everything, but I'm not gonna try to be some perfect, amazing person just to make them like me. I don't wanna have to play a part for the rest of my life, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

I know all too well, and I'm _glad_ he's not willing to put on an act for my kid's sake. I would never want him to be anyone besides who he is. It's more than enough for me, and I'm sure it'll be enough for them.

"No one is ever gonna be able to replace their mom, and no one _should_. Least of all me."

"That doesn't mean you can't be important to them, or that they won't love you. I know it's different, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing."

"No, I know. It's _not_ a bad thing at all. And I _want_ to be part of their lives... whatever the hell it is I am to them. But I don't want them to think I'm something I'm not. I figure... all I can do is be myself and hope they don't hate my guts. 'Cause I think... I'm kinda starting to love them."

It takes him a few seconds to summon the nerve to face me after that little confession, by which point there are tears blurring my vision and I'm on the brink of blubbering all over his shoulder for what feels like the ten thousandth time today. But for the _first_ time today, they're tears of joy instead of sorrow and heartache. Just hearing him admit that he's "kinda starting" to love my kids means more to me than I think he realized it would when he said it.

"Hey, don't start that again." He teases me, nudging my shoulder gently with his. "It's not a big deal."

"Maybe not to you, but it's a _huge_ deal to me."

It's a huge deal to both of us, no matter what he says. I can see it in his eyes. "Guess we just have to hope that they'll be okay with us being together eventually then, huh?"

I guess so. I can't force them to accept it, it's something they'll all have to come to on their own terms, in their own time. I think Viggo will be fine with it; he's already comfortable with Tommy, and he doesn't even see why two men being in love is strange. And I think that even River will come around sooner rather than later. Depending on what Natalie says to him during their little talks...

It's Penny and Ezra I'm worried about.

Right now, Penny isn't okay with it. It's not that she doesn't like Tommy, in fact it's the opposite. She likes him, and she loves me, and that makes the fact that we're in love all the more difficult for her to handle. Because it means that God is mad at _both_ of us, which is a very scary thought for a seven-year-old little girl who has been raised to believe that you _never_ do anything to make God mad or else he won't let you go to Heaven. I wish it was something that I could explain away without unraveling her whole world view, but I'm not sure how to go about it.

Hell, I haven't even figured out how to explain to my kids that there's no Santa yet, let alone no God!

Though I'm sure Ezra will be more than happy to take care of that for me this Christmas, unless our relationship miraculously improves between now and then. But after tonight, I don't have much hope of that. I know it's insane, but... part of me isn't even sure if I should take him to California with us. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to leave him behind _at all_. He's my son, he's part of me, the idea of leaving him here with his grandparents _kills_ me. But it's not about what I want or how I feel, it's about him. And right now, I'm not sure if being around me is what's best for him.

The thought of letting him go is enough to push me from the brink of tears and send me right over the edge. My shoulders shake with stifled sobs as I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead against them. This _hurts_ so fucking much that all I want to do is curl up into the smallest ball I physically can, I want to disappear into myself so that this feeling can't find me, can't touch me. I want the sound of his voice to stop echoing in my head. I want to stop hearing his enraged cries and his relentless declarations of hate. I want the bruises that he left on my arm to vanish. I want to pretend tonight never happened. I want to go back to the beginning of this year and do it all over again, do it _right_.

But I _can't_.

Tommy wraps his arms protectively around me, and I let him pull my broken form against his body. I feel his warm lips on the bare skin at the nape of my neck, and with every kiss he leaves there, the tightness in my chest slowly starts to loosen. When I finally lift my head and struggle to draw breath without choking on it, he takes my face gently in his hands, his thumbs carefully wiping the tears from my cheeks as his sad, sympathetic eyes search mine, trying to figure out what it is I need, how he can make this better somehow. I wish I knew. If I had the answer, if I had _any_ answers, I'd give it to him in a heartbeat.

But I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to fix them _or_ me.

He places a light kiss to my forehead, the bridge of my nose, my left cheek, my right... for a moment I forget how to breathe, but when instinct inevitably takes over, it comes so much more easily than it did before. I don't feel like I'm drowning anymore. Once I've calmed down enough his lips finally find mine, and it's as though each soft, subtle motion of his mouth against my own is a word spoken in a language that only I can understand. Together those words translate to a promise. Not that everything will be okay, because neither of us can know that for sure.

But that no matter what happens, _we_ will be okay.

Even after my tears have completely subsided, and we're both so tired that we're practically falling asleep, propped up against each other outside Ezra's bedroom door, Tommy _still_ doesn't suggest that we move. In fact, I'm pretty sure that he intends to sit here with me all night without ever saying a word about how uncomfortable it is. I know he won't leave me alone if I tell him to go to bed; the only way I can get him to go is if I go with him. So, with one last look at my son's bedroom door, I gently peck Tommy's forehead and nuzzle my nose into his hair until he sighs softly.

"Let's go to bed."

"'Sokay." He yawns. "I'm fine."

"I know." I smile wearily, taking him by the arm and helping him to his feet as I push myself up off of the floor. "It's me. I want my pillow."

"'Kay."

It's not like my fears have evaporated into thin air; I'm no less afraid to leave this spot than I was when I sank down into it. But I can't sleep here every night, so what good would sleeping here tonight do? I just have to keep telling myself that if I leave my bedroom door ajar, and if Alex is on the couch downstairs, the chances of Ezra sneaking out of the house without anyone hearing him are slim-to-none.

And if he does...

I'm going to have to re-evaluate a lot of things, because we _can't_ go on this way.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I've been sick this week, but I finally felt well enough to do some writing today.
> 
> I know many of you have been waiting for this, so hopefully it's not a complete let down. I know it's not like... PORN, but by now I think you're all used to my writing style enough to know that I can't write like that. lol Sorry.

  


 

 

When I slowly open my eyes the next morning, I'm greeted by the sight of Tommy lying on my bed beside me. His body is turned towards mine, his elbow propping him up as he watches me with a fond smile on his lips. I can't tell if the soft light around him is really a result of the morning sun attempting to break through the drapes or just a figment of my imagination, but either way, he looks beautiful. I'm still not used to waking up like this, to having my breath taken away before I've even had a chance to fully regain consciousness.

But as soon as last night's painful events come rushing back into my mind, I no longer feel quite so blessed and content. I sit bolt upright in bed, wiping the smile off of Tommy's face instantly as I scramble to get out of bed.

"Breathe." He instructs me calmly, grabbing my arm before I have a chance to get off of the mattress. "He's still asleep. I just checked like ten minutes ago."

As I let his words sink in, I do as he said and take a deep breath, allowing him to pull me back under the sheets with him. "What about everyone else?"

"Downstairs with Alex."

"Alex?"                                                                                                                                            

Tommy nods, a small smirk curling his mouth. "He's trying to make breakfast."

Oh God. "Maybe I should-"

"No." He interrupts me knowingly. "Maybe, for once, you should just... _not_."

"Not what?"

"Not worry. Not try to do every-fucking-thing yourself when there are other people around who're willing to do some of it for you." The serious look in his eyes takes on a more playful gleam as he leans in to me, until his lips are close enough to mine for me to feel them move as he speaks. "Not get out of bed."

"Tommy..."

"Go ahead, tell me we can't." He challenges with a shrug, pushing me onto my back and straddling my hips. "Let's see how that works out for you."

"The kids are all awake."

"They're watching TV." My head is still telling me we shouldn't, but the rest of my body isn't listening at all. "And I promise I'll use my indoor voice."

"The door-"

"Is locked."

"You came prepared."

"I didn't come at all." He notes with a devilish grin, slipping his hand between our bodies and seductively edging his fingers into my underwear. " _Yet_."

This time when I say his name, it's not a protest. Far from it. It's a plea. A plea for more, for everything, for all of him, _now_. Unfortunately for me, he seems intent on teasing me. His touch is feather-light, his tongue, his fingertips, he's holding back on purpose because he knows it's driving me crazy. When I try to reach out, he pulls back. I whine in dissatisfaction, wishing I'd exercised a little self-control so that his fingers would still be wrapped around me and his lips would still be grazing the skin of my chest. Instead, he grabs me by my wrists and pins my hands above my head, that smug smile still taunting me, mere inches from my face.

"Uh-uh."

"You're cruel!"

"You _like_ it." He accuses in a playful and yet somehow almost threatening whisper. It's such a turn on that my hips instinctively thrust against him, leaving us both moaning. But it only makes me _more_ desperate, and him more determined. "You know what? _You_ were gonna turn me down. I had to fucking _convince_ you-"

"But-"

"So now you can wait until I'm ready to _let_ you fuck me." He's enjoying this _way_ too much! "Trust me, this is as hard for me as it is for you."

I quirk an eyebrow at him before glancing down to where our bodies meet. "I doubt that."

He lowers his lips until they're hovering just above mine, until they're close enough that all I'd have to do is crane my head just a _little_ and I'd be kissing him. I can't, though. It's not allowed. I'm already being punished for one crime, I'm not about to commit another. But _God_ , I want to! I want him. I want to feel those lips against mine, the heat of his mouth, the tremor that I _know_ will tear through my whole being the second his tongue touches mine...

"Please, just..."

"Just... what?"

"Kiss me." I practically pant against his mouth, struggling to stop myself from simply _taking_ what I want from him.

But it's _right_ there! I can feel his breath on my skin, and I swear that as my tongue sweeps across my lips in anticipation, it brushes his lower lip ever so _slightly_.

"You want me to kiss you?"

"Yes."

He presses his mouth to mine tenderly, just for a second... but as soon as I try to reciprocate at all, he pulls away again. "Like that?"

"No. _More_."

"More?" He murmurs, feigning curiosity as he tries again.

This time he's generous enough to let me participate, though I'm careful to make sure that I don't get carried away and take it too far. My lips tentatively follow his lead, matching the gentle pressure of each painfully drawn out movement. _Finally_ I feel the tip of his tongue trace along my lips, and I obediently part them enough to allow him to deepen the kiss.

So, of course, he does the exact opposite.

I swear to God, every nerve in my body is screaming at me in frustration, wanting, _needing_ more than I'm being given. And honestly, I could pull my hands out of his hold without even really trying. I could push him off of me effortlessly. I could turn the tables so fast it would make his head spin. I could have him pinned beneath me in a matter of seconds, and I could kiss him the way I want to be kissing him. We both know it. And we both know I won't. Because he was right; I _do_ like this. I hate it, but I love it. I can't stand it, but I don't want it to stop.

It's _so_ fucked up. But it feels _so_ good.

"How do you feel?"

He wants me to form words right now? _Really?_ "I can't..." My mouth is dry, and my mind is blank. "I-I don't know."

"Does it hurt?" He asks, his brow faintly furrowed, his dark brown eyes full of empathy. It's almost enough to make me think he cares... right up until the moment he rocks his hips, rubbing his erection against mine. His forehead falls to mine, both of us groaning, and his grip on my wrists tightens."Do you feel like you're gonna go crazy if I don't touch you?"

" _Yes_."

"But I _am_ touching you." He exhales unsteadily, his nose nudging mine as he purposefully rolls his hips once again.

"It's not enough." I whimper plaintively, lifting my head off of the pillow in hopes that maybe he'll let me kiss him, just for a second...

But he doesn't.

"What would be enough?"

Truthfully... nothing. I don't think I could ever be close enough to him, not unless we became one person.

One soul in one body, not split into two.

"The way you feel right now," He begins, pausing to collect himself as his breathing quickly becomes just as erratic as my own. "I feel that way _all_ the damn time." There's something awful and yet astounding about that statement. It makes my heart hurt at the same time that it causes it to beat a little faster than before. "Sometimes I think I must be totally fucking addicted to you or something."

"I know what you mean."

"Do you?" There's more than a hint of doubt in his voice, but it's not accusatory at all. It's genuine skepticism that anyone else could possibly know how he feels, not even me. "'Cause it's like... when you're not around, I miss you. But even when you're right beside me, you're _still_ too far away. We can be as close as we are now, and it's not close enough."

I nod in hopeless agreement. "It's like I'm stuck in this body, and you're stuck in that one, and we can't get out."

"The only time I feel anywhere near to being whole is when you're inside me. And when you're not, I just..."

" _Ache_."

His eyes lock with mine the instant the words leave my mouth, so entirely full of relief that I actually _can_ relate to this feeling. "Yeah."

Even though he hasn't released my hands or said that I can touch him, somehow I know that it's okay now. He inhales sharply as I tug my wrists free and firmly grasp his hips, holding him against me as I crush my mouth to his and steal the soft moan he immediately exhales. I push myself up, off of my back, and he wraps himself around me, clinging to me.  His body grinds hopelessly against mine, one hand lacing itself in my hair and holding me possessively close while the other hand conducts a blind, frantic search of my nightstand drawer until it finds what it's looking for.

"We can slow down..." I start to suggest, but he's already shaking his head at me.

"No." He gasps softly, his refusal punctuated by the sound of the cap being flipped open. "Not yet."

Not yet?

If not yet, then wh- " _Fuck._.."

With a swift jerk of his hand, and a skillful twist of his wrist, he hastily coats my erection with lube, and I bury my face in his shoulder as he grasps it greedily and shifts himself into position. For a moment, when I begin to enter him, I can't breathe. It happens every time, I've never been able to get over that initial sensation of him surrounding me more and more by the second, inch by inch... completely.

I lift my head just in time to see the vague look of discomfort on his face fade into one of absolute bliss as our bodies become as close as they possibly can be. And then everything stops. He doesn't move except to kiss me softly, slowly, his desperate need to have me inside of him satisfied. This is as close to perfection as we can get.

 _Now_ is when we slow down.

I think it's pretty safe so say that if the world outside of this room didn't need so much from us both, and if we didn't need to do pesky, life-sustaining things like eating, we'd choose to exist just like this. Because like he said, _this_ is the only time either of us feels anything close to being entirely whole. Sometimes we're so busy and consumed by other things that we don't have time to stop and really notice that something is lacking at all. But in those quiet moments when we're apart, and there's nothing to distract us, we both feel that ache. That empty space that no amount of _anything_ can fill. Not food, or alcohol, or music, or even the love of the people we're closest to. It might make it hurt a little less for a while, but it's still there under the surface _all_ the time.

Until we can lose ourselves in one another this way.

I feel him tighten around me unexpectedly, and my body's instinctual reaction is to buck against his even though there's no real room for us to get any closer. Whatever room there was is enough to leave us both moaning as he throws his head back and my lips hungrily claim the exposed skin of his throat. His legs encircle me, and the next thing I know, I've rolled him onto his back and I'm thrusting into him again. Every move is still controlled, deliberately drawn out so that this will last as long as I can make it. I'm not going to pretend it's easy; my most basic, natural urge is _not_ to hold back right now. I want to feel him, I want to feel as good as I can, and I want the same for him. But I don't want to rush this, because once it's over, we'll have to find our way back to real life. We'll have to let go of each other and leave this room.

And the aching will inevitably begin again.

He said I had to wait until he was ready to let me fuck him, but what we're doing here isn't fucking by any stretch of the imagination. It's not _just_ sex, it's not about satisfying any kind of physical desire, it's not just about gratification, that all important moment of pleasure... it's about something more. If it wasn't, then I wouldn't hear every breath he exhales echoing in my mind, I wouldn't be so incapable of taking my eyes off of his face that I can't even _blink_.

For countless minutes, we remain locked in this natural back and forth, never straying from the intense feelings of contentment and completeness we both feel, but never succumbing to them, either. Gradually, I feel the sweat begin to bead down the length of my spine, just as I can taste the salt on his skin with every kiss I place to his neck and shoulders. Somehow, somewhere along the way, I've quickly begun to lose my breath. But even that's not enough to break this agonizingly perfect rhythm we've found. I don't know that anything is.

"Make me come."

 _Except_ that.

He's pleading with me, as though there's a chance I might say no. I still don't think he understands that he has complete control over me; if he so much as whimpers, my body reacts without me having to give it a second of thought. If he wants me to make him come, it's my entire reason for being until it's done. As soon as I pick up the pace even slightly, I can see, hear, _feel_ how it's affecting him, and it only spurs me on even more. After the time we took building up to this point, it feels as though it all comes undone at the most uncontrollable rate.

But it's okay, because neither of us _wants_ to control this anymore; we're ready to let it control us.

Despite his previous assurance that he would use his "indoor voice", he mindlessly cries out as he comes hard beneath me, and I crush my mouth to his, stifling his moans and my own as we ride out the force of our combined climax together.

Once it's over, my body becomes entirely useless. I feel as though I can't move a muscle, as though I don't even _have_ any muscles. But when I try to summon the strength to shift my dead weight off of him, he refuses to let me go. So I stay, wrapped up in him, listening to his heart hammering in his chest as it rises and falls beneath me. We don't say a word, because there's nothing that needs to be said. Actions speak louder, and what just happened between us was an irrepressible _scream_.

When we finally catch our breaths and find the energy to get dressed so that we can venture downstairs, Alex has managed to successfully feed all of my kids, including Asta. They pretty much just got toast and scrambled eggs, but that seems to have gone over fine with them. And it's one less thing that I have to take care of this morning, so I'm definitely not complaining. After Tommy and I have helped ourselves to some cereal and semi-hot coffee, I coax the kids away from the TV and bribe them with the promise of seeing a movie this afternoon in order to get them washed and dressed with minimal complaining.

Ezra still hasn't put in an appearance, which wouldn't normally worry me too much. But after what happened yesterday, I'm more than a little on edge. Even though I don't want to risk having him explode at me, I can't stop myself from opening his bedroom door just a crack so that I can make sure he's really there. The fact that he is should be comforting, but it's not. There isn't a whole lot I can think of that might bring me comfort when it comes to my relationship with him. All I can do is hope that I'm not forced to take the drastic measures that began plaguing my conscience last night.

"Still asleep?" Alex whispers as I pull Ezra's bedroom door closed again, and I almost jump out of my skin in surprise when I turn around and find him standing right behind me. "Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"Not your fault." I assure him as we walk down the hall together. "My mind was... elsewhere."

"Yeah, I kinda figured."

"What time is your flight? I'll drive you to the airport."

He shakes his head dismissively. "You don't need to-"

"I do, actually. After everything you've done for me this weekend, it's the least I can do."

"I have to be at the airport by like... eleven, I think? I honestly don't mind getting a cab or something."

"Well, I mind." I insist wholeheartedly. "There's no need for you to waste money on a cab when I'm willing to drive you."

"What about the kids?"

"I'll talk to Tommy about it, but I'm pretty sure he'll be fine staying with them for an hour. We can take Asta with us, and it doesn't look like Ezra is planning on facing the world anytime soon, so really he'll only have three to watch."

"Okay... if you're sure."

I end up taking not only Asta but Viggo as well, not just to spare Tommy from having to deal with his separation anxiety all over again, but to save Viggo from having to go through it twice in the space of twenty-four-hours. I know sooner or later he's going to have to learn to deal with it, and probably the only way for him to do so is for me to leave him more frequently so that he has the chance to get used to it. But with Ezra's all-too fair accusations of me "always leaving" still fresh in my mind, I can't bring myself to do it today.

Asta falls asleep barely five minutes into the car ride, and Viggo is happily engrossed in his cartoons on my iPad (God bless Apple!), which makes it feel as though Alex and I are taking the trip alone anyway.

"Thank you again for everything this weekend."

"How many more times are you gonna say that?" He chuckles.

"Um... until I feel as though I've adequately expressed my gratitude. So... a lot."

"You don't need to; we're friends." He shrugs easily. "If I had five kids and needed help packing up my whole life to move to another state, I'm sure you'd come and help me, too."

"I can't imagine you with five kids." I laugh softly. "But then again, I couldn't really imagine you making breakfast for _my_ kids, and it turns out you're pretty good at it."

"Yeah, I think I did alright for an amateur."

"You did awesome. I'll have to keep your child care services in mind for the future. You know, since we're basically gonna be neighbors soon..."

"I still can't believe you're finally moving to L.A." He grins at me, vaguely reminding me of one of my kids on Christmas morning. "It's about damn time!"

"Tell me about it. I feel like I've been waiting for this my whole life."

"I've only been waiting for it since two-thousand-and-one, but I'm still pretty fucking excited!"

As soon as he's finished making his gleeful declaration, he realizes what he's said and quickly glances at Viggo to see if he heard him. I don't need to do the same to know that he's completely oblivious to anything besides what's happening on the screen in his hands. I doubt anything other than a car crash or the word "candy" would be enough to get his attention.

"Sorry." Alex cringes as he turns back to me again. "I keep forgetting I have to keep things G-rated."

"You and Tommy both. Like I told him, it's not the end of the world if they hear a cuss word. They'll survive."

"So I can just let loose and-"

"No." I scowl playfully. "I appreciate you both making an effort to keep the cussing to a minimum, but if you slip up, I'm not going to disown you for it."

"Good. 'Cause nine years of you not speaking to me was enough for one lifetime."

Despite the fact that I know he didn't intend to make me feel bad, the thought of those nine years still leaves me feeling incredibly guilty and ashamed. I wish I could get every last one of them back, but it's impossible. All I can do is try to be a better friend to him now that I'm lucky enough to have been granted a second chance.

"Hey... do you ever think about..." He glances back at Viggo again before continuing, which only makes me more curious to know what he's trying to ask me. "You and me? You know... back then, when we were... messin' around and stuff?"

"Think about it?" I frown uncertainly. "In what way?"

"Just like... do you ever wonder what might have happened if you hadn't had to... leave?" He finishes in an awkward attempt to avoid using Natalie's name at all in case it alerts my son to our conversation. "Do you think you and I ever would've been... something?"

A faint smile curls my lips as I consider the question, and not for the first time ever. It's been a long time since I thought about it, but back when it was still fresh in my mind, and the emotions were still raw, I thought about it _all_ the time. Alex was the only guy I'd been with besides Zac, and I knew Zac and I could never be anything "real".

But what I had with Alex was different.

"I think we probably would've been." I admit quietly. "I mean... I pretty much hero worshipped you, I thought you could do no wrong."

"Yeah, I had you fooled good, didn't I?" He laughs.

"I'm just saying, if... certain things hadn't happened, and if you'd had any interest in us being something serious, I can't imagine I would've said no."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But it wouldn't have lasted."

He frowns, the smile fading from his face. "How come?"

"Well, for one thing, I definitely didn't have it in me to come out back then. And as understanding as you tend to be a lot of the time, I'm pretty sure you would've gotten sick of having to hide from everyone eventually. You would've wanted people to know, and it would've scared the hell out of me. One of us would've ended it, and it probably wouldn't have been pretty."

"True..." He sighs sadly, resignedly.

"But honestly, even if that wasn't true, even if you'd had endless patience with me being a total closet case, I still don't think we would've ended up together long term."

"Because of Tommy."

Those three words could have sounded more like an accusation, they could have held so much bitterness, but they don't. Aside from his knowing tone, it's nothing more than a simple statement.

"I know it probably sounds stupid, but... I feel like even if I hadn't met him the night I did, or the way I did, we would've met sooner or later."

"Because you're meant to be?" He teases lightly, earning himself a hint of a glare.

"Laugh all you want, but... yeah. I really think he's the person I'm _supposed_ to spend my life with."

"I think so, too."

"You do?"

"Hell yeah!" He asserts confidently. "I think anyone who spends five minutes in a room with the two of you knows it. You wouldn't know it to look at you separately; he'd probably be the last person I'd pick out of a line-up as a match for you. But when you're together you just... fit. I see you with him and it's like 'oh, right, _that's_ what love looks like', you know?"

"I don't know what it looks like to the rest of the world, but that's basically how it feels to me."

"Everyone else will get it sooner or later. They might be blinded by a bunch of meaningless bullsh..." He pauses, trying to think of a way to alter his word choice. But there isn't one, and he can't do anything about it now, so he shrugs it off and continues. "They'll come around."

"I hope so. If not for my sake then for my kids. I don't want them to grow up around all this resentment. They might be too young to really pick up on now, but they won't always be."

He reaches across the gearshift and places a comforting hand on my knee, giving it a small squeeze. I can't help but smile as I think about how Tommy would react to this. "Give it time. I know it probably feels like an eternity to you already, but it hasn't been all that long since you told them the truth."

"I guess..."

I want to believe him, I want to believe that my family really does love me unconditionally, and that they're simply in too much shock right now to show it. But with every day that passes, and every harsh word spoken, it becomes harder and harder to convince myself.

"What about you?" I ask in a horrible attempt to change the subject and take my mind off of my own problems. "What does your love life look like these days?"

The weary chuckle he exhales pretty much says it all. "What love life?"

"You had a girlfriend last time I saw you."

"Oh, yeah... that's over. Not that it ever really started. Honestly, I think I'm gonna die alone."

"You're not gonna die alone!" I laugh softly as I roll my eyes at him. "You're just... cursed."

He snorts, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Oh, awesome! That makes me feel a lot better."

"It should! _I_ was cursed, too. I think every musician is. We're never able to settle down and truly commit until we find someone who we love more than music."

We drive in silence for a while, and I know him well enough to tell from the expression on his face as he stares out of the window at the fast-moving scenery around us that he's deep in thought about something. Whether or not it's what I've just said is anyone's guess.

"If I tell you something, you have to _swear_ not to tell Tommy." He suddenly proposes. "I'm sure that violates one of the 'Ten Commandments of Couplehood' or whatever, but I refuse to take crap from him. Especially not over this."

"Do I even wanna know?" I ask in somewhat anxious amusement.

Alex takes a breath, apparently preparing himself to divulge some huge secret, and the longer it takes him, the more concerned I become. "I think I already found them."

"Them who?"

"That person, you know? The one you were just talking about."

"The one I was..." Oh! "Who is it?!" He looks at me, so intently that I'm wondering if he's trying to psychically connect with me and communicate the answer with the power of his mind. Apparently I don't get to know who this mythical person is unless I can guess correctly. "Oh God, it's not Agnes, is it?"

His wrinkled nose is the perfect response. "No. But you're on the right track with the Ex Express."

"Hmm..." I run down a list of all of his most memorable relationships, trying to think of any that have the potential to be rekindled. And there's one that stands out over the rest. "Z?!" Once again, his face says it all. " _You're_ in love with Elizabeth Berg?!"

"Is it really that insane of a notion?!"

"No. I guess I'm just a little... surprised."

"A little?" He smirks.

"I didn't realize you guys were-"

"We're not." He quickly corrects me, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket, which is a sure sign that this topic is making him more than a little uncomfortable. " _She's_ not, anyway. I am, I think... I don't know."

"How long?" I ask gently.

"Since last time, I guess. I'm pretty sure it never stopped, you know? It was just shitty timing. She was too young and I was too..." He shakes his head sadly, heaving a heavy-hearted sigh. It's all so un-Alex, I'm not entirely sure how to handle it. "Sometimes I think maybe she feels the same, but then I think... probably not."

"Have you tried talking to her about it?"

"No, 'cause if she doesn't feel the same it'll make everything totally weird. We're on tour again next week, and everything this summer has gone better than we all hoped; no way am I gonna mess with a good thing and risk ruining it for everyone."

"So what are you gonna do?"

Judging by the protracted moment of silence that follows my question, the answer is: nothing.

I feel terrible for him. I know what it's like to want someone and feel like you can't have them, and to feel like your own happiness is at odds with everyone else's. I wish I had some advice to offer him, especially because he's so frequently there for me and more often than not helps me to figure out my own feelings and find my way through all of my uncertainty. But if I tell him to be honest with Z, the way I've been honest with everyone in my life lately, he could end up as alienated as I am. I know how freeing JJAMZ has been for him, for all of them, and I don't want to encourage him to do something that might jeopardize the future of the band or make working with Z impossibly awkward.

"Maybe after the tour?" I suggest in completely hopeless hopefulness.

"Yeah... maybe."

Probably not.

I pull over at departures, grateful that Tulsa International is no LAX and therefore I'm not going to be rushed through this goodbye by a chorus of impatient car horns. Viggo dutifully tears his attention away from my iPad just long enough to grin at Alex and tell him it was nice meeting him. And when Alex offers him a fist to bump and tells him he'll see him in L.A. in a few weeks, I'm hit by a rush of excitement over the thought of our impending move. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, but in moment like this one I'm reminded that it's really happening.

And fast!

"I'm sorry I'm gonna be out of town when you guys move. I wish I could be around to help you unpack and everything." He tells me as he pulls his bag out of the back seat.

"No you don't."

"No, I don't." He admits unashamedly. "But I _do_ want a guided tour and a beer as soon as I get back."

"Deal."

He wraps an arm around my shoulders, effortlessly pulling me into a tight hug. It's never easy to say goodbye to him, but right now it's especially hard. Having him around is a comfort, and with things so strained between myself and my family, I can use all of the comfort and friendly faces I can find.

But I lose him today and Tommy tomorrow...

I know it's only for a few weeks, just until we're all finally living in the same city. But those few weeks are stretched out in front of me like a road with no end in sight. And I'm afraid that I'm not going to get there without losing my way.

 


	36. Chapter 36

  


 

 

As soon as Alex has disappeared into the airport, my mind pulls itself from thoughts of the past and the future, and I find myself worrying about the present. I send Tommy a quick text as I get back into the car, carefully pulling away from the curb while glancing at my phone every two seconds to see if he's replied. It's not the best example of safe driving ever, but since the airport is so dead, it's not like I'm about to get hit by some asshole trying to speed out of the departures drop-off lane.

It takes him a minute of two to text me back, and when I see the length of his text I understand why. I can already feel my heart rate quicken as I begin to read, worrying about why he has so much to tell me, wondering how much has happened in my absence. Thankfully, it turns out to be nothing bad at all. He just wanted to give me a play-by-play of every move Ezra made when he came out of his bedroom to get some breakfast a little while ago.

He knows me so well.

With my fears over what Ezra might be getting up to quelled, I put my plans to rush home on hold and manage to think like a rational, level headed person for a change. Since I only have two kids with me, I'm presented with a perfect opportunity to get some much needed grocery shopping  done. When I suggest the idea to Tommy, I make sure to tell him that it can wait until later if he'd prefer I get back to the house sooner and relieve him of Ezra watch (in fact, I tell him about three times in one message). But he tells me he's fine, and he doesn't think Ezra is going to do much besides hide in his room anyway, so I head over to the store with Asta and Viggo.

I don't have a list, which is _very_ unlike me, but it's kind of freeing, too. I grab whatever looks appealing, and whatever I know we usually need more of, and I even let Viggo throw in a few things that he is adamant we _have to have_ (but that I'm one hundred percent sure he's never seen before in his life). It's the most relaxing grocery run I've done in a long time, and it's put me in an oddly good mood.

Which lasts right up until the point that I find myself driving home through Isaac's neighborhood.

It's not unusual for me to take this route back from the grocery store, but it is unusual for me to feel this way when doing so. Like I'm trespassing or something by being within five blocks of his house. I don't understand how it came to this. We used to be so close, at least when we were kids. He and Zac were my best friends, it was real, it wasn't just some line we fed the media to make us seem cuter. We did _everything_ together, we had so much fun...

But the older we got, the further apart we drifted. And the more honest I was about who I am, the bigger the wedge between us became. I don't know if that makes this estrangement my fault or his or both, I just know that it feels wrong. It hurts, and I want to heal it... I just don't know how.

I guess talking is as good a place to start as any, but given how bad we are at listening to one another, maybe it will only make things worse than they are. But I won't know until I try, right? And I _can't_ leave Tulsa without knowing that I at least attempted to repair this rift.

It takes me seven passes of his house before I finally swallow my nerves and my pride and pull into the drive way. And if it wasn't for Viggo begging me to let him out of the car so that he can see his cousins, I might have spent another few minutes just sitting out here and staring at the front door.

When Nikki eventually answers the door she looks surprised to see me, though not unhappy. Maybe that has something to do with the over excited kid and cute baby I brought along for the ride.

"Hey!" She smiles warmly at us, crouching down to hug Viggo as he practically leaps into her arms. "Where've you been, buddy? We missed you!"

"I've been at home." Viggo informs her simply. "We've been packing all our stuff to take to our new house!" What he means is _I_ have been packing all of our stuff to take to our new house, and he and his siblings have been watching movies. "Can I go play with Monroe?"

"Uh..." She glances at me quickly, looking for approval before letting him into the house, and I nod as I try not to dwell on the fact that a month ago she wouldn't have had to hesitate. "Sure thing, cutie. He's upstairs with Everett."

"Don't make a mess, dude!" I call after him as he rushes past his aunt. "We can't stay too long!"

"Okay!"

"How're you doing, stranger?" Nikki asks me somewhat sadly once Viggo is out of earshot. "I feel like we haven't seen you in months."

I sigh miserably, letting her take Asta out of my arms to say a proper 'hello'. "It's been a while, huh?"

"She's getting _so_ big. Is she walking yet?"

"Not quite. But she's been using the coffee table to pull herself up a lot, so..."

"Not long now." She grins at her niece. "You're gonna be giving your daddy hell in no time, aren't you? Yes you are! He doesn't stand a chance."

"Gee, thanks!"

"Anytime."

I give her a few seconds longer to coo over Asta before taking a deep breath and forcing myself to get to the real reason I'm here. Though I'm sure she already knows. "Is Ike around?"

"Sorry." She shakes her head apologetically. " He went into the office. I think he and Zac were gonna work on something... he wasn't very specific."

"Oh."

I don't know whether to be relieved that he's not here, or disappointed. And I also don't know whether to be hurt that they're meeting at _our_ record company offices without so much as mentioning it to me, or whether I should have just expected it. It's not like their lives and their careers simply come to a halt without me around. They have to talk about the future of the company and the band, they have to keep living. And since one of them won't speak to me and the other has been forbidden from doing so, it makes it a little tricky for me to be involved in any meetings that might occur.

"I can tell him you stopped by...?"

"Um..." Is there any point? "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

"No problem." She nods, reluctantly handing my daughter back to me. "You know... if you don't have plans for the rest of the day or anything, you can just let Viggo hang out here."

"Oh. Well..."

"I know he doesn't like it when you're not around, but I can usually get him to settle pretty fast. And his cousins have been asking to see him for weeks."

Ouch. She really knows where to hit to inflict maximum guilt. "Yeah, he's been asking for them, too."

"I'll drop him home later. After dinner, maybe?"

"Okay, sounds good."

"You know... you don't have to rush off right away, either. I don't bite, and I make a pretty good cup of coffee."

I'm initially surprised by her welcoming attitude, but only for a second. She might be married to Ike, but she's _not_ Ike. She's always been much more flexible than he is, a lot more easy going and a lot less melodramatic. Zac and I both breathed sighs of relief when he fell for her, we hoped that maybe she'd get him to relax a little and learn not to overreact to every little thing. And she has, to a certain extent. But there's only so much one person can do.

"Thanks, Nik." I can tell by the look on her face that she already knows I'm about to decline the invitation. "If I didn't have a car full of groceries, I'd totally take you up on that."

"Well, it's an open offer if you ever change your mind. Obviously you know where we live."

"I do." I chuckle softly, taking a slow, reluctant step back. "Call me if Viggo kicks up too much of a fuss."

"Will do."

I'm in the middle of putting Asta back in her car seat when I hear Nikki call out to me, and by the time I've turned around to face her, she's standing right behind me.

"What's wrong?" I frown uncertainly, looking around for some sign of my son throwing a fit over my departure. But there's no fit throwing to be seen.

"I'm working on it." She assures me sympathetically. "Ike's stubborn and he's angry, and believe it or not, he's _really_ hurting. But he'll come around."

I wish I believed that. "I hope so."

"I _know_ so. Trust me, I have my ways."

"I don't doubt that." For the first time in _too_ long, someone in my family is hugging me. Maybe it's not someone who shares the same blood as me, but it's still more than I expected when I came here today. "I'm sorry for making everything so shitty for everyone."

"Don't be stupid." She chastises me playfully. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I feel like I've thrown everyone's lives into upheaval."

"Our lives are always in some form of upheaval anyway."

"But this is different." I insist, as I reluctantly pull out of her embrace. "Things are changing _so_ much-"

"Maybe they needed to." She shrugs. "And maybe it'll be for the better, in the end."

"I hope you're right."

"Didn't Ike ever tell you? I'm _always_ right."

I laugh, wrapping her in another immensely grateful hug. "I guess he forgot to mention that."

"Probably because it'd be the same as admitting that he's wrong sometimes, and he's not capable of that."

"Don't I know it." I sigh wearily, giving her one last squeeze before letting go again. "In case I don't say it enough, I'm really glad he married you. It's nice having a sane sister-in-law."

"I appreciate that. And don't worry, I won't tell Kate you said it." Nikki winks conspiratorially.

"Tell her. If she thinks I have _anything_ nice to say about her at this point, she's _definitely_ insane."

"No comment."

She doesn't need to comment; the smirk on her face makes her feelings on the situation more than clear. I just wish that she wasn't in the minority as far as my family's opinion of my recent life choices goes. I wish more of them saw things the way she does. But she's always been different from them. Less religious, more liberal. No one _talks_ about it, because it's never been much of an issue before, but we all _know_ it. Natalie and Kate were the good, wholesome girls. The only "bad" thing Natalie ever did was getting knocked up by me out of wedlock, and we sure fixed that as best we could. Kate was even more morally perfect; she didn't put out until her wedding night. Nikki was the "party girl", the extroverted ex-underwear model. But now she's a good wife and mother, so everyone excuses her _sordid_ past behavior.

It's all _so_ stupid.

The bottom line is that she's a good, kind, compassionate person. _Why_ can't that be all that matters?

Seeing the 'For Sale' sign in the front yard as I pull into my driveway leaves me with such a bittersweet feeling. Some days I barely notice it, and other days I'm so busy staring at it that I almost drive right into the garage door. I'm excited to start my life, truly, but sad to leave some of the life I've been living until now behind. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid of the fact that there's no 'Sold' sticker slapped across that sign yet. We've had a couple of showings this past week, and the realtor said there have been a lot of inquiries, but none of those things add up to a sale.

It's just one more problem I can't do anything to solve. One more part of my life that's left hanging in the balance, waiting on the decisions of other people. But in the grand scheme of things, it's the least of my worries. Right now, all I care about is making sure my kids are okay.

The house seems unusually quiet when I first open the door. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised; Asta is asleep in my arms, Viggo is with his cousins, Ezra is probably holed up in his room, which means that River and Penny are the only two around to make any noise. I'm on my way over to the stairs to take Asta up to her crib when I hear the faint but very familiar sounds of a Disney movie coming from the living room. But that's not what stops me in my tracks. It's Tommy's voice. And I'm so curious to know who he's talking to that I automatically change course and slowly approach the living room instead.

"You really like this movie, huh?"

"It's my favorite." I hear Penny tell him plainly, which only piques my interest even more.

"Ya know... Belle's my favorite Disney princess." He informs her unashamedly, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing as I cautiously peer around the corner and watch them. She raises an eyebrow at him, giving him this skeptical, almost withering look that he unconcernedly shrugs off. "What? You think I'm making it up?"

" _You_ like Disney movies?"

"Some of them."

Penny seems to consider this for a moment, eyeing him suspiciously before returning her attention to the TV. "How come Belle is your favorite?"

"'Cause she's smart, and she's brave, you know? She doesn't need a guy to look after her, _she_ saves the guys. And she's different, and everyone gives her crap... I mean teases her for it, but she doesn't even care." He explains so sincerely that even I'm a little surprised. Penny wasn't the only one who suspected that he was lying about liking Disney princesses just to get on her good side. "They're all happy to live their boring little lives, but she wants to get out of there and do something _more_. I like that."

"She's my favorite, too."

"Yeah?"

"She's nice to everyone, and she takes care of people... just like my mommy."

Wow.

I don't know how I never figured that out before; now that she's said it, it makes _so_ much sense. I'm not the only one who has been rendered momentarily speechless by her confession, though. And just as I'm about to attempt to act natural so that I can go in there and save Tommy from this thorny territory he's unintentionally wandered into, my daughter boldly baits him further.

"My mommy was prettier than _all_ of the Disney princesses." She declares wholeheartedly. "And smarter, and kinder."

"I bet she was."

"I'm gonna be like her when I grow up. _Everyone_ loved her, especially my daddy."

"He did." Tommy nods confidently, determined not to fail this test she seems to be putting him through. "He still does. You don't stop loving someone just because they're not there anymore."

"I'm _never_ going to stop loving my mommy."

"Good."

She grants him a brief reprieve, turning her attention away from his face and back to the movie just long enough for him to drop his unaffected, indifferent attitude. I _knew_ it had to be getting to him, no matter how aware of it all he already was and how sincerely he believes that this is how it should be. I really don't know how he's doing this, how he can sit beside her and pretend he's fine while she talks this way. But I know _why_ he's doing it. It's for me, for us. He can't hide from my kids. If we're going to be together, he can't cower from conversations like this. In her own, innocent little way, Penny is trying to let him know that he's stepping on territory she doesn't believe he should be on. And he's holding his own, not fighting her on it but not backing away, either.

"Do you believe in God?"

Oh boy...

"Uh..." He hesitates, which is _so_ unusual for him when it comes to this topic, but I understand why this _isn't_ the usual religious debate for him. With adults, he has no problem stating his opinion. But with a seven-year-old girl? It's not so simple. " _I_ don't. But my whole family does, and just 'cause I don't believe in him, that doesn't mean he doesn't exist."

"But _you_ don't think he does?"

He holds her stare for a moment, clearly weighing the pros and cons of honesty. "No, not really."

"So you don't believe in Heaven or Hell?" He shakes his head, and she takes a few seconds to deliberate this information. "Is that why you think it's okay to kiss boys instead of girls? Because you don't believe in God?"

Again, the question seems to throw him a little, and he chuckles uncertainly before attempting an answer. "Sort of. I think it's okay to kiss boys _or_ girls, because I think that... love is the best thing about life. And... I don't believe that people can choose who they fall in love with. So if a boy falls in love with a boy, I think he should be able to kiss him without feeling bad about it."

"Do you think people who _don't_ think it's okay are bad?" She presses anxiously, a worried frown on her little face.

"No." He assures her quickly. "I think that they just... don't understand. Sometimes, when people don't understand things, it scares them. So they just say those things are 'bad' or 'wrong' because then they don't have to _try_ to understand it, and it makes it easier for them to deal with. Does that make sense?"

"I guess..."

"It's like... like Belle and the Beast." Tommy points out, leaving both Penny _and_ me staring at him doubtfully, trying to figure out how this comparison is going to unfold. "Everyone in her town thinks it's weird that she loves him, right? They all think it's wrong."

"Because he's a beast."

"Because he's different from them. And they don't understand how she can love someone so different, so they say he's bad and it's wrong." Penny turns back to the screen, cocking her head in quiet contemplation. "But _we_ know it's not wrong. We know that he's a good... well, he's not a person, but he's still good. And he loves Belle, and she loves him, and there's nothing bad about that, right?"

"Right..." She sighs heavily, troubled by how much sense he's making, and how that sense is incompatible with everything her mother once told her.

"It's okay to not know what you think." He tells her gently. "What's _most_ important is that what you think is what _you_ think. Everyone should make up their own mind about what they think is right or wrong, they shouldn't just believe what they're told to believe. It's _good_ to ask questions when something doesn't make sense to you. And it's okay to believe some things and not others, you know? I mean... I think it's totally cool if you believe in God _and_ you believe that it's okay for boys to kiss boys."

"But how can you believe it's okay _and_ believe in God if God says it's _not_ okay."

Tommy shakes his head, smiling faintly at her baffled expression. " _People_ say that God says it's not okay. But no one _really_ knows what God thinks, because God hasn't ever really spoken to anyone. They say he said what _they_ want to believe he said, but it's all just stuff people made up. God didn't write the Bible, people did. And the only thing that _everyone_ who believes in God agrees on is that he loves us."

"So... if there is a God, and there is a Heaven, do you think you and daddy will still get to go?" She asks hopefully.

"I think your dad is a shoo-in, but I'll probably have to ask _really_ nicely." He nudges her playfully, and she rolls her eyes at him as she tries to keep her own smile under control. "Honestly... I love your dad. _A lot_. And he loves me, too. And I think that love is better than hate. So if people who hate us get to go to Heaven, I think we'll be okay."

Okay, that's it. From now on, Tommy can do _all_ the talking and I'll just stand there and nod in agreement with everything he says. I take complicated conversations and difficult discussions with my kids and somehow make them worse. He takes them and relates them to cartoons so that they actually understand what he's saying!

I can only look on in awe as Penny briefly returns to watching the movie before her eyes drift back to Tommy, and then down to his hands.

"Your nail polish is coming off." She points out.

"Yeah... I keep forgetting to fix it."

"I can fix it for you, if you want?"

He smiles down at her in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, but I only have pink or silver."

"Hmm... which one do you think'll suit me more?"

"Silver." She informs him matter-of-factly before hopping off of the couch.

As soon as I realize that she's walking right towards me, I quickly back away and slip into the den until she's passed me by and is on her way up the stairs. I'm torn between going into the living room and telling Tommy how amazing what he just did for her was, or taking Asta up to her room the way I originally planned and pretending I never eavesdropped on their conversation. I want him to know how much I appreciate him helping Penny to begin asking questions, because it's the only way she's ever going to be able to try to understand any of this. But at the same time, it almost feels as though it would be better to let it stay between the two of them. I don't want him to think that he needs to get my blessing every time he talks to one of my kids like this;  clearly he doesn't need it.

Before I can make up my mind, Penny comes hurrying back down the stairs with her little bag of nail polishes clutched in her hand, and the decision is made for me. I don't want to interrupt this bonding moment they appear to be having, so I go back to my original task of putting Asta down for a nap and unpacking groceries. By the time I'm done, River has joined them in the living room, and Penny is painting his nails, too. He's never let her do it before,  but I guess seeing Tommy getting it done made it a whole hell of a lot cooler to him than it was when it was just his big sister trying to practice her manicure skills on him.

Things are going _well_.

My kids are laughing, they're _happy_. After the traumatic events of yesterday, I didn't expect things to feel okay for a lot longer than this. I'm not foolish enough to think that it's all better now, but it's still better than I thought it would be.

Apparently I _am_ foolish enough to attempt to talk to my eldest son, though.

I should know better than this by now, I should know that it only ever makes things worse. But how can I _not_ try? How can I just _not_ talk to him? Even if he yells at me, or tells me to get out of his room, or simply sits there and pretends that I don't exist and he can't hear a word I'm saying...

I _have_ to try.

Knocking is pointless, but I do it anyway. Waiting for an invitation is even more pointless, but again, I do it. And as I open the door, I'm holding my breath wondering if I'm about to walk into an empty room again and spend the rest of the day running all over the neighborhood in a desperate search for my runaway son. But I find him sitting on his bed, playing video games, acting like I'm not here at all. The door clicks as I close it behind me, but he doesn't even flinch at the sound or show any awareness that I'm approaching the bed. When I sit down on the edge of the mattress, he rolls his eyes and heaves a disgruntled sigh as he shifts a little further away.

There's no point in trying to make small talk. I could ask him what he's doing, but it's _obvious_ what he's doing. I could ask what he wants for lunch, but _if_ he even bothers to respond it'll only be to tell me he's not hungry. I don't know how to talk to my own son anymore, because he _won't_ talk to me. Last night, at the park, as painful as everything he said to me was, it was the most he's said to me in _months_. I'm almost tempted to provoke him somehow so that he'll do it again now. I can deal with him screaming at me if that's what he wants to do, because at least that's _something_.

And something has to be better than all of this nothing, doesn't it?


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY!CHAPTER.

  


 

 

Phoenix, Arizona - October 17th, 2012

Thirty-one.

 _Ugh_.

When did I get so fucking _old_?

This is _not_ okay, I didn't sign off on this! I can't be thirty-one, I don't even _look_ thirty-one! That's not me being a conceited asshole, by the way, that's just me repeating other people's opinions!

There must've been a mistake or something... maybe they put the wrong date on my birth certificate? It's some kind of conspiracy!

"Thirty-one! _Youch!_ " Brian slaps me playfully on the back, and I turn on him like some kind of wild animal ready to bite his hand off.

"Fuck off."

He backs away immediately, but he's still wearing a taunting smirk. "Calm down, Grandpa. You'll give yourself a stroke!"

"Be nice, children." Smiles Adam from the couch he's lounging on across the room from us, though he doesn't bother looking up from his phone, which probably means he's sexting with Sauli or someshit. "Peace and love... etcetera, etcetera."

"You don't look at day over thirty!" Ashley assures me sweetly as she takes a sip of her beer. "Maybe even a very mature twenty-nine."

"You all _suck._ "

Reyna's mouth falls open in horrified offense. "I didn't say anything!"

"Yeah, well, you were thinkin' it." I mutter childishly. Because I am childish. I'm not mature enough to be _thirty-one_! This isn't fair! "I'm still thirty until midnight, bitches, so show a little fucking respect!"

"Yeah!" Echoes Brian in mock support. "He's only teeterin' on the top of the hill, he ain't over it _yet_!"

"Dude, don't even sweat it." Rick shakes his head in amusement as he watches me slap the shit out of our douche bag musical director. "There's nothin' wrong with being in your thirties. Everyone thinks that their twenties are the best years of their life, but that's such bullshit."

A pity pep-talk? Shoot me now. "Whatever."

"It's true! You have no fucking clue what you're doing for most of your twenties, it's a giant mess. Your thirties are when you figure out what you want and actually start _doing_ it."

"Yeah, sure. Thirty-one is the new twenty-one." I reply sarcastically, pouring myself another shot of whiskey. "I feel so fucking _spry_!"

"No one uses the word 'spry' anymore." Keisha remarks, grabbing a handful of grapes from the table beside me on her way over to the dressing room mirrors.

"That's not true." Protests Reyna. "Old people use words like 'spry' all the time."

"Hey, T-Bone, say 'when I was a lad'." Ashley chuckles playfully. "Ooh! Or 'in my day', that's even better."

"I quit."

"You can't quit!" Adam blocks my dramatic exit with his long-ass leg as I make my way over to the dressing room door. "Where else am I gonna find such a pretty guitarist?"

"I dunno, not my problem." I reply petulantly as he curls his leg around mine like a shepherd's staff and pulls me down onto the end of the couch. "Find an ugly one."

"I don't _want_ an ugly one. I _like_ having pretty, young things to look at on stage."

"Ha _ha_."

"What? I'm serious!"

"I'm not young, I'm _old_." I pout.

"But you don't _look_ it."

"Yeah, besides, you're as young as the woman you feel up, right?" Brian winks at me. "And Liz is what? Twenty -four?"

Oh... right.

I knew there was something I forgot to mention to them. "Yeah."

" _Don't need candles and cake_ ," Sings Reyna, sending Ashley and Brian reeling as Keisha joins in for the next line of the song. " _Just need your body to make..."_

" _Birthday sex, birthday sex!_ " Chants _everyone_ in the whole fucking room, because this wasn't bad enough already. " _Birthday sex, birthday-_ "

"Yeah, okay, I got it."

"Jeez, you're gettin' crabby in your old age."

I'm not even moping because of my impending birthday anymore. I'm moping because I _won't_ be getting any birthday sex. At least, not on my actual birthday. I won't even get to see Taylor tomorrow, let alone touch him.

Whatever. I don't care. It's no big deal.

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?

I care.

I should be used to not being able to be with him whenever I want to be. And even after he moves out to California, there's always going to be a chance that I'll be out of town for a show on my birthday, or his, or Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years...

I never gave a shit about missing birthdays and special occasions before. If I was on tour on my birthday I still got to spend it with my band mates, and that was always awesome. Maybe even _better_ than spending it with whoever I happened to be dating at the time. But now, everything feels different. I'm _disappointed_ that I won't be with him tomorrow.

And no, it's not just because I want 'birthday sex'... although I _definitely_ wouldn't decline it if it was offered.

The show goes well, except for the part where Adam tells the entire fucking state fair that it's my birthday _and_ how old I'm going to be. I expected it, even though he _swore_ that he wasn't going to say anything, and I smiled and played along with the joking about how depressing it is to be me right now. To be honest, I kinda hate it when he singles me out on stage. The kissing and stuff was always fine, that was just another kind of performance for me, but when he wants me to like... talk or whatever in front of _thousands_ of people, I feel so fucking lame. I'm not like him and Taylor, I'm not a lead singer or a front man. I'm a guitarist. I'm no good at the whole "are we having fun tonight" bullshit stand-up routine. I just wanna hang out in the back with my guitar and play!

But the on-stage banter kinda comes with this job, and this job is a fucking dream come true, so I've learned to get over my awkwardness and participate to the best of my ability.

Most of the time.

I gotta admit, though, having that many people sing happy birthday to you is pretty fucking amazing. Even if you _aren't_ all that stoked about being another year older. The only thing that could've made that moment more incredible was if Taylor could've been there somehow.

But at least I have the chance to say goodnight to him before grabbing a few drinks with the band.

"You sound exhausted."

"I _am_ exhausted. I swear this house generates _stuff_." Taylor insists as I smile to myself and check (again) to make sure no one is eavesdropping on our call. "I don't know where it all comes from, it just goes on and on... there aren't enough boxes and rolls of bubble wrap in the world!"

"You'll get there." I reassure him encouragingly. "When do the moving vans arrive again?"

"A week from tomorrow. Then the kids and I fly out to Los Angeles and stay in a hotel for the weekend until the vans arrive at the new house. _Then_ the _un_ packing begins."

"I still feel like shit that I'm not gonna be around to help out much. I mean, I'm gonna help out as much as I can-"

"I know. But you have to do your job, too. It's okay; I packed it, I can unpack it. It'll just... take a while."

"Are you _sure_ you don't want me to fly out there so I can travel with you guys back to L.A.? You shouldn't have to deal with five kids in an airport by yourself."

" _No_ way!" He insists resolutely. "Don't get me wrong, I _really_ appreciate the offer, but I'll manage. I don't want you wasting time and money flying out here just to fly back again. You've been back and forth enough this month already. You only _just_ got back from Australia, now you're in Arizona, next it's Texas... you don't need to add Tulsa to the list, too."

"I don't mind."

"I know you don't, and I love you for offering-"

"Really?" I tease lightly. "I thought you loved me for my looks."

"Those too."

"Will you still love me when my looks start to fade?" I lament with a heavy sigh. "'Cause I'm not going to be young and beautiful forever."

"Well hopefully my eye sight will go before your looks do, so we'll never have to find out."

"Asshole. It's my birthday, you gotta be nice to me!"

"It's not your birthday _yet_." He quickly corrects me.

"It is in some parts of the world."

"And if I lived in those parts of the world I would be _so_ nice to you, it'd blow your mind."

Too easy...

But  when has that ever stopped me before? "How 'bout you blow something else?"

"Believe me, I'd _love_ to."

I don't know if it's the way he says it or simply the idea of it, but _something_ about the direction this conversation has just taken leaves me practically purring. And whatever noise it is I just made has obviously had a similar effect on him, because I can _hear_ how unsteady his breathing is as he inhales. It just turns me on even more, and leaves me squirming in my seat as I glance at the dressing room door. I'm about to force myself to go and lock it when Adam suddenly appears in the doorway and calls out to someone that he's "found me".

Which means this is officially a lost cause.

"I _hate_ to say this, but-"

"You have to go." Taylor sighs knowingly. "It's fine, you should have fun."

"I _was_ having fun." I point out grumpily. "Maybe we can talk again tomorrow morning?"

"Want a wake-up call?"

" _Hell_ yeah."

"Anything for my birthday boy." He chuckles tiredly. "Go, drink too much and have a good time. I'll be thinking about you..."

Damn. I know what _that_ means. "You're _evil_."

"Yup."

"Tick, tock, TommyJoe." Adam taunts from the doorway, waving a bottle of over-priced vodka at me like it's a stick and I'm a well trained dog. It's actually not too far off, sadly. "You're not gettin' any younger!"

"I have to go and get drunk."

"Poor baby." Taylor coos mockingly. "I know how much you hate doing that."

"Right? Of all the ways to spend my night..."

"Well, if you feel like drunk dialing me at two in the morning-"

"Don't worry, I won't."

"I was gonna say you should feel free. You're not the only one who enjoys our very special brand of wake-up calls."

"You just got yourself one hell of a date." I laugh softly, noticing Adam tapping his watchless wrist. "I'll talk to you later."

"Have fun."

"Thanks. Love you."

"Naww!" Adam's hand flies to his chest as he gazes at me like a proud parent or something. "Tommy!"

"Fuck off."

"Bye Wiz!" He calls out, though luckily it's _after_ I've already ended the call. "Wuv you, too!"

"Knock it off. You sound like a fucking Care Bear."

"I'm sorry." No, he's not. I can tell from the grin on his face. "I just had no idea you guys were _there_ , you know?"

Fuck it. I can't do this anymore.

"Listen... um... about that..."

"About what?"

"It wasn't Liz I was talking to." I admit uncomfortably as I slip my iPhone into the pocket of my jeans.

His bright smile fades into a frown of confusion and concern. "Wait... does that mean... are you seeing someone else?"

"No." At least, not in the way he thinks. "We broke up."

"When?" He asks in total surprise, which makes me feel even shittier for keeping this from him.

But it's not like I did it on purpose! "Um... about a month ago... almost... I guess..."

"A month ago you _guess_? What the hell, Tommy. When were you planning on letting the rest of us in on this 'little' turn of events?"

"I dunno." I give a pathetic, awkward shrug as he closes the door behind him, shutting the rest of the world out so that we can talk in private. Or so he can interrogate me without an audience. "It just didn't really come up."

"You mean every time any of us have mentioned her or asked you what's going on in your life for the past four weeks, that wasn't it 'coming up'?" He questions, quirking an eyebrow at me in that ' _really,_ TommyJoe?' way that he's had down pat since the day we met. "So if it wasn't Liz you were talking to, who was it?"

Oh boy, here it comes... "You remember Taylor?"

For a moment it appears that he actually doesn't remember, which I guess is fair enough. The last time he and I really talked about Taylor at all was after Fools Banquet. He asked how it went, I told him it was awful and I never wanted to see Taylor again, he seemed relieved, and that was that. When Taylor and I got back together I chose not to mention it to anyone but Isaac, and so when we broke up again there was nothing to tell. That was a year and a half ago, and Adam's had a lot going on in his life since then. I don't blame him for having no idea who Taylor-

"You mean Taylor _Hanson_? _Again_?!" He asks suddenly, his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock. "Tommy, come _on_!"

"It's different this time." The only response I get is a skeptical scoff and an eye roll. "It _is_. It's not an affair anymore, we're _really_ together."

"Oh yeah? And how's his wife feel about that?"

"Well, considering the fact that she's dead, she probably doesn't have too much of an opinion on the subject."

Again, he looks stunned, but again, it only lasts for a few seconds. "Shit. I think I remember seeing something about that..."

"Yeah, so... he's not married anymore. He's not cheating on anyone, and I'm not just some dirty little secret."

"But he still has kids, right? Like ... a whole _bunch_ of 'em."

"Five."

"Wh..." Whatever it was he was about to say is lost in a breath of laughter, but it's pretty obvious he's not finding this funny. "So... what? You're gonna jump right in there and be a step-father of five? Just like that?"

"I..." Why does he have to make it sound so fucking insane? I _knew_ no one would think I could do this. "Why not?"

"It's _a lot_ , Tommy. I mean... _five_ kids!"

"I _know_ it's a lot, okay? It's not like I haven't thought it through."

"I'm not saying you haven't." Adam assures me in a much gentler tone than the one he's been using so far. "But it's not something you can imagine, you know? You can't know what something like this is gonna be like until you actually _do_ it."

"What're you saying? You think I can't handle it?"

"That's _not_ what I'm saying. I would _never_ say you couldn't handle something, I know better." He tells me sincerely, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder and giving it a supportive squeeze. "But... are you _sure_ you _want_ this?"

"I'm sure I want _him_." I reply without a second thought. "And... his kids are great. I mean, yeah, it can be a little crazy sometimes, but... I figure, if you love someone, you can't just pick and choose the pieces of them you want, you know? You gotta want all of them, you gotta take all of them."

He nods slowly, his eyes searching mine and making me feel a hell of a lot less sure of myself than I usually do. He's one of _very_ few people in my life who can do this to me, because he's one of very few people who can somehow see every last shred of my self-doubt no matter how much of a front I try to put up.

"You can love someone and not take _any_ of them." He reminds me sympathetically. "That's a choice, too."

"Not for me. I've tried, Adam. I've _tried_ not being with him at all, and it was fucking _hell_. It's like... you wake up every day, and you make the best of it, 'cause what the hell else are you supposed to do? But it's _always_ in the back of your mind how much fucking _better_ everything could feel, you know? I mean... imagine if you couldn't see Sauli anym-"

"No, thanks."

"Exactly. So..."

"So... what? Does this mean you're like... a _dad_ now?" He asks uncertainly, which just seems to weird us both out.

"No! I'm just... seeing someone who has kids."

"But if it works out with him, and you guys stay together long term, then _you_ basically have five kids, too, right? I mean... sooner or later, you'll move in with him-"

"Yeah, one day. Not _yet_ though." I insist so quickly that he apparently finds it funny. "I love him, but I'm _not_ their dad, not even if I live with them. I'm just..." Who the hell knows _what_ I am. "I'm me, you know? That's not gonna change."

Why does that feel like such a fucking lie?

He nods, smiling at me fondly as he unscrews the cap on the bottle in his hand. "I'll drink to that, TommyJoe."

After he's taken a sip, he hands the bottle to me and I throw back a shot (and a half) of my own, both cringing from and savoring the burning sensation in my throat as I swallow it. "That's some good shit."

"Only the best for you, beautiful."

Fuck, there he goes again. Being a better friend than I apparently know how to have. I should have told him all of this weeks ago, when it actually happened. And the worst part is, I'm not even sure if I would've told him tonight if he hadn't overheard my conversation with Taylor. I don't know _when_ I would've told him. Or anyone, for that matter.

I don't know _how_.

"Look, Adam... I _really_ am sorry I wasn't upfront with you about all this." I sigh regretfully, handing the vodka bottle back to him. "I owe you more than this-"

"Hey, it's none of my business. Just 'cause you play guitar for me doesn't mean you're required to divulge every detail of your personal life."

"I don't just play guitar for you, though."

He smiles faintly, affectionately. "No, you don't."

"And I know I don't have to tell you _everything_ , but... this is different."

"How?" He frowns, dropping down onto the couch and nodding for me to join him.

"Because... I dunno..." I slump against the plush black leather, staring glumly at my chipped, silver nail polish. "There's probably gonna be at least a few assholes who don't like the fact that we're together. And those people are gonna kick up a fuss and start talking shit about me and him, and... I guess I just feel like anything _I_ do that looks bad has the potential to make _you_ look bad by association. And I don't want that."

"You know what? You're probably right. There's always someone out there who thinks it's their job to comment on the way other people choose to live their lives, and you probably _are_ gonna get a lot of shit for this, and that _sucks_. But I got your back, okay? Anyone who has a problem with you, _I_ have a problem with."

"And I appreciate that, you have _no_ idea how much..."

"But?" He asks, and even without looking at him, I can feel him watching me, waiting for me to spit out whatever it is I'm trying to say.

"I've been thinking about it _a lot_ , and I just... I don't want anything _I_ do to have a negative impact on you. And maybe it won't, maybe no one will give a fuck that I'm dating a formerly straight, 90's teen idol whose wife _died_ less than a year ago." Who am I kidding? They're gonna have a field day. "But... if they do care, and if you need me to-"

"I won't." He cuts me off, already knowing what it is I'm about to offer. "You're not going _anywhere_. I'm not gonna ask you to, and if you try to leave, I'm gonna fucking cuff you to my leg."

"That sounds hella practical."

"You're my brother, okay? You're not just 'glamily', you're _family_. You're stuck with me."

"I'm not saying we wouldn't still be friends, I'm just saying-"

"I _know_ what you're saying, and _I'm_ saying it's not happening. Got it?"

I couldn't argue with that even if I wanted to. "Yes, boss."

"Good guitarist." He praises condescendingly, patting me on the head with one hand while thrusting the bottle of vodka in my face with the other. "Now get yer drink on. It's party time!"

" _Yes_ , boss!"

Needless to say, by the end of the night the bottle is empty. Actually, it's empty by the end of the hour, and it's not the only one. I usually try to pace myself when I know I have a long night of heavy drinking ahead of me, because there are several different stages of drunk Tommy, and I prefer to bounce around in the early stages and avoid the latter ones. The latter ones generally involve over-thinking, deep, emotional pondering, and eventually puking. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if the puking was a direct result of the pondering; it can get pretty nauseating.

Unfortunately, despite my best efforts to control my alcohol consumption, I end up stumbling over that thin line between buzzed and broody. At some point in the early hours of the morning, I find myself sitting alone, watching my band mates and friends drinking and having an awesome time... and I start wondering if this is all gonna change.

I told Adam I wouldn't change, but what if I _have_ to? Can I still be with a guy who has kids _and_ go out drinking with my friends? And how long will it be before Taylor gets sick of me missing out on birthdays and holidays, and wants me to stop touring and stay home with him? He _says_ he won't, but what if he changes his mind? Am I going to be able to walk away from all of this and go back to a 'normal' life? Am I going to hate him for asking me to?

Is _he_ going to hate _me_ if I can't?

Instead of ending my night with some semi-drunken phone sex the way I'd originally intended to, I wind up throwing up the last couple of rounds of drinks I had and passing out fully clothed on my hotel bed alone.

I'm woken up sometime around nine am by my phone ringing. It's a totally reasonable time to be woken up, but to my pounding head it feels entirely fucking intrusive and merciless. I already know that it's Taylor because of the ringtone, but what I'm not expecting is to see that he's requesting a FaceTime call when I look at the screen. For a minute, I hesitate. Not so much because I'm sure I look like shit right now; I figure he's gonna wind up seeing me at my first-thing-in-the-morning-after-a-drunken-night worst sooner or later. But as the thoughts I fell asleep with last night begin to overwhelm my mind all over again, I feel an intense rush of shame that I'm afraid will be written all over my face if I answer this call.

I hesitate for so long that eventually the ringing stops and his picture disappears from the screen. And a moment later, I receive a text.

_Still asleep?_

I could ignore the text and pretend that I am asleep, but that just seems like a recipe for _more_ guilt, which is the last thing I need right now.

_Not entirely. What's up with the FaceTime thing?_

It's a stupid question. What's up is that it's my birthday and I'm his boyfriend, and since we're hundreds of miles apart, he probably thought it'd be nice for me to at least be able to see his face when he wished me a happy birthday.

God, I'm an _asshole_.

_Nothing much. Just had something I wanted to show you..._

Okay, Tommy. Time to put your big boy undies on.

After running my hands through my hair in a pointless effort to tame it a little, I push myself up against the pillows behind me and take a long, deep breath. All I have to do is smile and pretend I'm a little sleepy and a little hung over. iPhone cameras are good, but hopefully not good enough for him to be able to see that something's on my mind...

It only takes him a couple of seconds to accept my FaceTime request, which isn't surprising seeing as he was probably expecting it. But it takes me more than a couple of seconds to figure out exactly what it is that I'm looking at once my phone connects to the camera on his, because it's _nothing_ I expected. It's a sign, or a banner or something, with " _Happy Birthday, Tommy_!" written in sloppy, childlike lettering. It's hard to tell, but I think there's glitter... and streamers... and as the camera moves back, I can see that there are balloons taped to the corners, too.

And standing behind it, holding it up proudly for me to see, are three grinning children.

" _Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Tommy, happy birthday to you!_ "

I'm... speechless.

I don't think I've had a group of children sing happy birthday to me like that since I _was_ a child! It was pretty much the cutest fucking thing I've seen in longer than I can remember, and I hate that I'm here and they're there and I can't grab all three of them and hug the adorable life out of them right now. And then, just to make it worse (or better... I don't even know), Taylor turns the camera onto himself, revealing that he and Asta are wearing matching party hats, and he has a noise maker in his mouth.

As soon as he blows on it Asta slaps it right out of his mouth and starts laughing, and so do I. I still can't think of _anything_ to say, but I don't feel like I really need to speak. Everything feels simple. It feels okay. I'm looking at them, with their homemade sign, and their hats and balloons... and suddenly nothing I was worried about last night worries me anymore. I feel like an idiot for letting it all get to me _again_ , for doubting myself and my ability to do this _again_.

I can do this.

I think...


	38. Chapter 38

  


 

 

Tulsa, Oklahoma - October 25th, 2012

I've been waiting for today for weeks, months... my whole life, if I'm being completely honest.

Everything has been building towards this, it's like coming to the last page of the longest book I've ever read. That one, thin piece of paper is all that stands between me closing this book and beginning it's much anticipated sequel. I'm so excited to be done with it, to move on to a new story that's (hopefully) comprised of less heartache than this one has been.

But it's scary to let that last page flutter from my fingers when there are so many questions I still have no answers for. So many loose ends left untied.

My house has been packed up, everything we own is either waiting to be loaded onto a moving truck, or it's on sale at the neighborhood Goodwill. There's not so much as a stray sock or even a paperclip to be found on the floor anywhere. I've swept, mopped, cleaned out all of the cupboards and drawers, and wiped down every counter top and shelf. I've probably gone overboard on the organization, because it's the only part of this process that I can even attempt to control. I can put it all into boxes and seal it all up neatly with tape.

I can't clean up the mess I've made of the rest of my life so methodically.

I've seen my parents and Pam several times over the last couple of weeks, but only to drop off and pick up the kids. We exchange pleasantries and keep things civil, for their sake, but I can see in my mom's eyes that she still feels like her son's body has been possessed by some immoral being. And I'd be furious with her for feeling that way if it wasn't for the fact that she looks so fucking _heartbroken_ all the time. It makes it impossible for me to be mad at her, but so easy for me to be mad at myself.

My brothers and sisters have all been by the house at least once, but again, only to take the kids out for a few hours, not to make peace with me. Ike still seems to find it impossible to look me in the face, he just focuses all of his attention on his nieces and nephews and ignores my presence as much as he can. Zac, on the other hand, seems to want nothing more than to talk to me. But with Kate always accompanying him over to the house and waiting impatiently in the car, he can never spend more than a minute of two with me. He texts me when he can, and calls me whenever he's at the studio and there's no one around to catch him. It's all so ridiculous, but we both know it's what he needs to do right now in order to hold on to his wife and kids, so we don't question it.

I just wish I knew if I was going to get to say a proper goodbye to him, to _any_ of them, before we leave.

"The movers are here!" Jenna calls up the stairs to me.

She's been a life-saver this past month, I don't know what I would have done without her. Despite the number of children I have, I don't think I've ever relied on a babysitter as heavily as I've relied on Jenna these last few weeks. I always used to have a seemingly endless line of family and friends ready and willing to help out. But lately, that line has become incredibly short. It's partially my fault, because I refuse to _ask_ for help from them anymore. If they come to me and ask to spend time with the kids, I'll let them. But I don't know how to reach out to them.

I guess once you've been burned badly enough, you tend to keep your hands to yourself.

Since Jenna has been so amazing with the kids lately, and even Ezra listens to her (more than he listens to me, anyway), I begged her to fly out to L.A. with us this weekend so that I have an extra pair of eyes and ears during the flight _and_ the move into the new house. I pitched it to her as a _huge_ (paid) favor she'd be doing for me, but she somehow sees it as a favor I'm doing her. The only states she's ever visited are the ones that share a border with Oklahoma, and apparently California was at the top of her list of states to see. I've promised to take her to the beach, since she's never seen the ocean, and maybe even on a hike up to the Hollywood sign.

You know, since the hiking trail starts half a mile from our new front door.

God, I can't believe this is actually happening!

With Jenna keeping the kids distracted at the park, and the movers taking care of carrying boxes and furniture out to the trucks, there's not a whole lot for me to really do. It should be a nice feeling, but I don't do well with being a helpless bystander in my own life.

I guess now is as good a time as any to make one, last-ditch attempt at reconciling with my big brother. I even purposefully held on to one of his guitars just for the occasion. I borrowed it forever ago and it ended up renting out a corner in my own little 'music room'. I've had a couple of opportunities to return it to him over the past few weeks, but I put it aside just in case things between us didn't improve and I needed an excuse to see him. Because apparently we're not even in a place right now where I can know for sure if he'll bother to stop by before I leave the state.

Maybe that should be reason enough for me to stop trying, stop caring. If he doesn't, why should I?

Only, I keep being reminded that it's not a matter of him, or any of them, _not_ caring. It's because they care about me that they are so hurt by all of this. I've hurt them. So any hurt I feel as a result of _their_ hurt... is basically my own fault. I'm sure the fact that I've come to this conclusion is just further proof that I should seek professional mental help, but right now, it actually helps to believe I'm to blame. In some twisted way, it makes things simpler. If _I_ broke it all, then _I_ have to fix it. I don't have to wait for anyone else to take responsibility for their part, I don't have to convince anyone else that they're partially at fault. It's _all_ on me, so all I have to do is find a way to make it right...

Right?

I'm half expecting Nikki to open the door when I ring the bell, but it's Isaac's face that greets me. Well... I guess "greet" isn't really an appropriate word for it, it conjures images of welcoming smiles and an invitation to enter the building. I know my big brother well enough to read his expression, I can practically _hear_ his thoughts. Or thought: _Crap_.

"Hey." He sighs as he casually leans against the door. "What's up?"

"I um... I just wanted to bring this over." I hold out his guitar to him, and for a moment he simply frowns at it like he's never seen a guitar before in his whole life. "We were loading up the trucks, and I realized it wasn't one of mine, so..."

"Oh... right." He smiles, _barely_ , reaching out and taking it from me. "Thanks."

"Sure."

"Today's the day, huh?"

"Yup." I chuckle awkwardly and stuff my hands into my pockets, at a loss for anything to do with them now that I've handed over the guitar. "I don't think it's really sunk in yet."

His forced smile fades, and he nods faintly before averting his eyes to the doormat. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Ike-"

"Don't." He quickly interrupts before I can even try to apologize or explain my motives for moving _again_. "There's no point."

"You don't even know what I was gonna say."

That's not true, he could've probably recited it word for word. It's nothing I haven't already said a thousand times, because there's nothing else I _can_ say.

"It doesn't matter. Nothing you say changes anything, Taylor. I get it: you're gay, you're in love, and you're leaving. And that's all great for _you_ , but for the rest of us it fucking _sucks_."

"But-"

"Mom and dad don't get to watch their grandkids grow up, Pam is losing all that's left of her only daughter, and Zac and I have to figure out what the hell we're supposed to do with the rest of our lives now that everything we've worked for since we were kids has gone to shit. And you can't change _any_ of that by saying sorry. It's just a word, and it doesn't mean anything if you keep doing exactly what you're apologizing for."

"I can't do anything else, Ike."

"Can't or won't?"

I know that it seems like the latter to them, but that's not how it _feels_ to me. I'm not doing this to make them all miserable, I'm doing it so that I can keep breathing. In order to keep them happy, I'd have to live in Tulsa and be straight for the rest of my life. But even if I stayed, I can't pretend to be something I'm not anymore. I married Natalie because she was pregnant, but there's _no_ way I'm ever going to be with another woman again. And since they won't accept me being with a man, that means I'll be alone. Permanently.

I _can't_ live like that.

And I _won't_ live without Tommy.

"I know you don't believe me, but I _am_ sorry, Ike. I'm not intentionally trying to hurt anyone, _I_ just want to stop hurting. I want to feel what you feel when you wake up next to Nikki, you know? I never had that before, but I _do_ now. And I wish it didn't mess with everyone else's lives, I wish it didn't make everyone so unhappy... I don't know what else I'm supposed to do, though."

He shrugs, as though he's indifferent to it all when we both know he's not. He can't be. "You gotta do what you gotta do, I guess."

"Look... just because I'm leaving town, that doesn't mean the band has to be _completely_ done. We can-"

"Keep writing? You write there, we'll write here, and then we'll all get together somewhere and record a new album one day?" He questions skeptically. "Zac already filled me in on that plan."

"It's not out of the question. I mean, when I was working with Tinted Windows I hardly ever saw Adam and James, but we still managed to write and record an album, _and_ tour-"

"Yeah, well, maybe one day we can give that a shot. But right now..." He shakes his head sadly. "I can't work with you." Can't or won't? "Everything's way too fucked up."

"Okay... I get it."

I honestly do. He's too mad at me, too distrustful. You can't work with someone when you're as angry at them as he is at me, especially not when it comes songwriting and making music. Rage and resentment is poisonous to the creative process, it tears bands apart.

And families...

"I guess I should get back to the house."

"Okay."

Is this _really_ it? "Take care, Ike."

I don't wait for him to bid me some half-hearted farewell. If he wishes me all the best I doubt he'll actually mean it, so I may as well spare him from having to think up something to say that doesn't sound like totally insincere bullshit.

"Tay?" So much for that idea. "You wanna come in, say goodbye to Nik and the boys?"

"Really?"

It takes him a second or two before he nods, taking a step back and opening the door further to let me inside. I'm hit with a sudden rush of emotion, so unexpected that I forget how to move. I came over here hoping that we could put aside our differences long enough to say our goodbyes. I didn't think he'd actually invite me into his house. And I know it doesn't change anything, I'm definitely not forgiven and this doesn't solve all of our problems. But it's a hell of a lot better than him shutting the door on me.

It's the smallest of peace offerings, but I'll _gladly_ take it.

As goodbyes go, it's pretty painful. But not nearly as bad as I'm sure the ones I still have left to say will be. _If_ I'm even given the chance to say them. One goodbye that I hadn't even planned on saying, though, was to my wife. I haven't been to her grave since the day we buried her. Pam always took care of cleaning up wilted flowers and replacing them with fresh ones, and I didn't want to risk upsetting the kids even more by taking them back there. They never asked to go, so we never did. But on my way home from Ike's, I find myself suddenly taking a wrong turn and heading in the direction of the cemetery for the first time in nine months.

I don't really know what it is I'm doing here. I'm not sure I actually believe in any kind of after life, so all I'm probably about to do is talk to a piece of stone in the ground. If I can even think of something to say...

"Hey..."

I wish I'd thought ahead enough to bring some flowers. I feel like I should have something to offer her, some token of affection. Instead I'm standing here empty-handed. I guess that's nothing new to her.

God, this is stupid. _Why_ am I here?

"I don't know if you can hear me... I guess, if you can hear me now, you can hear me anytime, anywhere, so standing here like this is kind of pointless. And if you're really out there, somewhere, you're probably not eternally tethered to some headstone in a cemetery, so... I don't really need to say goodbye."

I take a deep breath, gazing around me at the empty graveyard, looking for something that isn't here.

Something that probably isn't anywhere.

"I can't help wondering what you'd say if you were here. Everyone keeps telling me that you would hate me for what I'm doing. And... I think they're right. I can tell myself that you'd want me and the kids to be happy, but deep down I know that you wouldn't want _this_. Not for me or for them. You'd probably want me to leave them here with our parents instead of taking them to California... and maybe you're all right, maybe I'm being selfish and they'd be better off without me..." My voice wavers for a moment, not only at the thought of being without my children, but at the thought of them being without her. "I _know_ they're not better off without you. Things have been _so_ messed up since you left, Nat, they're _so_ hurt, and I don't know how to make it better. You wouldn't even recognize Ez, he's like a _completely_ different kid... he misses you _so_ much, they all do. Sometimes... I think he wishes I'd died instead of you. And honestly... sometimes I wish I had, too."

This time it's not just my voice that falters, it's all of me. I'm so much weaker than I've been pretending to be lately. At least, I feel weaker. And it's easier to break down in front of someone I can't see, someone who can't see me. It's easier to speak the complete and devastating truth to someone who can't really hear me. And even if she can hear me, she can't tell anyone what I confess to her.

My secrets are safe here.

"It _should_ have been me. If they had to lose one of us, it should've been _me_. They were used to missing me; Kate was right, I was never fucking there for them. They would've been used to me not being around. But you... you were _always_ there. You always knew what to say, what to do... you would've known how to make this all better, not fuck it all up even more like I have. I'm just... I'm trying to make it right, I _am_ , but no one believes that. They all think I'm making it worse. They think I'm being selfish, but I _swear_ to you, I would _not_ be taking our kids away from here if I didn't honestly think it would be better for them, Nat. I would _never_ hurt them. I know I was a terrible husband, and I was never the best father in the world before, but I'm _trying_ to be better. I'm trying _so_ hard, I would do anything for them, _anything_..."

I wipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, trying to calm myself down and regain some semblance of composure. It's like I'm begging for forgiveness and approval from someone who can never grant me either. And even if she could, I doubt she _would_. Part of me is grateful that she can't respond; I'm so tired of fighting with everyone.

But in the end, I still feel as though I may as well be talking to myself.

Then again, maybe _I'm_ the only one I need to be talking to. Maybe I don't need to convince Natalie or Isaac or our parents or anyone else that I'm going to take the best care of my kids that I know how to.

 _I'm_ the one who really needs convincing.

I spend a good hour or so at the cemetery, telling Natalie (or no one) anything and everything I can think of about this past year. I tell her the good and the bad, all about Ezra's difficult behavior and Asta's latest attempts to take her first steps, how alienated I've become from my family, and how much closer I've grown to Tommy. I doubt she wants to hear about how in love I am, how whole I finally feel, but not saying it wouldn't make it any less true. Besides, I really don't think she _can_ hear me. For some reason I just need to get this all out of my system. Perhaps I'm trying to unload all of my emotional baggage in a futile attempt to leave it all here before I get on that plane tonight. To truly start fresh when we land in L.A....

If only it was that easy.

By the time I get back to the house, it's half empty and the first of the moving trucks has already left. It's hard to believe that in just a couple more hours, all my worldly possessions will be on their way to California, including my car and minivan. And then my kids and I will be on our way to the airport with what little luggage we need to make it through the next few days. After a month of non-stop planning and packing, it's almost over. At least on this end. It's just about to begin all over again once we get to the other side.

Pam comes over to say goodbye to the kids later in the afternoon, but she barely gives me the time of day. I try to assure her that we'll be back, and that she's always welcome to visit, but it's like she thinks they're just empty words, lies. She really does believe that I'm taking her grandchildren to another state and that I have no intention of ever returning or even calling her again. Honestly, I don't feel like I have a hell of a lot of reasons to come back here once I leave. But I do have one reason, the most important one I could possibly have: my children. Even if my parents and my siblings have no idea how to talk to me anymore, they still adore their grandchildren, their nieces and nephews. And so, no matter how shitty things are and might continue to get between me and my family, I will always be willing to bring my children back here so that they can see the people they love and who love them.

But apparently everyone has such a low opinion of me right now that they think this is the last time they'll ever see any of us.

My parents and sisters stop by to say their farewells just before the airport shuttle shows up, and I don't feel quite as invisible as I did during Pam's visit. But I'm not sure if I consider that an improvement. It's so stilted and forced. When they interact with the kids it's completely natural, but when they turn to me it's like we're barely acquaintances, let alone family. I get awkward hugs from my sisters, and a handshake from my dad.

A fucking _handshake_.

When my mom embraces me, it's the most emotional, heartfelt exchange she and I have shared in weeks. But it still feels as though she's longing for someone else. It's like I can _feel_ her mourning a loss that she's already suffered, not one she's about to. She's hugging me, but she's wishing I was the _other_ Taylor, the one she knew and loved. She's hoping that if she holds me tightly enough, the real Taylor will come back, or I'll suddenly remember who I really am, and everything will return to the way it was.

And as I hug her back, making my own desperate, silent wishes for her to suddenly have a change of heart and love me for who I really am, I almost want to grant _her_ wish instead.

But I can't.

Whether I want to or not... I _can't_.

Just after my family has tearfully departed, the airport shuttle pulls up in front of the house, and Jenna and I begin loading the kids into it while the driver takes care of the bags. My heart begins to race as I turn to look at the house, wondering if I've forgotten anything, even though I _know_ there's nothing left in there besides light fixtures and custom fit blinds. So then I start worrying that I forgot to inform someone that I'm leaving. I called the electric company, the phone company, cable and internet...

What am I forgetting?

There has to be _something_ , otherwise I wouldn't feel this way!

"Wait!"

The sound of a car door slamming shut somewhere behind me makes me jump in surprise, and my already panicked mind kicks into overdrive as I spin around to see what's wrong, what it is I've forgotten, why we have to "wait"...

"Zac?"

"I just ran about six red lights to get here!" He tells me breathlessly, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm kinda surprised there're no cops behind me."

"You said goodbye the other day." I laugh, relief washing over me as he wraps his arms around me and hugs me for the first time in almost four weeks. "I didn't think you were coming."

"I said goodbye to the kids." He corrects me, his voice muffled by my jacket when he squeezes me even tighter. "I never said goodbye to _you_."

"I figured you weren't going to." I admit as I wonder how the hell I'm supposed to let him go now.

It's not that I didn't want to say goodbye to him, that's not it _at all_. Of everyone in Tulsa, he's the one I most wanted to see today. But at the same time... he's the one I least want to leave behind. If he hadn't come over it would have hurt, I would have left feeling as though something wasn't right, but it would have been easier to get in that shuttle van and drive away than it will be now.

"Does Kate know you're here?"

"Probably." He chuckles wearily, maybe even a little bitterly. "I told her I was gonna run to the store 'cause we were out of milk, and I think she believed me. But I would've been back by now if that's all I was doing."

"Zac-"

"I can deal with Kate, okay? I _can't_ deal with not saying goodbye to my big brother, so just... shut up."

"I'm gonna miss you _so_ much."

I already do.

"Don't start that." He orders me, giving me a playful shove away from him as he quickly bats at his eyes with the palm of his hands. "Why'd you always have to make everything more difficult than it already is?"

I give a helpless shrug, fighting back my own tears. "Because I'm good at it."

"Understatement."

"What am I gonna do without you, huh?"

"Mope and pine." He suggests in feigned nonchalance. "Cry yourself to sleep at night, and start drinking in the mornings."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Yeah, _my_ plan. Get your own."

"But you don't drink." I remind him.

"That's why I said _start_."

I'm on the verge of breaking down in tears, but seeing the same tears gathering in his eyes somehow forces me to put mine on hold. Despite our ages, we've always been equals. He's always been a little more mature than most people his age, and I tended not to be as mature as I probably should've been in a lot of ways. I never looked at him as younger, and I don't think he ever saw me as older. But right now, he's my little brother, and his heart is breaking. My own heartache becomes an afterthought as my natural instinct to protect him from pain of any kind takes over.

" _Promise_ me you'll take care of yourself." I urge him as I pull him into another suffocating hug. "And promise me you'll call me if you need anything, _ever_."

"You talk like you're never coming back." He notes, his voice thick with emotion. "You'd _better_ fucking come back."

"I'll come back, I _swear_."

"God, I _hate_ this." He whimpers helplessly as I feel him grasp at my jacket, holding on with everything he has. "I can't let go, you know that, right?" I do now. "You're gonna have to _make_ me let you go, Tay, 'cause I _can't_."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." I lie, taking a deep breath and trying to summon the strength to pull away from him. "I'll see you soon-"

"Liar."

There's nothing left to say, besides repeatedly lamenting how much we hate this situation and desperately trying to make light of it in an attempt to make it less excruciating. But it's all just delaying the inevitable, which ultimately only makes it worse. I need to let him go, he needs me to, even though neither of us _want_ me to. It's time for me to be the responsible, selfless big brother I've never been all that good at being before.

"I love you." I tell him, though the words sound like a murmured mess to me as I try to get them out without letting on that I'm crying. I press my lips to his forehead, kissing him quickly, giving myself a couple of seconds to regain some self-control. "Be good, okay?"

"Ditto."

I think he says something else to me when I finally turn and walk away from him, but his voice is so unsteady, and I'm so busy trying to calm myself down so that my kids won't have to see me crying , I don't really hear it. I don't so much as glance over my shoulder on my way over to the van, and once I'm safely situated inside I still try as hard as I can to resist the urge.

Even as we pull away from the curb, away from the house I've owned for the past seven years and the only home my children have ever known, I refuse to let myself look back. I'm _done_ looking back; I've been doing it my whole life.

It's _finally_ time to move forward.

 


	39. Chapter 39

  


 

 

I spend the first half of the flight out to Los Angeles struggling to quell the overwhelming feelings of regret and grief that hitched a ride with us after my goodbye with Zac. And the second half trying to stop myself from getting out of my seat and walking up and down the aisle of the plane just to relieve some of the pent up energy I seem to have as a result of the mounting excitement I feel. My emotions are all over the damn place, and I know it's only going to get worse as the hours wear on. I've been up since dawn, and I'm sure I won't get to sleep before midnight. Then I have to be up again first thing in the morning to go over to the escrow company offices and sign an enormous pile of paperwork.

I guess at least I get a couple of days "off" between when I take possession of the house and when the moving trucks show up and I have to start unloading and unpacking all of the boxes I only _just_ finished taping up. But I promised Tommy I'd go with him to some Halloween party this weekend, so I'm going to need to reserve some energy for that. I don't want to be so completely out of it that his friends think I'm just some boring, grumpy jerk. I need to make a good impression on them; his friends are important to him, and this is the first time I'm meeting most of them. I want them to like me, I want them to see how good we are together...

Ugh.

This train of thought is _not_ helping my anxiety levels!

By the time the plane touches down at LAX, I've made myself a new to-do list to replace the one I had to keep me focused during the move. It's a scruffy mess of chicken scratch and uncertain scribbling, but it's better than nothing. I like knowing what needs to be done and having it all written down somewhere, that way I won't forget things and become overwhelmed by it all.

Well... I won't forget things, anyway.

In all of the commotion and chaos that comes with unloading five sleepy and cranky kids from an airplane, and navigating them through an airport, I somehow forget that Tommy is going to be waiting for us at baggage claim. Until I look up and see his face in the crowd around the baggage carousel. He smiles at me, and suddenly I feel as though I'm about to _completely_ lose it. Every emotion from the past twenty-four hours, the good, the bad, and the ugly, floods my mind, my chest, every part of me. I forget how to move. How to _breathe_.

The only thing that snaps me out of it is feeling his arms around me. I automatically inhale, I breathe in his scent, and the flood of emotions begins to recede. It's calming, reassuring, a much needed reminder of what I'm doing here and why all of this disorder and despair is _so_ worth it. And even though the kids are too wiped out to greet him with their normal level of enthusiasm, they definitely seem to light up a little more in his presence. I can still see how tired they are, but they're no longer dragging their feet the way they had been all through the terminal.

"We're getting In-N-Out for dinner." I hear River inform him while I grab one of our bags off of the carousel and lift it onto the cart Tommy already commandeered for us. "Are you coming?"

"Actually, kiddo, I think your dad and Tommy were gonna have something else for dinner after we get to the hotel." Jenna explains to him when she notices Tommy trying to figure out how to turn him down without disappointing him. It's not something that ever gets easier, but sadly it's something he'll have to get used to doing if he plans on sticking around. "But we're gonna have a burger picnic and watch a movie!"

Viggo grins delightedly, sitting himself down on the end of the luggage cart just as I'm about to put another case there. "Cool!"

"Can I have dinner with you?" Asks River hopefully, gazing back and forth between me and Tommy with big, pleading brown eyes.

"You don't wanna have dinner with us, dude." Tommy assures him. "We're gonna have something boring. I _wish_ we were having burgers with you guys."

"Then why don't you?" Penny questions, with a skeptical look that entirely contradicts her sweet smile.

I gotta hand it to them; even when they're tired, they're still on top of their game.

"Because I'm a mean old man, and I won't let him." I tell them plainly. "I want to have sushi, and Tommy's too nice to say no."

River automatically wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Ew! Sushi is _gross_!"

"It's yummy!"

"No it's not!" Protests Penny. "It's all cold and yucky!"

"And it tastes like fish!" Viggo chimes in before sticking his tongue out, and I decide against informing him that it _is_ fish. I just don't have the energy for that discussion. "Can we get strawberry milkshakes?"

"Nuh-uh! _Chocolate_!" Counters River eagerly. "And I want Animal Style fries!"

Ordering Animal Style at barely six-years-old? That's my boy! "Well, Jenna, looks like at least one of them will be in a food coma before we even get to the hotel, so that should make your night easier."

"Why?" She chuckles as Tommy helps her to grab her suitcase off of the carousel. "What are Animal Style fries?"

"You don't wanna know." He tells her with a solemn shake of his head. "Trust me."

"Right. Forget I asked."

Once we've collected all of our bags and made it out of the airport, we part ways with Tommy so that he can go back to his car and we can go and pick up our rental van. I'm not sure who's more disappointed by his absence: me or my kids. My reassurances that we'll see him again at the hotel are as much for my own benefit as for theirs. We swing by In-N-Out on our way out to Santa Monica, and I try to keep everyone's orders straight as I repeat them back to the drive-thru cashier. I'm usually a lot better at this; I have years of practice. But it's been a long day, and I'm having a hell of a hard time focusing on anything besides how much I want to just _stop_ and take a breath.

Jenna spends the rest of the trip chatting away with the kids excitedly about burgers, and milkshakes, and the beach, and the pier. It's like Christmas Eve, and all they can talk about are the presents they hope to find under the tree tomorrow morning. It's kind of adorable, actually, and I'm a little jealous knowing that they'll be enjoying a day of sun and sandcastles while I'm buried under a mountain of paperwork in some over- air conditioned office...

Until it hits me all over again that sun and sandcastles will never be more than thirty minutes from my front door once said paperwork is done with.

This isn't a vacation. I _live_ here.

Tommy beats us to the hotel, which doesn't surprise me at all, and he and Jenna unload the bags and keep the kids somewhat calm while I check in and get the room keys. It takes almost an entire hour for everything to settle down enough that Tommy and I can actually head out for dinner, and by that time it's close to eight. But at least Asta and Viggo were both asleep before we left, so there was no screaming and begging for me to stay. And Penny and River seemed perfectly content to hang out on Jenna's bed with her and watch ' _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ ' on cable while Ez played video games.

Since the restaurant we decided on for dinner is less than a mile away, we leave his car and the minivan at the hotel and walk into downtown Santa Monica. Despite how natural it feels to simply be holding his hand as we make our way along Ocean Avenue, it's still strange to be doing it in public. Nerve-racking, yet exhilarating; it's going to take some getting used to. But I'll gladly do it as many times as I have to until I no longer give it a second thought. Again, it's hard to believe that this is my reality now. It's not a break from my day-to-day existence, it _is_ my day-to-day existence.

And as long as I don't do something to royally fuck it all up, it will continue to be for the rest of my life.

 _Our_ life.

"What're you grinning about?" He asks suspiciously as we cross the street towards the sushi bar. "You look really fucking pleased with yourself."

"Maybe I am."

"But you're not gonna tell me why?"

I give a playful shrug, pulling the door of the restaurant open and gesturing for him to step inside. "After you."

"Oh, so I'm the woman in this relationship, is that it?" He teases, making a show of being offended even as he takes advantage of my chivalry and walks right by me. "Good to know."

"Well which one of us is wearing eyeliner?" I point out simply, which earns me one hell of a glare from him. The glare isn't serious enough to keep me from laughing, though. "I'm just saying!"

"Okay, fine. But since you're _such_ a gentleman, _you_ can pick up the fucking check."

"Gladly."

"And while we're on the subject of makeup, you'd better be planning on wearing at least a _little_ for Halloween."

I knew that was coming. "Don't worry, I won't phone it in and embarrass you."

"Good, 'cause Halloween is like my fucking Christmas!"

"I don't doubt that." I smile, shaking my head at the giddy gleam that appeared in his eyes the moment he mentioned it. "You said my costume was reserved for pick-up?"

"Yeah, I can text you the address of the store."

"And we're _both_ going as the same thing?"

There's a look on his face that I can't read, but something about it makes me feel as though he's hiding something from me. "Yeah... basically."

"Basically?"

"Mmhmm."

 "Tommy-"

"Welcome to Sugarfish." The hostess smiles politely at us as she reappears at her stand and grabs a couple of menus. "Two?"

"Yeah, thanks." Tommy quickly responds, probably thinking that if I remain distracted long enough, I'll forget to interrogate him further about his costume and this party we're going to.

And he's right.

Between being seated, browsing the menu, and ordering drinks and appetizers, our previous conversation completely slips my mind. We talk about how our days went, although he's careful not to let me dwell on mine too much. He knows me well enough to know that I've already done enough over-thinking, that I'm too tired to recount my goodbyes and the details of the journey out here. He gives me the opportunity to tell him the basics, but he's ready with a question or comment to redirect me before I can go too deep with it. I've never really known anyone who's been able to do that for me so seamlessly. Whenever anyone else tries, it feels forced and abrupt, sometimes even a little selfish.

I wonder if he has any idea how grateful I am to him for being able to keep me out of my own head whenever I need him to?

Our trek back to the hotel after dinner has a much slower pace. Once we get there, we'll have to say goodnight and I'll have to let him go. There's no way he can stay; every bed in both hotels rooms I've rented for the weekend is at capacity. And we're still trying to maintain a delicate balance when it comes to the way we behave around each other in front of my kids, at least until they've had time to get used to the fact that we're together. We've decided to attempt to keep things somewhat platonic, for the most part. Hugging and hand holding is okay, but no kissing. Although a spontaneous peck on the lips is forgivable. We'll gradually start to loosen up as they begin to accept seeing us together more and more. But neither of us wants to force this on them when they're still so confused and conflicted about it all.

We end up taking a detour down to the pier, just walking hand-in-hand through the thinning crowds in the darkness, oblivious to the booths and blinking lights all around us. I keep smiling to myself, listening to the ocean, the waves ebbing and flowing beneath us, the chatter of the crowds. I breathe in, the scent of sea salt and funnel cakes invading my senses and leaving me completely content. And I unintentionally squeeze Tommy's hand, something deep inside of me needing to check that he's actually here and this is actually happening.

That I'm actually home.

"You okay?" He asks worriedly as I come to a stop at the end of the pier, folding my arms over the wooden railing as I gaze out into the endless nothingness ahead.

"I'm... cautiously content." I laugh softly, gesturing to the pitch blackness that lies before us. "Look at that."

"Look at what?" He frowns, glancing out at the water and then back at my face, clearly wondering how much Saké I had at dinner. "I don't see anything."

"Exactly. It's just... open. Never-ending. It's like infinite possibility, you know? I feel like I could jump off of the pier and just... fly."

"Are you high?"

"Maybe."

"You're such a fucking freak sometimes, I swear." His shoulder nudges mine as he leans against the railing at my side. "But I'm glad you're 'cautiously content'."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you okay?" I ask apprehensively, carefully watching for even the slightest change in his expression, listening for any fraction of a pause before he replies, because I know he's unlikely to come right out and tell me if something isn't right. I know he won't want to ruin my mood.

But there's nothing to see, and nothing to hear. He doesn't look away, he doesn't stall with a shrug or a dismissive breath of laughter. He looks right at me, and he smiles. And that's all the answer I need.

"I'm pretty fucking good, actually."

"Yeah?"

Rather than answering me verbally, he simply leans closer and gently presses his lips to mine. They're so much warmer than the cool night air, and it feels as though that warmth quickly radiates throughout my whole body, leaving me sighing with satisfaction. As he slowly pulls away, something behind him catches my eye, and I can't control the smile that spreads across my face as I take him by the hand and lead him over to it.

"Where're we going?" He asks through bemused chuckles. "Taylor-"

"I know you don't like heights-"

I haven't even finished speaking before I feel him start to resist. "No!"

"Come on! It's just a ferris wheel."

"That's the problem!" He tells me, staring up at it dubiously. "I don't wanna be on that rickety piece of shit when it falls apart!"

God he's cute when he's outraged. "It's not gonna fall apart!"

"Yeah, right. I'm sure that's what everyone who ever got decapitated by one of these deathtraps thought when they got on the damn thing!"

"It's like... the _gentlest_ ride on the planet!" I protest pleadingly. "It goes about a mile an hour-"

"Up in the fucking air! On a fucking _pier_! What if it comes off of its stand... thingy, and just like... rolls into the goddamn ocean!"

He seems more than a little offended by my outburst of laughter, but I don't know what else he was expecting. And if he really thought that the threat of the ferris wheel falling to pieces was enough to dissuade me from getting on it, he has another thing coming.

"I _promise_ it's not going to roll into the ocean." I assure him mockingly, holding both of his hands in mine as I attempt to coax him in the direction of the ticket booth. "If it does, you can use me as a life raft."

"I'm serious!"

"Me too! If I'm gonna die, I'd be honored to go out as your own personal floatation device."

I can see the smile fighting its way onto his face even as he attempts to glare at me. "Fucker."

Despite his scowling and muttering about what a asshole I am, he does nothing to stop me from purchasing two tickets. And even though I have to practically drag him to the front of the line of people waiting to get on the ferris wheel, he doesn't put up too much of a fight when the ride operator waves us over to a vacant passenger car. But when it comes time to actually set foot inside the faintly swaying car, he hesitates.

"It's okay." I tell him gently, climbing into the car myself to show him that it's safe and then holding out my hand to help him do the same. "Come on, it'll be fun."

He takes a very obvious breath, his eyes doing an apprehensive sweep of the car before he takes a slow step forward and lets me help him onto the ride. As soon as he sets foot on it, it starts to rock back and forth, and he practically falls onto the seat, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the floor.

"Fuck."

"They swing a little, it's normal."

"No, it's _not_. Human beings swinging around in mid-fucking-air is _not_ normal!" He informs me, never breaking the staring match he's having with his feet. "I hate flying, but at least airplanes don't swing the fuck around the whole fucking time!"

I take my seat beside him as the operator closes the small gate to our car and it begins to move, and I notice the way Tommy closes his eyes as soon as he feels the motion. Maybe I shouldn't have made him do this. I thought that once the ride started he'd feel better. I figured that seeing the lights of the city as we hovered above the shore would make him feel as free as I do right now. But all I see on his face if panic. I know now that nothing I say is going to convince him of our safety, it definitely won't convince him to open his eyes and appreciate the view. So I don't say a word.

I kiss him.

At first he inhales sharply, shocked by the sensation of my lips against his. But it only takes him a second to gladly reciprocate, losing himself and his fears in me. It's a strange role exchange, I'm not used to feeling like I'm the one with any kind of strength or stability to offer him, it's always the other way around.

"You're safe."

"I'm in an open fucking bucket, a hundred fucking feet over the ocean!"

"I know." I murmur softly, brushing my lips over his soothingly. "But I've got you."

He kisses me again, hungrily, _needily,_ his fingers curling themselves in the front of my shirt and desperately holding on. There's something so intense about unbridled fear, feeling as though your heart could stop beating and your life could be over in the blink of an eye. I've felt it before. I've never really worried that my life would literally be over, but the existence I've known, the facade I've been hiding behind, I've lived in constant fear of it crumbling around me. It can make you recoil, retreat and freeze in hopes of everything coming to a standstill before it has a chance to disintegrate.

Or it can make you reach out and grab on for dear life.

"If it wouldn't be total fucking suicide, I'd be _begging_ you to fuck me right now." He gasps breathlessly.

"But what a way to go, huh?" I tease him, laughing softly against his lips. "And FYI, if you _did_ ask me to, I'd do it."

He groans softly and kisses me again, but I know it's not an invitation for something more. The idea might turn us both on, but it'll only ever _be_ an idea. There's a world of difference between strolling down the street hand in hand and fucking on a ferris wheel, and neither of us is brave enough to attempt anything so bold, for a multitude of reasons. I'd be lying if I said  I'm almost a little disappointed, though.

I just have to keep reminding myself that we have all the time in the world. Tomorrow I'll be picking up the keys to my house in the Hollywood Hills, and for the foreseeable future, I'm not going anywhere. I'll go from counting down the days and weeks until I get to see him, to seeing him almost every day. No more phone calls and "I wish I could see yous".

If he wants to see me, I'll be a mere twenty minute drive away.

He kisses me until the ferris wheel comes to a stop and the gate to our car is opened. And if it weren't for his obvious desire to get the hell off of this "deathtrap", I'd slip the ride operator some cash and ask them to pretend our turn wasn't over yet.

We eventually make our way back to the hotel, and I can tell from the fact that all of the lights are out in our rooms that everyone is asleep. I want to suggest we sleep at Tommy's place, but I know that Viggo with throw an absolute fit if he wakes up and I'm not there. Between that and Tommy's early morning band rehearsals, spending the rest of the night together is just not in the cards for us.

That doesn't mean we can't make-out on the backseat of his car like a couple of sex-starved teenagers before he leaves, though.

I feel like I've barely closed my eyes before I'm being rudely woken up by Viggo jumping up and down on the bed. Apparently I've been asleep for a good eight hours or so, but if you ask me it was more like one. Or less. He's yelling something about the beach, I think. I can't really understanding him because his voice is distorted by all of the bouncing. I'm in the process of trying to decide whether to wake up or bury my head under a pillow when Jenna hurries into the room and snatches him off of the mattress. She apologizes for letting him "escape", but I don't blame her at all; I'm sure she had her hands more than full with the rest of my little menagerie. I'm grateful she managed to let me sleep in as long as I did, even if it doesn't feel like I slept at all.

I'll admit, I'm a little nervous leaving Jenna at the beach with all five of them all day. Even _I_ find that to be a daunting task. But she assures me that she's got it under control, and for whatever reason, I actually believe her. Besides, unless I want to take Asta with me and try to sign all of my mortgage papers with her sitting on my lap, trying to eat the pen and throw things on the floor for the sole purpose of watching me pick them up, I don't have any other options.

The paperwork process is much like I remember it being the first time I bought a house... only I swear there's twice as many useless forms to sign this time. At first I actually read what's put in front of me, but after a few pages it all become meaningless. It's a jumble of words and legal jargon, and I doubt anything in it is going to make me reconsider this decision. The address is correct, my name is spelled right, and the sale price is what I agreed to pay, So eventually I just start skim-reading and signing without a care in the world. I scribble my name like I'm at a record store signing, initialing here, there, and everywhere, until I end up getting a cramp in my hand.

But two hours later it's _done_.

I finally have the keys to my house, _our_ house, in the palm of my hand.

 

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! 2 updates in 3 days. :p I managed to write a lot yesterday and finish chapter 48, so I decided to post 40 today. <3 Hopefully this chapter is less boring than the last.

  


 

 

Since Tommy is busy with rehearsals all day, I head back to Santa Monica to spend the afternoon at the beach with my kids. I swear, I could sit on the sand and watch them play in the surf all day, every day. It's like the waves wash away every care they've ever had. They run and jump in the water like they're just as free as I felt last night on the pier; I half expect them to take off into the blue skies above and soar with the gulls. Well... except for Ezra. He may as well be weighed down with rocks. It's like he's still sitting on a bed back at the hotel. He barely even looks up from his game, he's in another world from the rest of us entirely. At least, he probably wishes he was...

I really cannot _wait_ to get him to a therapist.

Just after lunch I take Asta and Viggo back to the hotel for their much needed afternoon nap, and even though I originally planned on joining them, I end up taking out my laptop and pulling up the information I've been gathering on local grief therapists for the past month. I've scoured the internet, read reviews and spent hours on websites. I've even called a few of them and discussed our specific situation and the differing ways that my kids have been dealing with their loss. Every therapist I've talked to has assured me that everything they're going through is completely normal, and they've all given me basically the same rundown of treatment techniques for Ezra.

To be honest, I have a hard time imagining any of them working.

I don't see him sitting down and "drawing his feelings", or acting them out through "natural play". I definitely don't see him writing them in a letter. I already tried that once. Viggo wanted to draw something for Natalie, and it seemed to make him happy to do something for his mom, so I encouraged his brothers and sister to do the same, or to help me write her a note. Ezra was the only one who flat our refused to participate _at all_.

It's like he's too old for the things therapists would usually use to treat grief-stricken children, but not quite old enough to sit on a couch and pour his heart out to someone. He's somewhere in between, lost and alone, and completely closed off to everyone. I just have to hope there's someone out there who can figure out a way to help him open up.

And that I can find that someone on the first attempt...

After re-vetting every "candidate" on my list for the twentieth time, I finally bite the bullet and call the one who has stood out to me the most since the first time I visited her website. She was one of the people I already called, and the fact that she remembers talking to me and can recall details of our conversation weeks after the fact only further convinces me that she could be the right person to help my son. I had my fingers crossed for an appointment some time before Thanksgiving, but I wasn't expecting her to offer me one next week! I'm in no position to turn it down, though. And I have no reason to postpone this any longer than I already have. Ezra's not going to like it, but he doesn't like _anything_ anymore, least of all me. The sooner he gets help, the better.

Tommy texts me just after dinner to let me know that he's done with rehearsals. He offers to come over to the hotel, but I have something else in mind for the two of us tonight. I help Jenna get Asta and Viggo to sleep, and then I text Tommy back and ask him to meet me at the house. Even though I know he's seen it (twice, actually, which is more times than even _I_ have), I'm still excited to be there with him. It's like it's the first time we'll ever be there together.

And dear God, I hope it's _nothing_ like the first time we actually were.

Adam's band rehearsal space was a lot closer to the house than my hotel, so he beats me there, and I find him sitting out on the front steps waiting for me as I pull up outside.

"Sorry, I got here as fast as I could." I tell him apologetically as he stands to greet me, eagerly kissing me back when I peck him lightly on the lips. "How long were you waiting?"

"Just like ten minutes." He shrugs indifferently. "No biggie."

With a smile, I reach into my pocket and pull out one of the two front door keys I was given at the closing this morning. But instead of using it to unlock the front door the way he expects me to, I hold it out to him. He frowns at it, then at me, shaking his head in confusion.

"Why're you giving it to me? It's your house, you should be the one to unlock the door for the first time."

"I can do that." I tell him with a grin, taking his hand and forcing him to accept the small piece of metal. "But not with _your_ key."

" _My_ key?"

"Mmhmm."

"I get my own key?"

I nod as I watch him turn it around between his fingertips as though he's never seen anything like it before. "You get your own key."

"Okay, well... let's do this."

I dig the rest of my keys out of my jacket and slip the front door key into the lock. A jolt of anticipation seems to shoot straight up my arm, and I take a second to let the sensation subside before I turn the key and finish opening the door. As we step over the threshold into the unlit entry hall, my enthusiasm is slightly marred by a sudden bout of nerves. What if it's not the way I remember it? I saw it _once_. Yeah, it was perfect at the time, but it was the last in a long line of houses we saw that day, and none of the others had been right. I was tired, and losing hope, and I desperately wanted this house to be the one.

What if I built it up in my mind to be better than it actually was?

I'm holding my breath as I flip the light switch just inside the door, but as our surroundings are illuminated I let out a sigh of relief. It looks just like I remember.

Better, even, because now it's _mine_.

"No regrets?" Tommy asks knowingly.

"No a one."

For once in my life, I feel one hundred percent sure that I did something _right_. This is the right house, this was the right choice. And maybe, just maybe, this move will help to make a lot of other things right, too.

"Come on." I take his hand, tugging him across the room towards the spiral staircase that leads down to the lower level of the house.

"Where're we going?" He laughs uncertainly, resisting just enough to let me know that he thinks I might have lost whatever remained of my sanity.

I don't answer him, because I don't want him telling me the whole way there how crazy I am and how he's _not_ doing this with me. I have an urge, and I want to satisfy it. Tommy continues to question me all the way through the house, but no matter how much he holds back, he never pulls out of my grasp and he never tells me to stop. Until I turn on the patio lights and unlock the French doors downstairs, leading him outside and making a beeline for the swimming pool.

"No!"

Now he gets it. "Yes."

" _Taylor_!"

In all of three seconds I've dropped his hand, discarded the contents of my pockets, kicked off my shoes, and taken a running leap into the water. My clothes weigh me down a little, but the pure elation pumping through my veins makes me feel as though I could fly right back to the surface. As I wipe the water out of my eyes and push the wet hair out of my face, I can see him shaking his head at me from the edge of the pool, and I have to stop myself from swimming over and pulling him in.

The choice to dive in with me has to be his, otherwise it's meaningless.

"You're out of your fucking mind, you know that?"

"I know it." I nod proudly, swirling the water around me with my arms. "I also know you wanna jump in here _so_ bad right now."

"Do not."

"Uh huh, _sure_."

"Do you even have a fucking towel?!"

No. Because for all of the over-thinking I tend to do, I'm usually too busy dwelling on the past to ever think that far _ahead_.

"Do you even really care?"

He knows I'm right. He's more laid back than I am; if I don't care, he _definitely_ doesn't.

"Fuck it." He mutters, giving in to the smile that's been fighting to spread across his face and carelessly kicking his shoes off.

There's no way I can move fast enough to avoid being engulfed by the wave of water that accompanies his cannon ball into the pool, but it's not like it matters. I'm already drenched, and being so close to the spot where he landed means that I get to be right beside him when he resurfaces. We're face to face, mere inches apart by the time he's caught his breath and gotten his bearings. There's no flirtatious floating around each other, neither of us can be bothered with that. He wants me to kiss him just as badly as _I_ want to kiss him, I can feel it the moment my lips meet his.

Maybe even before that.

Staying afloat fully clothed was already a bit of a challenge, but with our bodies tangled together it's nearly impossible. The water laps at our chins, threatening to invade our kisses as we breathlessly struggle to stay above water. We end up sinking like stones, still holding on to one another as though that's somehow the answer. Eventually we're forced to let go, at least long enough to literally come up for air, and the sound of his laughter ringing out into the night makes me feel a hell of a lot warmer than I did just a few seconds ago.

"Maybe we should get naked?" He suggests devilishly. "I think this would go better without pants, for _many_ reasons."

"That's _one_ way to introduce ourselves to the neighbors." His smile falters. Just for a second, but given the amount of attention I'm paying to his lips right now, it's enough for me to notice. "I'm kidding."

"I know."

"No one can see us-"

"I'm not moving in." O-kay... " _Shit_ , that came out wrong."

"How was it supposed to come out?" I ask apprehensively, my eyes now glued to his, searching for some clue to what he's thinking.

"Just... not like that."

He drifts slowly away from me, moving closer to the edge of the pool. I feel like I should follow... but I also feel like I can't. I shouldn't be afraid, not after everything we've been through together this month, everything we've said to and shared with each other. But when he says things like this, with no warning and no elaboration, I can't silence that panicked voice in my head.

"I'm sorry." He sighs, seemingly frustrated, though I can't tell with what or whom. "It's just... with the key, and then the thing about introducing ourselves to the neighbors, like they're _our_ neighbors-"

"The key was just so you could let yourself in when you come over. And the crack about the neighbors... I didn't mean anything by it." I can tell from the look he's giving me that he doesn't believe me, despite the fact that it's actually the truth. "I didn't!"

"So you're not expecting me to move my stuff in when your stuff gets here?" He questions skeptically.

"No."

"Taylor-"

"Do I want you to move in with us? Yes. But am I expecting you to do it next week, or next month, or even by the end of the year? Not if you don't want to."

"It's not that I don't _want_ to..." I tentatively float closer, trying to give him the space he needs to explain himself. "I just... I don't know. I love being with you, and I love being around the kids, and the house is amazing." He admits quietly, glancing up at the unlit building behind us. "But..."

"But?"

"I don't feel... ready, I guess. I've _never_ lived with anyone before. I mean, I've had roommates, but I've never moved in with someone I've been in a relationship with."

"There's a first time for everything." I point out gently, offering him a small smile of encouragement. "I'm not saying that to make you feel like you have to do anything you don't want to-"

"I know. And I know that it has to happen sooner or later, and it _will_ , just..."

"Later rather than sooner?"

"I just don't wanna rush it, you know?" He insists, his hand reaching for mine on the ledge of the pool. "I don't wanna fuck this up, I wanna get it right. And I figure there's a better chance of doing that if we... well... _I_ take it one step at a time."

"Okay."

He narrows his eyes at me in dubious distrust. "Really?"

"Really." I laugh softly. "I meant it when I said I didn't expect you to move in yet. We hadn't even really talked about it until tonight, so I pretty much assumed it wasn't happening. At least, not right now."

"And... you're _seriously_ okay with that? You're not freaking out or anything?"

"I'm not freaking out."

"You're _really_ not, are you?" He observes bluntly. Maybe I should be offended by his lack of faith in me, but we both know it's justified. Honestly, even _I'm_ a little surprised by how well I'm taking this. "Wow."

"I know."

"It's like... we're growing up and shit."

" _I'm_ growing up." I tease him lightly. " _You're_ still afraid to move out of your bachelor pad."

The splash of water to my face is something I anticipated, but there was nothing I could do to get out of the way before it hit me. All I can do is retaliate in kind. And thus begins the epic Hanson v Ratliff water war of twenty-twelve. A fierce battle, fought bravely by some (me) and dirty by others (I don't think I need to name names). Sadly there can be only one winner. Except that he seems to enjoy my well-earned, poolside blowjob as much as I do, so maybe we both came out on top.

So to speak.

Of all the things I thought I'd end up doing tonight, laying out on the patio beside the pool, fully-clothed and soaking wet, staring up at the stars with Tommy at my side... well, I guess it wasn't _entirely_ out of the question, but it wasn't something I expected. I had a plan when we came over here, but none of this was included in it. This is even better than anything I could have thought up. Spontaneous moments of insanity generally tend to be. And I've had _so_ many more of them in my life since the night I met him.

"I don't think this whole 'air drying' thing is gonna pan out." He eventually sighs, his head coming to rest gently against my upper arm. "I think it's more likely to turn into a 'freezing our fucking asses off' thing."

"I think you're probably right. I just don't wanna ruin the rental car."

"Well, my car's a piece of shit anyway. We could leave the rental here and I can drive us back to my place?"

This is sounding incredibly tempting already. "Go on..."

"We can take a _long_ , hot shower," I think I just moaned out loud. "Dry off with _towels_..."

"What a concept!"

"Fuck like-"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before I'm grabbing him by the hand and pulling him up off of the ground with me. "You had me at ' _long_ , hot shower'."

I call Jenna on the drive over to Burbank to let her know that I might be a couple of hours longer, and not to let the kids wait up for me. I also promise her a day off tomorrow to spend exploring Hollywood like she's been dying to do. Especially since she's agreed to look after the kids again tomorrow night while I'm at the Halloween party with Tommy. And then again the day after, when the moving trucks arrive at the house and I'm going to be busy pointing the movers in the direction of the right rooms for the right boxes and pieces of furniture.

It's shaping up to be a _very_ busy few days...

Which is why I intend to relax and make the most of my alone time with Tommy tonight.

We're not much drier by the time we get to his apartment. But since we're about to get wet all over again, I guess it doesn't really matter much. He hasn't even closed the front door behind us before his fingers are laced in my damp hair and his mouth is hungrily assaulting mine. I'm honestly not even sure if we'll make it to the shower; I wouldn't be surprised if we only make it as far as the couch!

"Hey-" His roommate's interruption surprises us both so much that we almost trip over each other as we turn in the direction his voice came from. "Oh, sorry. Didn't realize you had... company."

"Shit, Mike." Tommy exhales unsteadily, raking his hands through his hair. "I thought you were out for the night."

"I was. But out wasn't all it was cracked up to be, so now I'm in again." He replies, glancing back and forth between the two of us uncertainly. "Who's your _friend_?"

"Taylor." Mumbles Tommy, looking anywhere he can to avoid looking at either of us. "You met him already."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

"Uh... hi." I intervene awkwardly, stepping forward and offering Mike a hand to shake. "We met briefly a couple of times last year."

He smiles cordially and accepts the hand shake, but I can tell he's still having trouble placing me. I don't really blame him; I came over unannounced eighteen months ago, made his roommate some lasagna, and he never saw me again after that. Why would he remember me?

Especially if Tommy hasn't even mentioned me since then, which appears to be the case.

"Can I talk to you?" He asks Tommy with that same, forced little smile on his face.

"Later."

"It'll only take a second."

With a deep sigh of impatience, Tommy turns to me. But he's _still_ dodging my gaze, which is all the confirmation I need that there's something he's hiding from me. "Wanna wait in my room?"

"Sure..."

The two of them remain silent as I make my way across the living room and into his bedroom, so clearly whatever it is Mike wants to talk to him about is more personal than discussing a late rent check or whose turn it is to clean the toilet. I know it's wrong to eavesdrop, but I really don't have the energy to drag the truth out of Tommy later like I _know_ he's going to force me to do. Honestly, I'm pretty sure I already know what's going on. I'm just hoping like hell that I'm wrong.

"What the fuck, Tommy?" I hear Mike ask almost as soon as I close the door and press my ear to it. "What about Liz?"

Damn.

I'm not wrong.

"Would you keep your fucking voice down!" Snaps Tommy, though he sounds more anxious than angry.

"What? You mean _Taylor_ doesn't know you're cheating either? What a shock."

"I'm _not_ fucking cheating. Liz and I are done, we've been done for weeks."

"Thanks for keeping me in the loop, _roomie_."

"I was busy, alright?" It's a horrible attempt at an excuse. I can hear that loud and clear, even through a door. "Can we talk about this later?"

"You mean when you're not _busy_?"

Tommy doesn't reply, and it's not long before the sound of approaching footsteps sends me backing away from the door, searching for somewhere to sit or stand while I try to look less guilty than I feel. Though why _I_ feel guilty, I don't know. Yeah, okay, so I listened in on a conversation that he obviously didn't want me to hear. But there's a _reason_ he didn't want me to hear it. He didn't want me to know that his roommate had no fucking clue that he broke up with his girlfriend over a month ago and has been seeing me ever since.

If the person he _lives_ with has no idea, who else in his life has he kept in the dark?

The moment he opens the door, I can tell that he knows I heard everything. I'm not sure if he knows that I had my ear to the damn door the whole time, but he knows he can't hold it against me if I did. He has no one to blame for the looming argument we're about to have but himself. And how bad it gets depends on how defensive _he_ gets.

"SNAFU." He sighs wearily, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Okay..."

I'm so anxious right now that I'm having trouble even remembering what SNAFU was supposed to mean to us. I think it means I'm supposed to stay calm and not take whatever he's about to say badly. Let's see how _that_ goes...

"I didn't tell Mike about us."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that one out." I reply, trying my best to keep my tone even. "Did you tell _anyone_?"

"Of course I did!"

"Hey, don't get pissed at _me_! You say it like it's obvious, but it's _not_ obvious. If your roommate doesn't even know we're together, how the hell am I supposed to know who _does_?"

He takes a deep breath in an effort to remain composed, because clearly I'm not going to. "Look... I know I fucked up, okay? I should've told him, and I'm sorry I didn't. I've never been good at sharing personal shit with people-"

"He's not 'people', he's the guy you live with! He's your _friend_ -"

"I know! I _said_ I'm sorry!"

"Who else have you neglected to tell?" More avoiding eye contact. This is _great_. "Okay, let's try a question with an easier answer: Who _does_ know about us?"

"Isaac knows... Alex-"

Is he _kidding_?! "Alex doesn't fucking count!"

"Why the fuck not? He sure as hell didn't hear about us from _you_!"

"Okay, fine, he counts." God, this is getting petty. "That's two whole people. Does the list end there?"

"I told Adam." He retorts irritably. "And Ashley, and the rest of the band..."

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. I think it's pretty obvious from my facial expression, from my body language, from _everything_ about me that I'm waiting for something _more_.

But he doesn't have more to give.

"What about your mom?" Nope. "Your sister?" Apparently not. "So I told my _entire_ fucking family and _you_ told your band mates?!"

"I'm gonna tell people."

" _When_? We've been together for over a month! You've known that I was moving out here for weeks!"

"So? I didn't realize there was a fucking deadline!"

"How about the party tomorrow night? We were just gonna show up together without you telling anyone about me first? Or was I not supposed to touch you all night so that no one would find out?"

"I don't know..." He shrugs guiltily. "I was just gonna deal with it when it happened."

"Are you _serious_?"

"I don't go around blurting stuff like that out to people, okay?! I figured I'd tell them when it came up-"

"You're telling me that your own mother hasn't asked you what's going on in your life even _once_ in the past month?"

"I... I haven't been around. I was in Tulsa and then I was in Australia... I've been working a lot. I haven't really talked to her much lately."

It's like he knows how pathetic the lie is before he even tells it, which is why he puts no effort into making it sound plausible. Which makes it _impossible_ for me to believe a word of it. "I don't wanna do this right now."

"Taylor, wait."

"I'm tired, okay? I'm tired, and I don't deal with things well when I'm tired, so I don't wanna talk to you right now."

I'm halfway to the door when he grabs me by the arm and pulls me around to face him. I make the stupid mistake of looking at him, and I'm immediately torn between my original plan to walk out of here, and the strong desire I now have to let him talk me down.

"What about SNAFU? You're supposed to hear me out _without_ freaking out!"

"I did hear you out, and I'm _not_ freaking out. I'm angry and I'm _hurt_ , there's a difference, and SNAFU doesn't just fucking negate that!"

"I'm _sorry_. It's not like I did this intentionally-"

"But you _did_ , Tommy. It might not have felt intentional, but on some level you _knew_ what you were doing. You knew you were hiding our relationship from your family, and you _definitely_ knew you were keeping it from me that no one knew. You stood by and let me tell the people I love that I'm gay, and that we're together, and you _never_ bothered to mention to me that _you_ hadn't done the same."

This time when I try to leave, he doesn't stop me. His grip on my arm loosens to the point where I don't even have to pull away from him.

He simply lets go.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, ANOTHER chapter. :p I was on a roll this weekend, apparently.
> 
> So... I know a lot of you read/write some pretty kinky fanfics, and you all know how little confidence I have in writing sex scenes, let alone kinky ones. But... ever since TJR's drag cherry got popped, I had an urge to include Drag!Tommy in FUBAR. This wasn't what I had in mind originally, it's just the way it played out when I sat down to write it. I've never written anything like this before and it took me a whole week of only being able to write 200 words a night to even get that one scene out, let alone the rest of the chapter! It was a challenge, but... you gotta challenge yourself sometimes, right? :p 
> 
> Hopefully it's not too laughable.
> 
> Oh, and there's a link in there to a visual aid in case anyone needs one. I'm not the best at describing clothes. lol

  


 

 

I regretted walking out on him pretty much as soon as I got in the cab to go and pick up the rental car. I almost told the driver to turn around and take me back before we got on the freeway, but I just... didn't. Couldn't. I don't know. I was mad at him, but at the same time I wasn't. I didn't understand why he was hiding our relationship from his family, but as curious as I was to know, I was too upset to hear him out. I needed a break, I needed to take a breath and cool off so that I was capable of letting him explain himself without getting pissed off again.

I think I'm there now.

At least, I hope I am. Because I miss him.

I know, I'm pathetic.

"Are you sure you don't need me today?" Jenna asks anxiously as she grabs her purse and shades off of the end of her bed before Viggo has the chance to bounce up and down on them. "I don't mind-"

"I promised you a day off, and you're getting one." I tell her, doing my best to appear as though I have things somewhat under control. It's one thing being at home with all five of my kids, but it's another living out of a hotel room. "You deserve some time to yourself."

"Okay... if you're _sure_."

"I'm _sure_."

"Where're you going?" Penny inquires as she watches Jenna check her hair and makeup in the mirror. "Are you gonna go see all the stars on the sidewalk?"

"I am!" Jenna beams down at her excitedly. "And I'm going to find Judy Garland's handprints and see if they're the same size as mine!"

I'm distracted from the rest of their conversation by a text message from Alex. It simply reads " _Uh-oh what did he do?_ " Which is a little confusing, because I haven't had a chance to tell anyone what happened last night, not even Alex. I quickly text him back to ask him what he's talking about, and it's not long before I receive a reply telling me to look at Tommy's twitter.

I've gone straight from confused, bypassed bewildered and puzzled, and landed smack-bang in the middle of dumbfounded.

I open the twitter app on my phone, which I haven't used in forever because it's still linked to our band account and I'm not even sure there's a band to tweet about anymore. Obviously, our band twitter doesn't follow Tommy's, so I have to search for his username, and it's not long before I find his profile.

And now I can see why Alex thinks Tommy did something wrong.

 **TommyJoe Ratliff** @TommyJoeRatliff

_I love you. Okay? I LOVE YOU. Won't name names in case you don't want me to, but I will if you do. I just told 45000 people. Forgive me?_

I read the tweet over about ten times, waiting for it to sink in. He just announced the fact that he loves me to all of his followers. All forty-five-thousand plus of them. Even if he didn't name names, they now all _know_ that he loves _someone_. And he said he'd tell them all who that someone is if I want him to.

I hate him.

I don't _want_ to smile, but I can't make myself stop. He's _completely_ missing the point... but even so, it's not like this is meaningless.

"Taylor?"

"Hmm?"

"I said I'll be back before dinner so that you can go to your party." Jenna smiles, having spent enough time around me to know when I'm too lost in my own thoughts to be aware of anything that's going on around me.

"Thanks, Jenna. Have fun in Hollywood!"

My kids call out their goodbyes to her as she waves and disappears out of the room... leaving me to figure out how to keep five children occupied and entertained in Los Angeles for the next eight hours. It's actually not a challenge I've ever had to face alone before, but I guess it's one I should start getting used to tackling...

"Who wants breakfast?"

After pancakes and bacon out on the patio at Cora's Coffee Shop a few blocks away, I take them over to an ocean themed indoor play center near Culver City. It's perfect for River and Viggo to get out some of their pent up energy, and even though Penny is almost getting too old (how did that happen?!) to find it fun, she plays happily with her little brothers and never complains for a second. Ezra probably wouldn't have been interested in it even if he was capable of showing enthusiasm over anything. But he has his trusty 3DS glued to his hands, so I guess it doesn't really matter. They're safe and (somewhat) happy, and that's all that matters.

Once they're all fully engrossed in their various activities, I seize the opportunity to find a quiet corner where I can still keep my eye on them while I call Tommy. He answers much faster than I expected him to, which probably means that he's been waiting to hear from me all morning.

"Hey."

"Hey... I was hoping you'd call."

"I saw your tweet." I tell him, unable to stop myself from smiling again at the thought of it. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know. I _wanted_ to." He insists sincerely. "I'm sorry I fucked up, I never meant to hurt you. I know I should've told people-"

"It's not about telling _people_ , Tommy. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was really sweet, and I appreciate the gesture. But you could walk around Los Angeles telling everyone you meet that we're together, and it doesn't mean anything if _they_ don't mean anything to _you_."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yeah..." He pauses, but I can tell he's not done. There's something more he wants to tell me, so I keep my mouth shut and give him the chance. "I told my mom."

Wow. "You... when?"

"I went over there first thing this morning."

"Oh." Words, Taylor. Think of some words. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." He laughs softly, uncertainly, and I wish we could have this conversation in person so that I could _see_ him. I can read his face so much easier than his voice. "I mean, she was surprised and everything, and kinda worried-"

"Worried?"

"Yeah. She just like... took the whole 'five kids' thing kinda hard." Oh. Right. I guess I should've seen that coming. "She's afraid it's too much, that I don't know what I'm doing."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I _don't_ know what the hell I'm doing, but I'm gonna figure it out." He tells me bluntly, honestly. "That's why I didn't tell her, okay? I was scared. Not of her freaking out over me seeing a guy like your mom did, but of her thinking I couldn't handle being with someone who has kids. 'Cause I still spend half my fucking time trying not to freak out over everything, and I knew that if my own mom didn't think I could do this, it was gonna make me even less sure of myself than I already am. It's not you I'm unsure of, or us, it's _me_. _Just_ me. I _swear_."

I should've known that. I should've known how he thinks well enough to know that. And deep down, I did. Now that he's said it, it makes _so_ much sense. It's like that 'duh' moment when someone tells you the answer to a question, and all you can think is "I _knew_ that". But my own fears and insecurities got in the way.

I couldn't see what he was afraid of because I was too blinded by what _I_ was afraid of.

"I'm sorry, Tommy."

"Me too."

"I've been so wrapped up in everything that's been going on, with my family and with the move... I just assumed that you'd told people, and that they must've been fine with it otherwise you would've said something to me. If I hadn't been too self-absorbed to actually _ask_ , maybe you would've told me that you were scared to tell them, and then last night never would've happened."

"Yeah, or maybe I would've been too fucking ashamed to admit that I hadn't already done it, and I would've lied and said everyone was fine with it, and then it would've been even worse when you found out the truth." He counters with a guilty sigh. "I messed up."

"We _both_ did."

"I meant it last night when I said that I don't know how to talk to people about personal stuff, though. Even _you_ sometimes..." He explains cautiously, clearly afraid that he might regret confessing this to me somewhere down the line. "Unless someone flat out _asks_ me what's going on in my life, I never bother telling them. And even then, sometimes I'll just blow the question off 'cause I don't wanna deal with answering it."

"Well, let's make a deal then." I propose, listening to him inhale nervously on the other end of the line. "I promise I'll ask you more questions if you promise you'll give me honest answers."

He doesn't agree right away, but I wasn't really expecting him to. Maybe it should bother me that he actually has to think about whether or not he wants to promise to tell me the truth, but right now... it doesn't. I'm starting to understand him a little better than I did before, I'm figuring out the way his mind works and the way he handles his feelings.

He's unlike anyone else I've ever been close to. They all expressed themselves in different ways, but regardless of _how_ they chose to show the world what they were feeling, at least they _did_. He doesn't. He doesn't complain like Ike, or break things like Zac. He doesn't cry like Natalie, or say whatever the hell is on his mind without censoring himself like Alex.

He hides. He shuts down.

He doesn't come right out and _give_ you the answers, he makes you go in and _find_ them.

"Okay." He eventually concedes with a slightly anxious chuckle. "Deal."

I don't know what else to say to him now. I don't _want_ to say anything to him, I just want to be with him.

"Are we still on for tonight?"

"I'm game if you are."

"Mind if I get ready at your place? I have a feeling I'm gonna need some help with my makeup."

He laughs softly, and it automatically brings a smile to my face. "Well, seeing as Sutan's helping me with mine, I guess it's only fair I help you with yours."

"Sutan?" I ask in surprise. "You're getting your makeup done by a professional?"

"It's Halloween." Is his only response, and if it's possible to _hear_ a person shrug, I think I just did. "Some people like the Fourth of July, some people like Christmas... Halloween is _my_ holiday; I go all out."

"I'm guessing you're still not gonna tell me what your costume is, huh?"

"You'll find out in a few hours."

If the suspense doesn't kill me first. "What time?"

"About seven? That should give us time to get your makeup done and... stuff."

"And _stuff_? I like the sound of that."

Seven o'clock can't come fast enough!

Which is why the rest of the day passes by at the slowest rate imaginable. It probably doesn't help that I can't stop checking the clock, but it's not my fault! If he would've just told me what he's going to be dressed up as, or even given me a hint, I wouldn't be going this crazy wondering and waiting to find out! It's cruel. And I'm going to insist that he finds some creative way to make it up to me.

Finally, just before six, Jenna returns home from her adventures on the walk of fame. The kids are all excited to see her, and honestly I am too. Once I've gotten dinner taken care of for the six of them, I make sure Jenna has everything she needs for the night, and I slip out with as little fuss as possible. And then I do my very best to adhere to the posted speed limit all the way over to Burbank.

But when I get to his front door and knock, there's no reply. I try again, but I still get no answer. And just as I'm about to call him, he texts me.

 _Come in_.

O-kay...

I turn the door knob slowly, stepping into the apartment and glancing around at my unlit surroundings. I have no idea what's going on here, but it's definitely got my attention. After closing and locking the door behind me, I set the bag with my costume and makeup in it down by the couch and slowly make my way further into the room.

"In the kitchen." Tommy suddenly calls out to me, and I'm glad he can't see me right now because I just jumped out of my skin like a total idiot.

I can see a faint light coming from inside as I slowly approach the corner, and as soon as I peer into the candlelit room, I feel as though someone has literally reached into my lungs and taken my breath away.

 _She_ has.

Standing before me is _not_ the man I fell in love with. It's a woman. A _gorgeous_ woman. My eyes don't know where to settle first, they begin at her flawlessly made-up face, and then drop right to the stiletto heeled boots she's wearing. They dart back up to her chest, then down to her legs, mesmerized by the contrast between her pale skin and the soft, uneven lines of the [black, gothic style dress](http://i49.tinypic.com/2dtayxz.jpg) hanging across her slim thighs. It's incredibly sexy, revealing enough to send my mind reeling, and yet still covering enough skin to keep me guessing. She's perfect.

He's perfect.

"Wow..."

"Is that a 'wow, you look stupid', or..."

I shake my head adamantly. "Definitely _not_ a 'wow, you look stupid'."

"So... you like?" He bites his lip in a deceptive display of coyness, batting those insanely long lashes at me.

"I do. I like _a lot_. Which... is weird, because... I'm gay. And... you..."

"I...?"

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." I laugh softly, my head still swimming with shock, trying to understand what it is I'm feeling as I slowly approach him. "I know that I _know_ you're a guy, but... fuck, you don't look like one right now. So... the fact that I'm this attracted to you is totally messing with my head."

"Which one?" He asks playfully, leaning back against the table behind him.

"Both." I reply, not even capable of engaging in playful banter with him because of how dazed and distracted I still am.

It's like he's not even _real_. This is a dream, a fantasy. Except it's not. Not one that I've ever had before, anyway. It's nothing I ever wanted or imagined for even a second before... but now that he's standing right here in front of me, it's suddenly _all_ I want. My eyes travel the length of his body again, expect this time they diligently take in every little thing about him, because it's as though I've never seen him before in my life. Everything about him feels new to me, he's like a different person.

His lips are redder than I can ever remember seeing them before, his cheek bones very subtly defined. His eye makeup is dark and dramatic, and yet somehow softer than usual. The long, dark tresses framing his face are the biggest difference. Loose, sensual curls fall around his shoulders, flowing, draping...

"Can I... touch?" I murmur dumbly, my fingers poised to reach out.

A seductive smile curls his lips as he takes my hand, guiding it to his chest, holding it against his... well, his breast. I feel myself blush, which is ridiculous. Honestly, it all is, but I don't _care_.

"I was going for your hair."

"Oh."

"But this is good, too..."

It's so crazy.

They _feel_ real, even though I know better. No part of me has ever wished that he actually _had_ breasts, I don't miss being with someone who does. But now that _he_ does, fake as they may be, it's like I'm some stereotypical male who can't do anything but stare and grope like a Neanderthal!

My fingers instinctively caress him through the fabric of his dress, and even though we both know he can't really _feel_ it because they're not really real, he still feels _something_. Something that causes him to inhale sharply, pressing into my palm, rising to my touch. When I finally look him in the eyes once again, I find him watching me with the exact same fascination that I'm experiencing. The same longing and lust. I hear myself make a sound, something animal, and suddenly my mouth is on his and I'm forcing him backwards onto the table. He lets me, relishes it even, parting his legs as well as his lips, drawing me in closer in any way he can.

I feel him shift beneath me, pushing himself back further so that I can move even nearer. My hand grabs at his skirt, hastily hiking it up higher. But the second my fingertips come into contact with the skin of his thigh, I stop. Maybe I even gasp, I'm not sure. I wouldn't be surprised.

He's smooth. _So_ smooth.

I can't believe he did this.

He smiles up at me knowingly as I gaze at him in awe. "I go all out."

The appeal of this "holiday" that he loves so much is quickly becoming more and more apparent to me.

First I was captivated by his fake breasts, and now I'm obsessed with his shaved legs? The more feminine he is, the more turned on I seem to become. I'm like... the _worst_ homosexual ever! I don't _understand_ this, what it's doing to me, what _he's_ doing to me. But whatever it is, I like it.

I _more_ than like it.

My hand continues to stroke his thigh as I lower my lips to his bare neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin and savoring every needy little whimper he emits as a result. With his body arching towards my touch, I leave kisses down the center of the intricate lace dress, paying extra attention to any small amount of exposed skin I encounter along the way. He grabs a fistful of my hair as I venture lower, until the skirt bunched up around his hips forces me to break contact for a second.

When my mouth settles on him again, I feel him shudder as my lips graze his inner thigh, my tongue retracing their path until my teeth unhesitatingly sink into his warm, smooth flesh. It surprises me almost as much as him; it wasn't a premeditated act. But his body responds by seeking more, not shying away at all, which only spurs me on.

It's difficult to keep myself from getting carried away, but I'm determined not to rush this. It's not every day something like this happens to me. It's never happened before, and who knows when it will again. I want to make the most of every last second of it, for both our sakes. And if that means taking it slow or even forcing myself to stop entirely when I find myself on the verge of losing control, then it's worth it.

He's wearing fucking _panties_ , though!

I _felt_ them, the sleek silk and delicate trim where there would normally be plain cotton and a thick hem. My finger brushed against it, just for a second, but it was enough. Enough to send me reeling. And now I'm trying like hell to stay away, to _not_ look, because I know that if I do, all of this will power I've been working so hard to exercise will evaporate entirely.

Only after the fully deserved amount of attention has been paid to every inch of his thighs do I finally allow my curiosity to get the better of me. His erection is straining against the thin silk, desperate to be released from its confines as he waits with bated breath to see what my next move will be. So maybe it's cruel of me to keep him in suspense, to appreciate all of this with a few of my other senses for a moment rather than letting touch and taste have all the fun.

I can hear him exhale slowly, unsteadily... I swear I even hear him run his tongue over his lips. I hear the way his breathing changes as he does it, just like I can I hear the way it changes as he swallows in nervous anticipation. I run one fingertip lightly over the taut silk of the panties, watching as he bites his lip, gripping the edges of the table and clearly fighting the urge to squirm. I never told him that he couldn't move, and he never said he wouldn't, but it's still become one of the unspoken and yet somehow mutually understood rules of this weird and wonderful encounter.

The next time I touch him, I want to more than hear his reaction, I want to see it. I want to watch him bite his lip, watch his eyes close, see how helpless he is to stop his head from falling back in unabashed pleasure as long, brown hair spills out across the table top around him.

"You're beautiful." He opens his eyes again, staring up at me in surprise... and though it's impossible to tell in this light, I feel as though I know him well enough by now to know that the shy smile on his lips is accompanied by a faint blush. "You _are_." My body presses closer to his, my weight settling over him as I place the lightest of kisses to the corner of his jaw, just below his ear. And he whimpers. "Not because of the makeup, or the clothes, or the hair..." I continue, feeling him instinctively turn his face towards mine, seeking my lips. " _You_ are the most breathtaking thing I have _ever_ laid eyes on."

"Kiss me..." He gasps pleadingly, releasing his grasp on the table to hold on to me instead. I can feels his nails digging into my skin, his fingers burning through my shirt and causing my body temperature to race higher by the second. "Fuck me."

He lets me pull him carefully up off of the table until he's standing in front of me, pinned between it and my body. I step back a little, just enough to leave space for him to be able to turn around when my hands settled at his waist and coax him to do so. He practically melts against me when I curl my arm around him, holding his back flush against my chest.

"You want me to fuck you?" I question softly, combing my fingers through his dark hair.

"Yes."

"You want me to grab you, tear those panties off you..."

He moans as his head rolls back against my shoulder, giving my mouth perfect access to the side of his neck. " _Please_..."

"Do you want me to push you down onto the table, _hold_ you down and-"

" _Yes_! Fuck, _please_... _do_ it!"

Placing one last kiss to his cheek, I press my hand to the small of his back. As I run it up his spine I apply more and more pressure, until my palm settles between his shoulder blades and he willingly collapses across the table top in front of him with a shaky groan. My fingers curl in his skirt, pulling it up over his thighs, over his ass, pushing it higher until there's no threat of it getting in the way. He arches towards me, just a little, but I'm staring so intently that to the move seems bold and blatant.

My short nails drag teasingly over his hips, causing him to buck towards nothing but thin air, searching for something he wants but isn't getting. Yet. I know I offered to tear his panties off, but I can't bring myself to do it. He's like a perfectly wrapped gift, the kind you can't _bear_ to carelessly rip into. I hook my fingers under the waistband of the panties, _slowly_ peeling them off, kissing my way down the backs of his legs as I pull them down to his ankles and help him to lift one heeled boot at a time off of the kitchen floor to step out of them. I watch my hands as they ghost slowly back over his calves, his thighs, still finding it hard to wrap my head around the knowledge that this is actually happening, despite the fact that I can _feel_ it.

As I get to my feet again, and my hands come to rest right where they started, my mind briefly flashes back to the conversation we had a few weeks ago. He told me I was the only guy who had never slapped him on the ass during sex, and I can tell from the way he tensed under my touch a moment ago that he's probably wondering if I'm about to change that. What I never got the chance to tell him that night was that it's not something I've ever felt the urge to do, especially not to him. Not even now. What I _do_ feel the urge to do is to lean over and place a lingering kiss to the base of his spine, a move which clearly comes as a shock to him, given the way his breath hitches in his throat. I hold him steady, my lips never straying from his body as I continue kissing every inch of skin I can find, back and forth, higher and lower...

He's already keening by the time I introduce my tongue to the proceedings, and the added sensation leaves him mindlessly gasping profanity and imploring me not to stop. He hasn't so much as touched me yet, but I'm already so turned on that I feel as though the right (or possibly wrong) sound from him could be the end of me.

I force him to turn around again, and the second we're face-to-face he's kissing me in a way I'm not sure he ever has before. It's as though he truly can't _breathe_ unless his mouth is on mine, if he lets go of me he'll vanish entirely. I've never felt need quite like this, both his for me and mine for him. He settles himself back on the edge of the table, his hands dropping to my belt and hastily unfastening it, jerking and tugging it impatiently. I know he wants me to push him onto his back right now and fuck him the way he begged me to, but despite how desperate we both are for this, I know I need to hold off long enough to grab the lube he keeps in his room.

But when I start to pull away from him to do so, he refuses to let me go. "In my boot."

Um... "What?"

He smirks at me in that way he only does when he knows something I don't (which is often), and then he curls his left leg up against my thigh, bringing it in closer to his body until he can reach down and undo the zipper on the inside of his boot...

And pull out a packet of lube.

In case it wasn't already abundantly clear: I _love_ him.

I take the packet out of his hand, using my teeth to tear it open. The way his legs tighten around me as I do so doesn't go unnoticed. I can feel his eyes following my every move as I finish what he started, pushing my pants and underwear out of the way, and coating my erection with lube. I swear he shifts his body nearer as soon as I drop the empty packet on the floor, he's _so_ impatient for this to happen, and it's _so_ fucking hot.

"Oh God..." He groans, grasping my waist tightly as I gradually thrust into him, deeper and deeper with each stroke. " _Fuck_..."

As I hold him down against the hard, wooden table top, pushing into him with more urgency every second, the sounds coming from him become indistinguishable as either pleasure or pain. But the words that spill from his mouth every time our bodies meet are nothing but pleas for more.

Harder.

 _Harder_.

Deeper.

_Fuck._

_Yes_.

 _More_.

I'm convinced that my fingers are holding on to his hips so tightly that it _has_ to hurt. But he doesn't seem to care, and there's no way in hell I can stop. It's out of my control now, my body is reacting to his, it's that simple. He might think he's at my mercy, but every single move I make is still a result of the noises he's making, the words he's uttering, the things he's _causing_ me to feel.

When he's close, I can tell. He doesn't need to say it, he never does. I can see it in the expression on his face, the way his body moves. I can see it right now. And glancing down at the unblemished black fabric bunched around his abdomen, I'm struck by an impulse that I've never experienced so strongly before.

He's flawless, perfection; I want him to stay that way.

As I feel him beginning to let go, I summon the very small amount of self-control I still have and pull out of him, lowering my mouth to his erection before he can even think to ask me why I've stopped. His moans instantly become even louder, his hands frantically grabbing at my hair as he comes. And I don't stop until he's done. Hell, I don't even stop then! I can't, not until he practically begs me to.

I'm done for as soon as I'm inside him again, I barely even _move_ before I'm spent.

Sometimes I think that this is my favorite part of having sex with him. Only not for the obvious reasons. Yeah, I'll admit, he makes me feel things no one else ever has, and every time I come inside him this way it gives me the most indescribable, incomparable high. I've never used any drugs besides pot, but I assume the sensation has to be similar to or better than the most addictive qualities any illegal substance has to offer.

But it's not even about that. It's not about me or what _I_ feel.

It's the look on _his_ face when _I_ come. _That's_ my favorite part. I don't even know how to put into words what it is I see in that moment, there are _so_ many different emotions. And knowing that he's experiencing them because of me, because of _us_... it's intense. It magnifies everything I'm already feeling, until I'm almost convinced I'm going to come all over again!

" _Damn_..." He exhales contentedly, pushing some stray, brown curls out of his face.

"Amen."

His next blissful sigh develops into a soft chuckle, and I find myself smiling as I try to figure out what's so funny. "This isn't very lady like."

We both glance down at the way his legs are hanging carelessly over the edge of the table, with me still nestled between them and his dress pushed up so high that his belly button is exposed. "Well _you're_ not very lady like."

"That's a _terrible_ thing to say to a dude in a dress!"

"I'm sorry, but you're not."I smile teasingly as I lean over him and kiss his protruding lower lip. "You're not a lady, and you're not a 'dude'-"

"Hey!"

"You're something else entirely." I continue, ignoring the slap he just administered to my arm. "You're some kind of... exquisite, supernatural creature. You're absolutely remarkable; you're like nothing and no one I've ever seen before."

He narrows his eyes at me, debating whether or not he approves of the compliment I'm trying to pay him. And eventually, he smirks and kisses me back. "You're forgiven."

"I think you're gonna have to re-apply your lipstick before we go to this party."

"And re-apply my panties." He sighs tiredly. "Do we _really_ wanna go? I mean... we could just stay here and watch a movie. I don't need panties on for that."

"We can watch a movie any time." I point out as I kiss my way across his cheek. "I thought you wanted me to meet your friends?"

"I did. I _do_... I just... can't be bothered to put my underwear on." He snorts as I bury my face in his thick, brunette hair and laugh with him. "This must be how Britney Spears feels _all_ the time."

"Probably."

"Never thought I'd have anything in common with her."

"Pretty sure the list of similarities ends there." I assure him, sensing how troubled he is by the thought. "And if you don't want to put your panties back on, I'm not gonna make you."

"Are you suggesting I go commando?"

"If you want to. But I can't promise not to feel you up all night."

"If we stay here, you don't need to promise not to feel me up. You can grope me all you want."

"Do you _really_ not want go to the party?"

He considers the question for a second or two, and the fact that he's obviously torn about it makes me feel a little better. At least some part of him is tempted to go, which means he's not looking for a way out of tonight simply to avoid our first, _real_ public outing as a couple.

"If you wanna go, we can go." He finally relents, earning himself a playful glower for putting this decision on me instead of making it himself.

Honestly, as much as I want to go to this party and meet his friends, the two of us _together_ for everyone to see... I don't really want to share him with anyone else right now. Maybe the dress, and the makeup, and the wig, and the shaved legs (and yes, the panties) were just part of a Halloween costume. But it _feels_ as though it was for me. _All_ for me.

I want to keep it that way. I want to keep him for myself.

"Let's stay here." I conclude, nudging the tip of his nose with my own and smiling to myself as I contemplate (and not for the first time ever) just how cute his nose actually is. "There'll be other parties."

We've got all the time in the world.


	42. Chapter 42

 

  


 

 

We spend the rest of the night in bed, making out and 'celebrating' Halloween by watching some of his favorite horror movies. Sans panties. Sans any clothing at all, actually. I kept my pants on just long enough to pay the Thai takeout delivery guy, but then I quickly shed them and joined him under the covers. It's just after one am when my responsible side points out to me that not only did I tell Jenna I'd be back before two, but I _need_ to get enough rest to deal with all of the unpacking chaos that I know lies in store for me tomorrow (or... later today, I guess).

I want so badly to take him with me, but I know it isn't possible. He can't come with me, and I can't stay with him. I have to force myself out from underneath his warm body, and his warm sheets, and back into my cold clothes so that I can make the long drive back to Santa Monica alone. It's not exactly the perfect end to what has, until this point, been the perfect night.

I know it probably sounds ridiculous for me to say this, considering all of the things I've seen and done over the course of my life, all of the amazing, once-in-a-lifetime experiences I've had... but tonight was _honestly_ one of the most unforgettable nights of my life. I've been a resident of Los Angeles for all of two days and he's already helped me to make some of the most incredible memories. It's like every second I spend with him is something special, something worth holding on to.

But then, it's been that way since our very first encounter.

The moving trucks are scheduled to arrive at the house by ten am, so Jenna and I have the kids up and dressed as early as possible. We return the rental van to the airport, and manage to catch a ride on a shuttle over to the house that gets us there just after nine. They do a giddy lap of the entire building, enjoying the lack of furniture to get in their way as they gleefully race from room to room. I'm happy to stand back, for the most part, listening to every excited "cool!", "wow!" and "look at this!" they shout to one another.

By the time the trucks pull up outside, River and Viggo have already picked out their new bedroom and agreed that they want me to paint race cars all around the walls. Penny is still debating between a smaller bedroom with a view of the city, or a bigger one at the other end of the hall with a view of the treetops and hills around us. She ends up opting for the smaller room (just like I would've done). Ezra conducts a much slower, quieter inspection of the property than his younger siblings. And I assume the bedroom he's claimed for himself is the one he hasn't come out of for the past twenty minutes.

Once the unloading of large objects actually begins, Jenna and the kids relocate to the pool, enjoying the emerging sunshine as it burns off the hazy marine layer overhead. I'd love to join them, but someone has to make sure the right beds are put in the right bedrooms, and that the couch ends up in the family room and not the dining room. It actually takes a lot less time than I expected, and it's pretty wild to watch this new house fill up with pieces of our old life in Tulsa. It's going to take a while to get used to seeing all of these familiar objects in such an unfamiliar setting; I'm sure I'll relentlessly rearrange it all for weeks to come. But for now, seeing this all unfold around me, seeing it become even more of a reality, it's good enough.

This first of the moving trucks is empty and on its way by lunch time, which is right around the time that my car and minivan are delivered safe and sound. The second truck takes even less time to unload than the first because it's mostly full of boxes, which are much easier for the movers to maneuver around corners and down hallways. I thought it would take them the better part of the day to be done, but by two o'clock I'm signing papers to say that everything has been received on time and in the same condition as when I last saw it. And then they're gone.

That's it.

We _officially_ live in Los Angeles.

Now we just have to unpack...

While the kids are still busy playing outside in their new backyard, I dig out one of the most important possessions our family owns: the TV. I figure, if I can get the TV and DVD player hooked up, and dig out a few of their favorite movies, they'll be kept busy for the rest of the afternoon while I try and get some essentials unpacked and put away. I'm in the middle of figuring out which wires go where, when I get a text from Tommy asking me if I want him to come over tonight.

The term "duh" springs to mind, but I resist the urge to text it to him.

I manage to rope him into doing a little grocery shopping on my behalf so that I can make dinner for all of us rather than ordering takeout _again_ or wrestling all of the kids into the minivan to go to a restaurant somewhere. I'm exhausted, but I'd rather cook a meal for seven than deal with that!

He shows up just before five, with half a dozen grocery bags hanging from his arms (I guess I went a little overboard with my list). The kids greet him at the door like a pack of puppies on crack, and they insist on dragging him through the entire house to show him how "awesome" it is and where their new rooms are going to be. I don't bother trying to stop them or explain to them that he's already seen it, because I know it won't make a damn bit of difference. Besides, I can tell that he honestly doesn't mind being given the grand tour all over again if it makes them happy.

While I unpack the various items I asked Tommy to pick up at the store, Jenna stands at the kitchen window with Asta in her arms, watching the sun descend over Hollywood. She has a look on her face that I imagine I probably had on the eve of every departure I ever made from Los Angeles. The faint, thoughtful smile on her lips isn't bright enough to hide the melancholy in her eyes.

"Ready to get back to Tulsa and away from all this insanity?" I ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from her.

She laughs softly, rolling her eyes as she turns away from the window and leans against the kitchen counter. Asta begins squirming so she sets her down on the hardwood floor, keeping a close eye on her as she crawls over to the kitchen island and uses the empty shelves to pull herself up onto her feet.

"Don't get me wrong, I love my family and my friends and everything, but Tulsa is..." She shrugs unable to find a good word to describe it. Not that she needs to; I already understand completely. "I don't know. It's not like I have these big dreams of fame and fortune or anything, but I have _no_ idea what I'm supposed to do with my life if I stay there, you know?"

"I know. _Believe_ me." I assure her sympathetically. "But you don't _have_ to stay there. You're what... twenty-one?"

"Twenty-two." She corrects me with a playful smirk. "I just graduated from TU in June, remember?"

I knew that.

"Right. Well, twenty-one, twenty-two... my point is, you're young. You don't have to settle down yet, or live somewhere you don't want to live. You have plenty of time to figure out where you wanna be and what you wanna do. The trick is to _not_ mess that up by making bad choices."

"Any tips?"

One.                                                                    

Don't get knocked up and then lie to everyone in your life for the next decade.

"Just... focus on what _you_ want and what makes _you_ happy. Don't try to please everyone else, because you can't ever please _everyone_ , and you'll make yourself miserable trying to."

She nods slowly, seemingly giving my sage advice some serious consideration as she turns her attention back to the setting sun behind her. The room falls quiet for a while, aside from the sound of my knife on the cutting board and Asta's cheerful babbling as she holds onto the island and bounces up and down.

"You know those movies where the main character is from some small, mid-west town, and one day they just grab a handful of money from under their mattress, throw some clothes and a picture of their parents in a little suitcase, and just... get on a bus to the big city?"

"Yeah, I've seen one or two of those." I chuckle, grabbing a chopping board from one of the half unpacked boxes behind me. "They make it look _so_ simple."

"Right? And they immediately find a crumby apartment and a crumby job, which magically pays them just enough to keep a roof over their head and not starve. And then some kind of tragedy befalls them, but it's okay because they know a cute guy who'll make it all better."

"C'est la vie."

"It just never seems to work out that way for those of us who _don't_ live in a chick flick."

"No, not really. But sometimes it _does_ still work out... somehow."           

She falls silent again, but unlike last time, I get the distinct feeling that she's not thinking about what's been said, she's attempting to think of a way to say something more. I stay quiet, trying to focus my attention on the food I'm preparing while she struggles with whatever it is that's on her mind.

"The kids really seem to like Tommy."

"Yeah, they do."

"And he's really great with them..." I wish I could smile and agree with her, but I'm too nervous about where this conversation is going to do anything but nod and wait for her to finish. "I know it's none of my business," Oh boy. Nothing good ever comes from a statement like that. "I just wanted to say that... I'm glad you have someone."

"Oh..." Okay. Not exactly what I thought she was going to say. Less condemning, more congratulating. I'm not used to this. "Um..."

"I mean... you guys _are_ together, right?"

"Right."

"I know you never actually said you were with him, but I kinda got the feeling. And then when Viggo told me last week that you love Tommy..."

"Yeah." I chuckle somewhat shyly, lowering my gaze back to the cutting board. "He's pretty happy about that."

"So are you." She smiles. "It's nice. To see you happy, I mean."

"Thank you."

"I liked Natalie _a lot_. She was always really nice to me, and she was a great mom, and I felt awful for you guys when I heard that she was... that she'd passed."

"Yeah... it's been... pretty rough."

"I know. That's why I'm glad you have Tommy now. I know it's been a difficult year, for everyone... it's nice to see the kids smiling again. I think they see you happy and it makes them happy, too."

"I hope so." I sigh, setting my knife down so that I can pay attention to the nine-month-old baby tugging on my leg. "I know it's going to take more than that, and more than moving, but hopefully it all helps."

"I think it does."

"Speaking of help, you've been _amazing_ this month. I seriously couldn't have done all of this without you."

She blushes and shrugs my gratitude off, like it's no big deal that she's practically given up her own life to help me prepare for this move. "I was happy to help. And it's not like it was a favor; you paid me for every last minute of it."

"I know, but I still appreciate it. Having someone around who I _know_ I can trust with my kids is a big deal to me. It's everything, actually."

"Well, they're great kids."

"Thanks. I tend to think so, too." I smile at Asta as she reaches out and  tries to grab my hair, but she misses and ends up smacking me in the eye instead. " _Most_ of the time."

Right on cue, River, Penny, and Viggo come shrieking into the room, giggling and clamoring to hide behind me, though what they're hiding from, I don't know. I would assume it must be Tommy, but I don't see him anywhere so I'm at a bit of a loss.

"Uh... what's going on?" I ask in amusement as I peer down at them, but they all press their fingers to their lips and shush me. "Okay..."

A moment later, Tommy strolls into the kitchen. I hear more 'shhing' coming from behind me, but this time it's each other they're hushing and not me. He walks over to the island, grabbing a piece of the sliced up carrot on the chopping board and taking a bite.

"How long until dinner? I'm starving." More giggling and 'shhing'. "I'm _so_ hungry... I think I could eat a whole child."

And all of the pieces begin to fall into place. "Oh yeah? A _whole_ one?"

"Mmm. With some ketchup to dip their fingers in."

"That sounds _good_!" Jenna agrees with a conspiratorial smile. "What about Asta? Her fingers are nice and chubby."

"Nah, too small." He sighs as he takes a step closer, eliciting panicked squeals and shuffling from my side of the island. "Know where I can find some bigger children?"

"I'm sure I saw some around here somewhere..." I smile at him, nodding in the direction of my feet. "How big did you want them to be, exactly? Two-years-old? Three?"

"I dunno..." He begins edging closer to me, and I feel more movement at my feet. "A six-year-old should do the trick."

Tommy has barely finished speaking before River jumps up and flees the room, screaming at the top of his lungs. And knowing that their hiding place has been exposed, his brother and sister try to follow his example. Penny makes it safely out from behind the island, but Viggo doesn't stand a chance. Before he can scramble across the floor, Tommy scoops him up into both arms and practically throws him over his shoulder.

"Can someone get me a Viggo-sized frying pan?"

" _No_!" Viggo pleads, though he's still laughing so hard that he can barely breathe. "River! _Help_!"

Tommy's in the middle of asking me what kind of cheese I think would taste best in a Viggo sandwich when River valiantly reappears in the room, brandishing a toy lightsaber (which means that the contents of at least one of the boxes in his and Viggo's room is probably scattered all over the floor already). Apparently Tommy is powerless in the face of a glowing, plastic stick, and he obediently releases Viggo into River's heroic custody.

"Damn." He sighs as they disappear from the room once again. "Now what am I gonna eat?"

"Well, if you wait about thirty minutes, you can have pork chops with pesto."

"Have I ever mentioned how hot it is that you can cook? And not just cook, but like... _cook_."

"I see the subtle distinction you made there." I tease him as he steps closer to me. For a second I think he's going to lean in and kiss me, even with Jenna in the room. Which I guess would be fine, considering the fact that she apparently knows we're together anyway. But he doesn't kiss me. He doesn't seem interested in me at all; it's my baby he's after. "You're not cooking my daughter, I don't care how hungry you are!"

"I'm not gonna cook the baby." He rolls his eyes at me, taking Asta out of my hands. "I just wanna hold her."

"Aww." Jenna coos, grinning at him like it's the sweetest thing she's ever heard. It's definitely one of the sweetest thing _I've_ heard.

"What?" He shrugs, the faint blush on his cheeks betraying his attempts to appear indifferent to the look she's giving him. "So I like babies? Shut up."

"I just think it's cute that you _want_ to hold her." She insists with a smile. "Some guys aren't interested in babies at all."

"Yeah, well, some guys are morons. I mean look at her, she's freaking adorable."

"Have I ever mentioned how hot it is that you find my kids adorable? And not just adorable, but like... _freaking_ adorable." I smirk at him, earning a half-hearted shove to the chest. "What?"

"You suck."

If it weren't for the presence of my baby girl and her babysitter, I could totally make something of that flippant little remark. But I guess now is not the time for way-too-obvious innuendo. Jenna excuses herself to go and check on the kids, and I get back to work making dinner so that Tommy doesn't starve to death (or eat an innocent child). But I can't stop myself from glancing over at him every-so-often. It doesn't matter how many times I see him with one of my kids, it never gets old. Sometimes I still can't believe we made it here, to this point, where all of the pieces just... fit.

Well, most of them.

It's not like everything is suddenly perfect; my family is still treating me like a pariah, and Ezra still needs some serious professional help. And I won't ignore those things, I can't. I'll work as hard as I can to fix them, to get things back to the way they were before. If that's even possible.

But this part of my life? This is exactly the way I wanted it to be for _so_ long.

This feels _completely_ right.

"The water's boiling over."

"Huh?"

Tommy rolls his eyes at me playfully, pointing to one of the saucepans on the stove. "It's boiling over."

"Shit."

"Language!" He chastises me in feigned disgust, holding Asta close to his chest and covering her ears. "The baby can _hear_ you."

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm a terrible father."

Next thing I know, I feel a sharp pain in my left butt cheek. At first I think Tommy must've pinched me, but when I turn around to look at him, I find him holding the knife I was using to cut vegetables.

"Did you just s _tab_ me?"I gape at him in disbelief, snatching the knife out of his hands. "In the _ass_?!"

"I didn't _stab_ you, I _poked_ you _very_ gently."

"With a knife!"

"With the tip of a knife." He asserts defensively. " _Gently_!"

"What if I'd backed up while you were _gently_ poking me in the ass with the tip of a kitchen knife?"

I can tell from the way he bites his lip that he's trying not to laugh at me. And to be honest, I'm having a hard time resisting the urge, too. "That would have been.... unfortunate."

"What's unfortunate is the fact that you're using my daughter as a human shield right now, otherwise you'd have some 'splainin' to do."

"That _is_ unfortunate." He teases, slipping his free arm around my waist and murmuring against my ear. "I promise I'll kiss it better later."

"Does that mean you're staying over tonight?" I ask hopefully as I turn my face towards his and gently peck his lips.

"I can if you want me to. I figured you might need an extra pair of hands to get sheets on beds and stuff."

"Ugh." I'd actually been in denial about that whole process. "Yeah, that's gonna be all kinds of fun."

"Well, I'm warning you now that I kinda suck at making beds, so my help probably isn't gonna be all that helpful. But I'm here if you want me."

Rather than telling him that I _always_ want him, because I'm sure that's a given by now, I simply smile appreciatively and kiss him again. "Thank you."

While I finish making dinner, Tommy takes Asta into the dining room so that she can practice using the dining chairs to stand up and he can try to clear away some of the boxes so that there's actually space for people to sit at the table. Everyone comes scurrying into the room like hungry animals as soon as I call out that dinner is ready. Everyone except Ezra, but that's normal at this point. I just have to take a breath and remind myself that tomorrow is his first therapy session. Probably the first of many, but it's still a step in the right direction (I hope), and I can't wait for him to take it.

After dinner, I put Asta to bed and we all settle into the family room for a movie of Jenna's choosing, since it's her last night with us. She picks out ' _How To Train Your Dragon_ ', which is thankfully one of the few movies that both Penny and River like, so there's no complaining from anyone. It's pretty cramped in here, with so many bodies and boxes everywhere, but it feels good. Sharing an over-sized armchair with Tommy, with Viggo falling asleep draped across both of our laps while I watch Jenna braiding Penny's hair, and River all but doing handstands on the couch cushions beside them (because God forbid he sit still for an entire hour), I feel _so_ comfortable. So at home.

But it's not a family without Ezra.

By the time the credits roll, I'm so tired that I almost want to suggest that we all sleep in here. It's completely impractical, but it involves the least amount of effort. Tommy, Jenna, and I each assume a responsibility in the "bedtime" routine, be it overseeing tooth brushing, digging bed sheets out of boxes, or making beds. The whole ordeal takes almost an hour, song-singing and storytelling included, by which point I don't even _care_ if there are sheets on my own bed, I just want to lay down somewhere and sleep.

Once Jenna is comfortable on the couch and has assured me for the hundredth time that she doesn't need anything, I make a beeline for my bedroom... only I get a little lost on the way, because it's not at the same end of the house as it was in Tulsa and I have no sense of direction. When I get there I find that Tommy has already made the bed for me. The French doors to the balcony are wide open, and he's standing out there alone, gazing out at the glimmering lights of the city under the almost-full moon. I'm torn between going to him and wrapping my arms around him, feeling him against me, or standing right here and admiring how gorgeous he looks.

"Amazing view, huh?" I finally declare, startling him a little.

"Yeah, it is." He smiles, staring back up at the hazy, white moon as I approach him. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you live here. Like... this is _your_ view, and that's _your_ bed."

"Which I'm still planning to get rid of, by the way." I press my lips to his shoulder as my arms encircle his waist, and he sighs softly, contentedly. "I was gonna do it before the move, but I wanna take you bed shopping."

"I've actually never been bed shopping before."

"No?"

He shakes his head, turning around to face me. "I haven't had a _new_ new bed since I was a kid."

"Well, then, as soon as things calm down around here a little, we're gonna go lay on every bed in every mattress store in Los Angeles."

It's obvious he thinks I'm joking (and okay, I kind of am), but I'm serious about wanting him to help pick out whichever bed I end up buying. He's going to be spending a lot of time on it, if I have anything to say about it.

"You say 'as soon as things calm down' like you expect it to actually happen someday." He notes semi-seriously. "I'm pretty sure there's no such thing as calm where your kids are concerned." This is very true. "And it's probably only gonna get _more_ insane after Jenna leaves tomorrow. At least until you get Ezra, Penny, and River back in school."

"Which is basically a done deal after we go on the visit thing this week." I reassure him (and myself). "But you're right; having Jenna around has made life _a lot_ easier..."

Uh-oh. I know this feeling; I'm having an idea. This could be painful.

"What?" He asks, the faint note of dread in his tone making it obvious that he can all but hear the cogs turning. "You've got that look on your face that you get when you have a horrible idea."

"It's not a _horrible_ idea."

"What isn't?"

"Asking Jenna to stay."

"For a little longer? Or like... permanently?"

"Well... permanently, I guess. I mean, I'm gonna have to find a new babysitter anyway, and I wasn't really looking forward to vetting dozens of strangers to find one. The kids know her, they like her, and I know I can trust her. She even knows we're together, and she's _totally_ cool about it. Besides, she was telling me earlier that she doesn't want to live in Tulsa her whole life, and she loves L.A."

"So... you want her to live here? Like... in the house?"

"In the guest house." I shrug, liking this idea more and more by the minute.

"But I thought you wanted to turn the guest house into a studio."

"I did, but... maybe it'd make more sense to leave it the way it is and use another part of the house. Like the wine cellar. I mean, who needs a wine cellar? I barely need a wine _rack_."

"I guess..."

"But I don't wanna do it if you're not okay with it." I frown uncertainly, trying to get him to look me in the eyes so that I can get an idea of how he _really_ feels about it. "If you hate the idea-"

"I don't hate it." He insists sincerely, though he still doesn't seem entirely sure of himself. "Besides, it's not up to me. It's your house, and they're your kids-"

"And you're _my_ boyfriend. I want you to be happy, and I want you to feel comfortable when you're here."

"You worry too fucking much."

"I do." I agree without hesitation. "But sometimes I'm right to worry."

"If you think it's a good idea... go for it." He shrugs nonchalantly. "You're right. The kids do already know her, and you know she's good with them. There's gonna be enough new stuff for them to get used to, if this can be one less thing then we... I mean _you_ should do it."

He got it right the first time, but I decide not to push my luck by telling him that and forcing him to admit that he _does_ in fact have a say in decisions like this. "Are you _sure_ you're okay with it?"

"Yes."

" _Really_?"

His eyes narrow into a glare as he places his hands flat against my chest and pushes me backwards into the bedroom. "What will it take to make you shut the fuck up?"

"I don't know." I grin at him, suddenly feeling a lot more energized now than I did when I first walked in here. "Maybe if I had something in my mouth...?"

"Hmm..." He pushes me backwards onto the bed, offering me a mischievous smile before unbuttoning his jeans and crawling on top of me. "Let me see what I can find."

                                                             


	43. Chapter 43

  


 

 

Waking up these last few days has definitely been less of a chore than it was before we moved out here. But waking up in a hotel room still made it difficult for me to fully accept that it wasn't just another vacation.

It's hard to describe the feeling that comes over me as I slowly open my eyes and take in my new surroundings. The sight of _my_ dresser against the wall, _my_ sheets draped across my stomach...

 _My_ boyfriend sleeping peacefully beside me.

Peacefully... and naked.

As soon as my gaze settles on him, whatever it was that I was feeling over the knowledge that I'm _finally_ in _my_ new house, in the place I've _always_ wanted to live, doubles. Triples. Sky rockets. I'm almost afraid to move, afraid to reach out and touch anything, because I don't want to discover that this is just a dream. But when he gradually begins to stir, yawning, and stretching, and rolling towards me, I have no choice in the matter. He opens his eyes, smiles at me devilishly, and reaches out one, sleepy hand to touch my chest. Not for any particular reason, just to touch me. Because he can. Because I'm here.

Because this _is_ real.

"Mmm... mornin'." He sighs lazily.

"Morning."

"What time is it?"

I don't care. "No idea."

"It's quiet..." He observes as he shifts a little closer to me. "Think everyone else is still asleep?"

I highly doubt it, but the lack of shouting means that Jenna must have things under control. "Sure sounds that way, doesn't it?"

His smile grows even wider as he carefully maneuvers his body on top of mine, placing light kisses to my chest. "So what's on the agenda for you today?"

"Well, let's see..." It's difficult to think at all as he slowly slithers lower and lower, his mouth trailing along my skin the entire way. "Uh... breakfast..."

"Yum." He teases, disappearing beneath the sheets.

"And then... um..." Oh _God_... "Um..." Oh crap. "Ez has therapy."

And there goes my good mood.

Sensing that this realization has pretty much served as a big turn off to me, Tommy pushes the bed sheets back over his head and rolls off of me. But I can tell that he's not too annoyed by the change of pace, because rather than simply lying on his back beside me, he rolls over to face me again. And the concerned look in his eyes is completely genuine.

"Nervous?"

"I don't know if nervous is the right word... I don't really know what I'm feeling, to be honest. I mean, I can't _make_ him talk to anyone, and I doubt this woman has some magic word she can say to him that will miraculously make him spill his guts to her. I told her he'd put up a fight about it, and she said that was fine, and that she would just keep seeing him until he was ready to open up."

"Well that's good, right?" He asks hopefully, brushing my forearm with the backs of his fingertips. "At least you know she's not gonna give up on him."

"Yeah, I guess. But what if he's _never_ ready to open up to her?"

"Then you find someone else."

"And if he never wants to open up to that person, or _anyone_?" I question sadly.

I'm not trying to be a pessimist about this before it's even begun (because pessimism is Ike's forte, not mine). But I can't help but wonder. I can't imagine Ezra opening his heart to anyone anymore. It's like Natalie's death hurt him so much that he's refusing to let anything or anyone get close to him again, even me. Then again, for all I know I've unintentionally hurt him, too. And that's why he's been pushing me away all year.

"He'll talk." Tommy eventually replies, sounding very determined. "Even if we have to tie him to a chair and threaten to pull his teeth out."

I snort softly, rolling my eyes at him as I shove him playfully away from me. "That's called torture. And, oh yeah, child abuse."

"Desperate times..."

"You're gonna make a _awesome_ father."

I think I actually saw his expression change _before_ it even happened. It's like I'm becoming so aware of his triggers that I can foresee his reaction before he has one. Even the slightest hint about him facing long term commitment and responsibility terrifies him. And _that_ would terrify me if it wasn't for the fact that he's here. Despite his lingering fears and uncertainties about his ability to do all of this, he's still here. He's hasn't given up on me and run away, regardless after all of the drama and heartache he's been exposed to recently.

If anything, we're closer than we've ever been.

"Don't make the face." I tease him gently, leaning over to peck the tip of his nose.

"I didn't make a face."

"Trust the person who can actually _see_ your face right now; you made a face."

He sighs somewhat petulantly, but I get the feeling he's annoyed at himself rather than me. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay." I assure him wholeheartedly. "You're allowed to be freaked out about all of this. It's kind of impossible not to be sometimes."

"I just... I dunno. I know we're together, and I know you have kids-"

"A-plus for your observation skills."

"That's the highest grade I ever got for _anything_." He smirks faintly, but it's only a couple of seconds before his more somber mood returns. "I guess I still kinda have a hard time like... thinking of myself as a dad, you know? I know I'm gonna be a step... parent or whatever to them some day. Even if they never call me dad or anything, that's basically the role I'm gonna have, right?"

I'm sure telling him "no" would make it a little easier for him to breathe, but it would also be a lie. Even if my kids call him Tommy for the rest of his life and never refer to him as their father, he's going to be a permanent fixture in their lives now. He's going to be their family. He's going to be their dad's partner, which _does_ basically make him a step-parent.

"Yeah, it is."

He nods slowly, trying to accept this undeniable fact. "I'll get used to it."

"I know you will."

"It's just weird. My whole life, whenever anyone asked me if I wanted to get married and have kids, I was always like 'yeah, definitely!' And part of me really _did_ want that some day, but I could never actually like picture it. I couldn't see myself married with kids but I just figured it would happen eventually anyway, 'cause it happens to most people." He admits quietly, running his fingers over the gentle bumps and grooves of my knuckles as he talks. "Now I'm starting to think I couldn't see it 'cause I was always trying to picture myself married to a girl, you know? With two kids and a dog or something... and that wasn't where I was gonna end up."

"Probably would've been a hell of a lot easier for you if it had been."

"Maybe." He shrugs, the smile returning to his lips as he moves in closer. "But who wants easy?"

" _I_ do. That's why I'm with you."

"I fucking _knew_ you were gonna say that!"

"It's not my fault! There was _no way_ I could leave that one alone!"

"Yeah, well, there's no fucking way you're getting any from me this morning." He threatens, rolling away from me and throwing off the sheets to get out of bed. "How's _that_ for easy?"

I love it when he plays hard to get.

I let him get off of the mattress, but just before he's out of reach I lunge forwards and grab him by the arm. The fight he puts up is entirely for show (and therefore entirely pathetic). It takes me all of two seconds to overpower his "struggling" and pull him back into bed, and if he thinks a little bit of wriggling around is going to stop me from pinning him down, he has another thing coming!

Thankfully, I hear River's voice getting louder and louder out in the hall just in time to clamber off of Tommy and pull the sheets over us both before the door flies open and my son comes racing into the room.  He seems unfazed by the sight of us in bed together, probably because he's too preoccupied with whatever it was he came in here to talk to me about.

"Daddy, Jenna has _never_ been to Griddle Cafe _ever_! We _have_ to go! Can we go _now_? _Please_?!"

"Well..."

" _Puh-lease_?!"

I'm pretty sure he's more desperate to go to Griddle Cafe for his own benefit rather than Jenna's, but it's not like I blame him. He's his father's son, and I've never been known to turn down an opportunity to stuff my face with red velvet pancakes.

"Okay, sure."

" _Yes_!"

After doing what I can only assume is some kind of victory dance, he runs back out of the room yelling at the top of his lungs that I said we could go. I'm already over the shock of the intrusion when I turn back to Tommy, but it's pretty obvious he's still a little taken aback. I guess I have several more years experience of having children barge into my bedroom first thing in the morning than he does.

"So... we should probably get dressed?" He asks with a soft, bemused chuckle.

"Well, we don't have to get dressed right _now_." I smile at him as he cocks a curious eyebrow at me. "I mean, we should probably take a shower first."

"Good point. I am feeling _really_ dirty this morning..."

Red velvet pancakes _and_ dirty shower sex?

I fucking _love_ Los Angeles!

It's difficult to really care about much of anything besides how this feels, how _he_ feels. I lose all track of time when his lips are so perfectly melded with mine. The slightest graze of his tongue leaves me blissfully oblivious to the world around me. Which is why it feels like being rudely awoken from a good dream when it all stops without warning.

I open my eyes, instantly noticing that his are open, too... and fixed anxiously on something behind me. I don't want to roll over, because I know that whatever it is I'm about to see can't be good. But I can't lie here forever and pretend this isn't happening. I think some part of me was already aware that it was Penny I would see as soon as I glanced over at the doorway. I feel like an idiot for leaving it open after River left, I just didn't even _think_...

"Hey, sweetie... are you okay?"

"I can't find where I packed my headband with the red flower on it." She tells me in a mumble, her eyes trained on the floor at her feet.

"Okay, well... I'll come and help you look for it in a minute, okay?"

With nothing but a small nod she disappears down the hall, and I collapse onto my back with a groan of frustration. We'd been trying _so_ hard not to flaunt our relationship around my kids, keeping the kissing to a minimum and giving them time and space to begin accepting that we're more than just friends. But I think walking in on us making out in bed kind of shot any progress we'd made with Penny to hell.

The only person she's ever seen me in bed with before is her mom. And I'm starting to think that's bothering her even more than the whole "God says you shouldn't" thing. Seeing me with Tommy this way is just another reminder to her that her mom isn't here, that she will _never_ be here again.

"You okay?" Tommy asks, tentatively stroking my arm in an attempt to coax me out of my self-loathing.

"I just... hate seeing her so hurt."

"I know." He sighs understandingly. "Me too."

Even though it doesn't diminish the guilt I feel over what has just happened, it's still comforting to know how much he really does care about my kids. Even though I was already sure of it, and have been for a long time, sometimes he'll say something or do something that makes it _so_ clear. And in those moments, it hits me all over again just how much I love him.

Neither of us is really in the mood for a shower anymore. I feel too guilty, and there's no way I can take a shower with him when all I can think about is how sad Penny looked. After digging some clean clothes out of one of the suitcases over by the dresser, I take a deep breath and make my way to my daughter's bedroom, trying to think of something to say to her that might somehow make her feel better. I find her kneeling beside one of the half a dozen boxes scattered across the floor, rummaging through it in a futile search for her headband.

And every-so-often, she sniffles softly.

"Penny?"

"I can't find it!" She tells me crossly, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan before moving on to the next box. "It's the only one that goes with my dress."

I'm about to suggest that she wear a different dress until we have time to search every box and suitcase in the house for her missing accessory. But I know from a decade of living with her mother that such an idea is likely to make matters even worse.

One does not simply walk into Mordor. And one does not simply wear another dress.

"Can I help you look?"

"It's not here." She cries forlornly, sinking down onto her heels in defeat as tears wind their way down her face and break my heart. "I just want my headband."

"It's okay." I soothe her gently, joining her on her bedroom floor and wrapping my arms around her. Again, my instinct is to fix this, to tell her we can get her a new headband. But again, I stop myself. I already know that she doesn't _want_ a new headband. "We'll find it."

I'm half expecting her to shrug me off and tell me that we won't find it because it's gone. But instead she turns towards me, burying her face in my t-shirt and sobbing even harder as I hopelessly stroke her soft, blond curls and offer her whatever worthless words of comfort I can think of.

There's nothing else I _can_ do.

Once her tears have subsided, and she's decided to forgo any kind of hair accessories for today, we head to the family room where Jenna and Tommy are hanging out with her brothers. I already know from the way he stands up as soon as I enter the room that Tommy's about to try to excuse himself. And I know I shouldn't try to stop him. Even though he hasn't done anything wrong, and I don't want him to feel unwelcome in any way, I also don't want him to feel pressured to stay if he needs a break. In fact, I'm sure that it'll be better in the long run to let him go now, to give him some room to breathe so that he can come back when he's _ready_.

"Who wants some red velvet pancakes?" I ask in the most cheerful tone I can muster, picking Asta up off the floor in the middle of the room.

"Actually, I have to get home and get ready for my flight to Dallas, so..."

I smile faintly, repeatedly telling myself that it's okay for him to leave. "Sure."

"Why do you gotta go to Dallas?" Frowns Viggo in blatant disappointment. "Can't you just have breakfast first?"

"I wish I could, dude, but I _really_ need to finish packing." Tommy replies apologetically.

"Will you come over again right when you get back from Dallas?" River pleads hopefully.

"Uh..." Whether it's intentional of not, I don't know. But I notice the way Tommy's gaze goes to Penny, and I notice how conflicted he seems when she automatically averts her eyes to the ground. "How about I talk to your dad later and we'll see, okay?"

Even though Viggo and River agree to those terms, it's with a great deal of reluctance. I can see just how torn Tommy feels, knowing how badly they want him here, but not knowing whether Penny wants him here at all. He doesn't want to disappoint any of them, but he probably feels that no matter which choice he makes, he's going to do just that.

It's a feeling I'm all too familiar with, and a feeling that he'll sadly have to get used to if he plans on sticking around.

"Okay, before we go, Tommy and I need to talk to Jenna for a minute." I tell them all, already anticipating the impatient whining I receive in response. "It won't take long! We'll be right back."

The kids go back to watching TV while the three of us (and Asta) make our way through the dining room and into the kitchen, which hopefully puts us out of earshot but is still close enough that we can hear any potential problems before they get too out of control. As we walk, I lean in closer to Tommy and ask him one last time if he's _sure_ he's okay with this whole thing. In response, I receive a pinch on the ass.

I guess that's his way of telling me to stop pestering him.

"What's up?" Jenna asks once we're all gathered by the kitchen island. She glances back and forth between the two off us uncertainly, and I instantly feel bad that she's so obviously worried something is wrong. "Is everything okay?"

"Don't look at me." Tommy holds his hands up in a show of innocence. "This is none of my business."

For that comment, he receives a playful glare and a hip nudge. "Ignore him."

"What? It's true!"

"What's going on?" She chuckles. "What's none of whose business?"

Here goes nothing... "I know this might sound kind of insane, but after we talked last night, I was thinking about how you didn't want to stay in Tulsa, and how much you seemed to like it out here... and I've been dreading having to find someone new to look after the kids, and since they already know you and like you..."

"Spit it out." Tommy commands me, smacking me lightly on the back of the head. "You're killin' the poor girl!"

Oh, he is _so_ gonna get it later.

"What I'm trying to say, or... ask, I guess, is... is there any chance you'd consider maybe staying?"

"Staying?" She repeats apprehensively, as though she's afraid to get her hopes up in case she didn't hear me right. "Here?"

"Well, not staying, but like... coming back. Soon. Permanently. Or... you know, not _permanently_ , but... for the foreseeable future?"

"God, you're good at this." Teases Tommy with a shake of his head.

"Didn't you say you had some packing to do?"

"Not right this second."

 _Definitely_ gonna get it.

"Wait a minute..." Jenna interrupts our lighthearted bickering, still trying to process what it is I'm asking her (because, as Tommy pointed out, I did a craptastic job of wording it). "You want me to move out here?"

"Yes. If _you_ want to, obviously."

"Of course I want to! But... I mean..." She laughs softly, struggling to gather her thoughts. "I'm not sure I could afford to live in L.A.-"

"You can live here."

" _What_?"

"In the guest house." I continue hopefully. "I figure we can come up with a consistent schedule for you to look after the kids, and in return you'd get a place to live and whatever you want to eat out of the kitchen. And then any hours you work outside of that schedule, like... if Tommy and I wanna go out for the night or something, I'll pay you hourly like I usually do, so you'll still have money to spend."

"Wow..."

"You'll have your own space, and free time. I wouldn't just dump the kids on you whenever I felt like it, or expect you to babysit at a moment's notice. And if you decide you want to get another part-time job, we'll figure out a way to work around it."

"Are you _serious_?" She practically squeals, throwing her arms around me (and Asta) and hugging me tightly. "That sounds _incredible_!"

"So you'll think about it?"

"What's there to think about?! I love L.A., and I love your kids... this is _amazing_! Thank you _so_ much!"

"Thank _you_." I insist sincerely as I let her go again. "You have _no_ idea how much of a relief it is to know there'll be another trustworthy pair of eyes and ears looking out for my kids. In case you hadn't noticed, they _kinda_ have us outnumbered."

"Oh my God... I was dreading getting on that plane tonight, but now I can't _wait_ to get home so I can tell everyone!" She grins excitedly. "I can't believe this is actually happening."

"We can figure out all the details and everything later?"

"Okay!" With one more brief hug and another gleeful "thank you!", she takes Asta from my arms and all but skips out of the room.

"You sure made her day." Tommy laughs quietly to himself.

"Yeah, well, it's nice to feel like I did something _right_ for a change. I'm sure Ezra's not gonna be nearly as happy with me when he figures out I'm taking him to see a therapist this afternoon."

He doesn't bother trying to tell me that it's going to be okay, or that maybe Ezra won't take it as badly as I think he will. We both know that's bullshit. Instead, he simply hugs me tightly and tells me to call him later if I want to. It may not seem like much, but it feels like all I needed to hear.

Once Tommy has said his goodbyes and left to prepare for his trip to Texas, the rest of us drive out to Sunset Boulevard so that Jenna can be treated to her first meal at Griddle Cafe. By the time we get there, the kids have pretty much walked her through the entire menu from memory, which makes me so proud. And _so_ hungry. Over breakfast I break the news to them that Jenna might be moving in with us, which they receive with nothing but enthusiasm. Except Ezra, who hasn't shown enthusiasm for anything for so long now that I can barely remember the last time it happened.

But barely is still enough to hurt.

I remember what it looks like when he smiles. I remember what it sounds like when he laughs. I just can't believe it's been almost a year now since he did either, and I can only hope that today is the first step on the path to getting him back to being the happy, _healthy_ little boy that he used to be.


	44. Chapter 44

  


 

 

When it came to how I was going to handle taking Ezra to his first therapy session, I did _a lot_ of soul searching. I basically had only two options: to tell him, or to keep it from him. It didn't seem fair to just drive him over to her office and announce it to him in the waiting room, it gave him no time to prepare himself. But giving him time to prepare himself might also equate to giving him time to run away again, or think up a dozen ways to make even getting him into the car completely impossible.

In the end, after weighing the pros and cons for weeks and failing to come to any real conclusion, I just let the day unfold however it was going to. Which has resulted in me having Jenna take River, Penny, and Viggo to a movie while I take Asta and Ezra to Beverly Hills. Ezra complained about the movie they were seeing, saying it was for little kids and that he didn't want to go. But as soon as I told him to stay in the car while Jenna unloaded his brothers and sisters, he complained about that, too.

Why didn't he get to go to the movie? Why did he have to stay with me? He didn't want to go wherever I was going. I never let him do what he wanted to do. He hated me. Etcetera, etcetera...

It was nothing I hadn't been anticipating, and I did my best to block it out.

He grudgingly gets out of the car once I've found street parking within a couple of blocks of the small office building, and even though he refuses to ask, I can tell he wants to know where we are and what we're doing. I keep a close eye on him as he lags behind me the way he always does whenever we go out in public together, just in case he somehow figures out what's going on and tries to bolt. But luckily we manage to get up to the waiting room without incident.

"Why are we here?" He finally mutters, slumping into a seat across the room from me (because no way in hell would he sit next to me unless every other seat was taken). "Why did I have to come with _you_ instead of going to the movie with everyone else?"

I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for whatever reaction he might have when I finally tell him the truth. "This is a doctor's office."

"But _why_ are we here?" He repeats impatiently, as though I must have been too dumb to understand the question the first time he asked it.

"We're here to meet a woman named Teresa."

"Why?"

"She's a doctor."

"Are you sick or something?" For the briefest of moments, I'm almost convinced that I can see a hint of concern in his eyes. But I'm sure I'm just imagining things.

It was more likely hope than worry.

"She's not that kind of doctor. She's... she helps people who are hurt... inside. People who are sad or afraid or angry-"

He's out of his chair and halfway to the door before I can blink. Thankfully, I haven't taken Asta out of her carrier yet, so I don't have to worry about putting her down safely before making a grab for him.

"Get off of me! I wanna go!"

"You're _not_ going anywhere." I tell him as firmly as I can. "We're here so you can see a doctor, and we're not leaving until you do."

"I don't _want_ to see a stupid doctor-"

"You must be Ezra?"

The friendly voice  behind us surprises him enough to stop his struggling and get his attention. "Leave me alone."

"Ezra-"

"Leave me alone!" He screams in my face, clawing at my hand in a desperate attempt to make me release my grip.

I don't know how to feel or what to do. Part of me is embarrassed to have anyone see him behaving this way, to have anyone see _me_ unable to do anything about it. But embarrassment is really the least of my problems. If I can barely keep him in the waiting room, I'm not sure how the hell I'm supposed to get him into Teresa's office. And even if I can, what am I supposed to do for the next _hour_?

Sit on him for his entire damn session?!

"Ezra, my name is Doctor Kendall..." She tries to place a hand on his shoulder, but he immediately jerks away from her touch. "It looks like you don't really want to be here."

"I _don't_."

"Can you tell me why?"

"Because I don't want to talk to you!"

"Okay." She nods calmly, seemingly unaffected by his aggressive behavior. I wish I was as immune to it. "That's okay, you don't have to talk if you don't want to. But I would still like for you to stay for a-"

"Bite me!"

" _Ezra_!"

"It's okay, I've heard worse." She assures me kindly, turning her attention back to my unruly son. "How about I make you a deal, Ezra? If you stay here and talk to me today, you never have to come back again if you don't want to." I open my mouth to ask her if she's lost her mind, but she gives me a look that tells me to trust her. And I do. "But if you don't, you have to keep coming back."

He continues fighting me for a few seconds longer. But as he accepts the fact that there is no way he can get me to let go, and that he isn't leaving the building until his appointment is over, whether he spends the entire hour in the waiting room or her office, he stops. I feel him stop tugging, stop resisting, and I almost can't believe how "easy" it was. I'm pretty sure that Doctor Kendall is some kind of miracle worker, because in the space of sixty seconds, she's somehow managed to reason with my impossible to reason with kid!

I let him pull his arm out of my grasp before he stalks irritably over to her office door and disappears inside. Teresa smiles at me and quietly tells me that they'll see me in an hour, and then she follows him. And I'm left alone to sit, and wait, and wonder how it's going on the other side of the door. I don't hear any screaming or name calling, which is somewhat comforting. But I don't hear anything else, either. Not even the faint murmur of voices.

 _Nothing_.

I focus my attention on Asta, playing with her, trying to coax a word ( _any_ word) besides "mama" and a bunch of meaningless sounds out of her, and generally taking advantage of the opportunity to have a little one-on-one time with one of my children for once. Until, after what feels like forever, the door reopens and the two of them reemerge. Ezra looks as pissed off as he did when I last saw him, and Teresa looks just as composed and unruffled.

"I'll see you at your next appointment, Ezra." She calls to him as he makes a beeline for the door, and he quickly stops and turns to scowl at her in outrage.

"What? _Why_?! We had a deal!"

"We did." She nods in agreement. "The deal was that if you stayed and _talked_ to me, you didn't have to come back."

His glare makes it more than obvious how angry he is, how tricked he feels. But I can tell that he knows she's right; that _was_ their deal, and she didn't deceive or fool him at all. And since he apparently didn't utter a word to her for the past hour, he hasn't earned the right to walk out of here and never return.

"I _hate_ you."

"Well, I hope we can do something about that next time we see each other." She tells him with complete sincerity and not so much as a shred of mocking. And then she turns to me, holding out a hand for me to shake before I grab Asta's carrier off of the floor and hurry to catch up to my son. "I'll call you later today to discuss his next appointment?"

"That'd be great. _Thank you_."

The silent treatment I receive all the way back to the movie theater comes as no surprise. I don't even try asking him about what happened in his therapy session, whether Teresa asked him any questions at all, because I know he won't answer me. He snaps at his brothers and sister to shut up when they try to tell him all about the movie, and I resist the urge to tell him not to be mean to them because I already feel like I've done enough to vilify myself in his eyes today.

The rest of the afternoon is spent hanging out at the house. Jenna and the kids play out in the pool, and Asta "helps" me to unpack some more boxes. Which basically means that she used the boxes to help her stand up, and then proceeded to reach in and grab pieces of newspaper and bubble wrap and throw them randomly around whichever room we happened to be in. But she was safe and happy, so I let her get on with it. I got a hell of a lot more done by letting her make a mess than I would have by trying to unpack _and_ control her every move at the same time.

Teresa calls me just as I've _finally_ succeeded in setting up the family room exactly how I want it (okay, that's not entirely true; I really wanted to alphabetize the DVDs. But I stopped myself, because with five kids, what's the freaking point?). She confirms what I already knew, that Ezra didn't say a single word to her when they were alone together. But she assures me it's not the first time she's treated a child as angry and uncooperative as he is, and that there have been very few instances where she's had to "admit defeat". We set up another appointment for Ezra later in the week, and she tells me that she'll probably be wanting to see him more than once a week at first. I can't decide whether that's a good thing or not...

We take Jenna to the airport just before dinner, and even though we're all sad to see her go, knowing that she'll be back again as soon as she's had chance to pack her things and say goodbye to her family and friends makes it easier for everyone to say goodbye. On the way back to the house, I take the kids by Mel's Diner for dinner, because no way can I be bothered to cook tonight. Especially if I have five kids to bathe and put to bed by myself. Tommy was right; now that Jenna is gone things are about to get pretty crazy.

At least he'll be back from Dallas tomorrow afternoon...

I already miss him.

I know that's dumb. Even if he wasn't in another state tonight, that doesn't mean he would have stayed over or that I would have seen him at all. But it's like I'm acutely aware of how much further away he is now than he was when I woke up this morning. I swear I can _feel_ it.

By the time I've successfully gotten all of them into bed and asleep, the only thing I feel capable of doing is collapsing on my own bed and passing out. And with the thought of how much unpacking I still have left to do weighing heavily on my mind, that's exactly what I do. I feel as though I only sleep for about an hour before the sound of Asta crying on the baby monitor pulls me abruptly back to consciousness. The sun is up, the birds are singing... and I need a fucking caffeine IV!

It's almost amusing how similar my morning routine is now to how it was in Tulsa. I don't know why I expected it to be any different. In fact, I _didn't_ expect it to change at all. But it's still odd to me for some reason. It's like I literally just picked up my life and placed it back down in another state, and nothing really changed.

The kids watch movies and play in their rooms (as much as they can when their rooms are like cardboard obstacle courses), and I do my best to get the kitchen completely unpacked and put away. It felt never-ending the day we moved in; it had taken weeks to pack it all up, so I assumed it would take at least as long to return everything to its proper place again. But apparently unpacking is the easy part. And, in some ways, it's the fun part. I get to rearrange my life, put this new house together the way _I_ want to. It's all part of starting over with a blank slate, I guess, and it's a pretty liberating (if completely exhausting) experience.

I feel like a bad father, but by the end of the day I'm too tired to make a proper dinner (again), so I end up ordering pizza (again). I try to tell myself that I'll make up for it by feeding them nothing but incredibly healthy food for the rest of the year, and maybe even taking them on a hike in the morning. But I know it's a lie. I will feed them healthy food, I almost always do... but _you_ try keeping kids away from candy at Halloween and Christmas! It's _really_ hard!

I had been hoping that Tommy would join us for dinner when he got back from Texas, but apparently his mom beat me to it and he already told her he'd stop by. He promises to make it up to me by spending all day tomorrow with us, which is a silly promise for him to make. He doesn't owe me anything and he doesn't have to make anything up to me. But even as I told him all of that, I also reminded him that he'd already _made_ the promise so he couldn't get out of keeping it this time. He called me a loser.

I've honestly _never_ been so happy to be a loser.

Even though I don't get to see him, I _do_ end up having a dream about him (which is the next best thing). I don't really remember how it began, he was suddenly just... here. Everything feels better. I can feel his arms around me, his lips leaving light kisses across my bare shoulders as he whispers to me...

"Baby..."

"Mmm?"

"Wake up."

"Huh?"

He laughs quietly, his breath hitting my spine in a soft burst of warmth. " _Wake up._ "

For a moment, I hesitate. I not quite sure how to wake up from a dream _in_ a dream. But eventually I figure I should roll over and open my eyes, just as I would if I was waking up in reality.

And as my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, and I see his smiling face mere inches from mine, I realize it's not a dream at all. "Hey..."

"Hi."

"You're really here?"

"I am. You can pinch me if you need proof."

"That's a _very_ selfless offer." I chuckle, pressing my mouth to his and savoring the soft sigh he instantly exhales. "What time is it?"

"Twelve-oh-one." He shrugs. "I promised you I'd be here all day."

"You did."

"And I _always_ keep my promises."

"You know..." I begin innocently as my hand slowly trails along the side of his thigh before sliding around the back and hooking his leg around me. "You also promised me _really_ incredible midnight sex that lasts until dawn."

"I did?"

"It was an _unspoken_ promise, but... yeah, you kinda did."

He heaves a feigned sigh of objection, right before a sinfully playful grin spreads across his face and he pulls me on top of him. "Ain't no rest for the wicked."

We don't make it until dawn, but we hold out as long as either of us can physically bear to. He's been gone for less than two days, but we're all over each other like he's been on a world tour for months. I know this is the "honeymoon" stage, and it probably won't last forever, but dear _God_ I'm going to make the most of it. I'll enjoy every midnight visit he makes, even if they leave me so worn out that I need twice as much sleep as usual but end up only getting half as much instead. I'm going to proudly wear every last hickey that he leaves on my neck because he's too consumed by how _I'm_ making him feel to even think about being careful. I'm going to savor every thrust of his hips to meet mine, every arch of his body to my touch, the way his hands look when they grasps the sheets, the way the sweat on his shoulder blades tastes, the way his breathing sounds right before he's about to come...

I'm pretty sure I fall asleep smiling, _and_ wake up smiling.

Until I roll over and find him getting dressed as quietly as possible. Much like someone who's about to creep out before sunrise to  avoid an awkward "morning after" encounter with a one night stand.

"Going somewhere?"

He looks caught. Embarrassed, even. "I was..."

"Sneaking out?"

"Uh... pretty much."

I was actually kidding... now I'm confused. "What's going on? Why're you leaving?"

"I'm not leaving. Not _really_."

"Okay, look, I know we're still getting to know each other like... on a day in, day out basis. And ordinarily I'd be happy to try really hard to figure out what it is you're doing right now, but... it's like six-thirty am, and I'm not even sure I'm fully conscious, so..."

He smiles as he leans across the mattress and kisses me tenderly. "I'm just going out to my car."

"Why?"

"To wait."

"For...?"

"Everyone else to wake up."

At first I'm still completely confused. But the pieces slowly begin to fall into place, and I finally understand what it is he's doing. "Tommy-"

"I know I don't have to." He tells me before I can finish telling him it's not necessary. "I _want_ to. At least... for now."

I want to insist that he take his clothes off and get back in bed, but I know he won't do it. I want to convince him that this isn't going to help, but I know I can't. And who knows, maybe I shouldn't try. Maybe he's actually right, and if Penny thinks he only came over for breakfast and didn't spend the night, she'll feel better about things.

And that tiny shred of hope is enough to stop me from stopping him.

I'm tempted to wake my kids up on purpose almost as soon as he leaves the house, because I don't want him sitting out in his car indefinitely. But luckily, they wake up on their own pretty quickly anyway, and I text him as soon as Penny sets foot in the kitchen and asks for peanut butter on toast. He still waits another ten minutes or so before putting in an appearance, and when he does walk into the dining room, the first thing I notice about him is his neat hair and perfect makeup. Which he must have done while he was out in the car. Which means he had his makeup and hair brush out there.

Which means that he planned to sneak out this morning before he even came over last night.

I think I might love him even more now.

"Hey, Tommy, Do you wanna come to Mr. Bones' Pumpkin Patch with us tonight?" River asks as Tommy pours himself a glass of orange juice. "There's gonna be a maze, and pony rides, and a _super_ slide! And I'm gonna be Iron Man!"

"I'm gonna be Spider-Man!" Announces Viggo, striking his best superhero pose.

"Yeah, sure. I don't have plans, so I can come along if you guys want me to." He smiles with a casual shrug, even though I know he doesn't feel all that casual as he turns his attention to Penny. "What're you gonna be for Halloween?"

"Belle."

" _Again_." Teases River.

"Shut up!"

"She was Belle last year, too." He informs Tommy, oblivious to his sister's death glare (as always). "I told her you're not s'posed to be the same thing _all_ the time, but she never listens to me."

"Well, sometimes it's okay to be the same thing more than once." Tommy argues on her behalf. "I've been a vampire a bunch of times."

"Yeah, but vampires are cool! Belle is just a stupid _princess_."

"She is _not_!" Snaps Penny. "Iron Man is just a stupid super hero. And he wouldn't even _be_ a hero if he didn't have that big suit to wear!"

"He's not stupid, he saves lives! Belle just sings."

"Hey!" I interrupt in mock offense. "There's nothing wrong with just singing, thank you very much."

"But _your_ songs are awesome."

I love my kids. "Here, have a Poptart."

"I already had one."

"Have another." I wink at him, placing a second, sugar covered breakfast pastry on his plate.

Viggo's just begun complaining about how he wants another Poptart, too (even though he'll probably take one bite and then leave the rest), when Ezra walks into the room. I clear my throat loudly enough to get the attention of his siblings, and after a moment of looking back and forth at one another, they hesitantly begin to sing.

" _Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Ezra..._ "

Without a word, or even a glance at any of us, he grabs a packet of Poptarts out of the box and then walks right back out of the room before we can finish wishing him a happy birthday.

" _Told_ you he wouldn't like it." Sighs River, staring after his big brother in disappointment. "He hates us."

"He _doesn't_ hate you."

"He said he does." Viggo points out sadly.

Penny drops the last of her toast onto the plate in front of her and pushes it away. "I bet if we give him the card we made, he'll just rip it up."

"And then throw it in the pool." River adds glumly as he slips off of his chair and heads towards the family room, leaving his coveted second Poptart untouched.

His brother and sister are right behind him, and I don't bother calling them back to the table to finish their food because it's obvious none of them have an appetite anymore. Normally I'd still make them take their dishes into the kitchen, but right now I just don't have the heart; they look too miserable. I wish I could tell them that they're wrong, that Ezra would never destroy something they made for him... but quite honestly, I'm not even sure at this point. I wouldn't be surprised if he _did_ rip the card up. Just like I won't be surprised if he throws his cake down the bowling alley lane at Lucky Strike tonight.

Assuming he agrees to join us for his birthday "party" at all.

"Are you okay?" Tommy asks gently, helping me to clear the dirty breakfast plates off of the dining table.

"No. No, I'm not okay. I'm second guessing my decision to throw my son a party for his birthday, or even attempt to celebrate at all, because it'll probably just piss him off." I admit, chuckling bitterly as I shake my head and dump the dishes into the kitchen sink. "He's ten."

"I know."

"My kid is _ten-years-old_ today. That's a _big_ deal to everyone except him. Because he's too busy being angry that his mom isn't here to let the people who _are_ here love him _at all_." He pulls me into a hug and I don't try to resist it, even though part of me doesn't want to be comforted, and placated, and told it'll be alright. It's pointless when I know it's not the truth. "It's not just another day."

"No, it's not." He gives me a gentle squeeze before pulling back to look me in the eyes. "It's his tenth birthday; it's a big fucking deal. And his mom isn't here." He just said exactly what I said... but somehow it means something else entirely. It makes me feel like an unsympathetic jerk, even though I can tell from his expression that he doesn't think I am at all. "There's never gonna be a birthday, or a Christmas, or a Thanksgiving where he _doesn't_ miss her. Some years it might hurt less than others, but _every_ year for the rest of his life he's going to think about her on special occasions, whether he wants to or not. And whether he wants to or not, he's gonna feel like shit and he's gonna be angry that she's not here. And he's probably gonna take that anger out on the people who _are_ here, because... well, 'cause they're here. Doesn't mean he doesn't know you love him."

As much as I'm beginning to doubt that Ezra actually _does_ know I love him, hearing Tommy assure me that it's not true keeps my hope alive for another day, no matter how weak it is. I know he's speaking from experience, even though his experience isn't exactly the same as Ezra's, and he didn't handle his grief in the same, self-destructive way that Ezra is.

But what Tommy felt when his dad died and what Ezra feels over his mom's death _are_ the same thing.

Loss.

"Do you think I should forget about the party and the cake and just... leave him alone, like it's just another day?"

He considers both options for a minute, clearly torn over what to suggest, afraid to give me bad advice. But eventually he seems to come to a conclusion he feels comfortable enough to voice. "I think you were right. It's his birthday, not just another day. And deep down he _knows_ how hard you're trying, and it _does_ mean something to him. He might not say it or show it, but in ten years from now, when he's not so angry anymore, he's gonna remember that you threw him a party and you got him a cake, even if he refused to blow out the fucking candles. So... don't stop. Don't give up."

This time it's my turn to pull _him_ into a hug. Partly because I'm so inexpressibly grateful to him, and partly because of how much of his own experience he's just shared without making it _about_ him at all. I know he hates to talk about his dad's death, he'd rather just pretend it's done and he's moved on than admit that it still hurts. But he _does_ talk about it with me, more than anyone else, just in case it might help me understand my son a little better.

"You can take your anger out on me whenever you want." I tell him quietly, feeling him hold me a little tighter. "I mean it."

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

 


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know Tommy's brother-in-law's name. I made a very brief effort to find out (I asked the other Tommy fans I know on Twitter), but either no one knows or no one wanted to share. Either way, it doesn't matter. I'm just letting you know I have no clue what his name is, so I gave him a random one. lol

  


 

 

The remainder of Ezra's birthday was...

Well, I don't know if I'd go so far as to use the word "okay", but... it wasn't _terrible_. He didn't actually participate in any of it, not his birthday party or the pumpkin patch activities before it. He wouldn't dress up (not that he even had a costume to dress up in, because he'd refused to pick one out). He wouldn't open his birthday presents, so his brothers and sisters did it for him while he sat and watched total strangers bowling instead. And, just as Tommy had predicted, he wouldn't so much as spit on the candles on his cake when it came time to blow them out. But I didn't give up. I kept hearing what Tommy had said, about how Ezra would remember it all one day.

In ten years, on his twentieth birthday, when he's thinking back on the parties and presents he got when he was a kid, I don't want his tenth birthday to be a black hole in his memories.

After the party, and the cake, and all of the Halloween excitement, Tommy and I brought them all home and put them to bed. Actually, _I_ put them to bed. Tommy told them all he'd see them later and then went to sit in his car until I gave him the all clear to sneak back in for the night. Luckily, by the time we got them back from Hollywood they were all half-conscious anyway, exhausted from over-excitement and crashing from sugar highs. It didn't take me long to get them all to sleep and text Tommy to come to bed.

He's been sneaking in and out all week, and so far none of them have caught on. I'm still torn between knowing it's for the best and thinking it's completely ridiculous.

Maybe it's both?

I don't know, and I honestly haven't had enough time this week to dwell on it. After Halloween and Ezra's birthday had passed, I still had a house to unpack and put back together, I had an elementary school tour to take Ezra, Penny, and River on, I had awkward phone calls to make to my family to let them know how things were going (in case they cared), _and_ I had Ezra's second therapy appointment to contend with.

Which went better than the first.

I mean... he didn't tell her to bite him, so that was an improvement.

But from the little I know about what happened behind that door while I sat out in the waiting room and tried to keep my other four kids from whining about being bored, he was still incredibly defensive. The only thing he was willing to share with her was a whole lot of attitude and another dose of silent treatment. But at least he spoke this time. And he didn't argue when she told him she'd see him on Monday evening for his next appointment.

I just hope he saved a little of that civility for tomorrow morning, because I'd hate for him to tell Tommy's mom to bite him as soon as she sets foot in the house.

I seriously don't know what I was thinking when I told Tommy to invite his mom and sister over. It's not that I don't want to meet them, but I already had _way_ too much going on, I didn't need another thing to worry about. But he told me they wanted to meet me, and he looked at me with these big, brown, " _please_ " eyes...

What was I supposed to do?

And since I thought taking all of my kids to his mom's house was probably not the best idea, at least not for a first meeting, and I had no one else here to babysit them so I could go alone, I found myself saying "invite them over for brunch!" Just like that. Like it was no big deal. Like I had all the free time in the world to prepare a getting-to-know-you brunch for my boyfriend's mom and sister.

It's not like I can just make them waffles!

I've never met these people before, and first impressions matter. Especially since I'm hoping to spend the rest of my life with a member of their immediate family. No, this is not an occasion that calls for quick and easy, batter-based breakfast foods. This is an occasion that calls for fresh fruit, and fresh squeezed orange juice, and fresh baked muffins, and...

"I shoulda gotten some of that veggie bacon."

I hear Tommy snort softly as he lifts his head off of my shoulder to look at me. "Why? That stuff tastes like shit."

"You said your sister doesn't eat meat."

"Yeah, but she doesn't eat shit, either." He points out, resting against me again as his gaze returns to the TV screen. "You need to calm down."

"I'll get right on that."

"It's gonna be fine. They're not _that_ scary."

"Like you wouldn't be freaking out if you were making a meal for my family for the first time."

"No offense, but your family _is_ scary. And there's like a thousand of them. You only have to impress four people. And one of them doesn't have very high standards, so..."

"Thanks."

"I didn't mean it like that." He chuckles, nudging me lightly in the side with his elbow. "I'm just trying to tell you that you're worrying about nothing."

"I'm _not_ worrying about nothing! It's your _mother_.I want her to like me."

"She will. You have that blue-eyed, harmless, wholesome... preppy thing going on. Mothers love all that crap."

I roll my eyes as he picks up the TV remote from the arm of the chair and starts flipping through the channels. "Yeah, my mother _loves_ me right now. And Nat's mom worships the ground I walk on!"

"I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"Like what? Harmless and preppy?"

"Insane and irrational."

"It's _not_ irrational to want your boyfriend's family to like you!" Without a word, he turns the TV remote towards me and points it at my head. "Now what're you doing."

"Trying to fucking _mute_ you."

I grab the remote out of his hand and throw it aside, pushing him onto his back on the couch cushions as I glare down at him. I can tell from the almost giddy gleam in his eyes that this is probably _exactly_ what he was hoping I'd do, even though I'm supposed to be "punishing" him for mocking me. I can't win.

Well,  maybe I can...

"No!" He cries out in surprise and horror as my fingers release their grip on his arms and descend on his tummy instead, stealthily crawling under his t-shirt and tickling every bit of him they can reach. " _Stop_! Taylor, this isn't fucking funny!"

"Then why are you laughing? Huh?" I taunt him as he squirms and struggles beneath me, giggling and gasping for breath as he hopelessly tries to push me away. "Why are you laughing?"

"God damnit!"

I don't think I've ever heard him laugh this much _ever_. And the fact that I love that little laugh of his is no incentive to stop. But seeing Viggo standing in the doorway of the family room is. My fingers quickly come to a halt, and Tommy heaves a sigh of relief as he wraps his arms protectively around his torso. I don't feel as guilty right now as I tend to whenever Tommy and I get caught by my kids, probably because what we were doing was mostly innocent for once. But it's also partly because Viggo is the one who seems to care the least if we kiss or hug or hold hands; he barely notices.

"Hey, buddy, what're you doing up? It's late." I ask him sympathetically as I get off of the couch and make my way over to him.

"I had a dream." He yawns, rubbing his eyes. "I couldn't go back to sleep."

"Well, let's go and try reading another story, see if that helps."

"Okay."

His body slumps against mine as soon as I pick him up; I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he's asleep again before I even get him to his room. "Say goodnight to Tommy."

"Goodnight to Tommy." He murmurs drowsily into my shoulder.

"Goodnight to Viggo." Tommy replies with a quiet chuckle as I carry my youngest son back to bed.

Just as I thought, he's practically snoring by the time I lay his head on the pillow and cover him with his comforter. But I sit on the edge of his mattress and tuck him in anyway, just in case he wakes up the second I leave the room. After a couple of minutes of nothing but sound sleep, I kiss him lightly on the forehead and sneak back out of the room. I take the opportunity to quickly look in on each of my other kids to make sure that they're all still asleep, and once I'm satisfied that they're all okay, I head back to the family room to see how Tommy has decided to get me back for my tickle attack.

"You don't have to pretend to leave and sneak back in." I smirk as I step back into the room and find him pulling his leather jacket on. "They're all asleep now, I just checked."

"I'm not pretending." He tells me apologetically, looking around to make sure he's not leaving his phone or his wallet behind.

I'm pretty sure I'm pouting right now, but I think it's justified. "You're not staying?"

"Sorry, I meant to tell you earlier. I just figure that, since I'm driving everyone out here tomorrow morning, it doesn't really make sense for me to spend the night. I'd have to drive back to Burbank and then come straight back here. Plus I need another change of clothes."

"You know... maybe you should just bring more than one day's worth of clean stuff next time you stay over?"

He frowns uncertainly, clearly nervous that this is my subtle way of suggesting he move in. "Like... how much stuff are we talking about?"

"However much you want." I give a non-committal shrug, but he still looks kinda terrified. I can't quite decide if that's funny or not. "I can clear out a drawer in my dresser. And half the closet is empty... you can bring however much _or_ however little you want." I assure him, slipping my arms around his waist and pulling him closer as he visibly relaxes again. "I just want you to stop stinking up the place, that's all."

He scowls at me, smacking me playfully on the ass. "Fuck you."

"I'm being serious, though. Not about the stink thing, but about you bringing some stuff over here so that you don't have to wear yesterday's clothes home just to take a shower, and change, and come right back. It's not some ploy to get you to move in bit by bit until one day you realize that _all_ of your stuff is here. Although now that I think I about it, that would've been a good idea..."

"Yeah. Too bad you never think before you speak, huh?"

This time it's his turn to get spanked. "Will you at least consider it?"

"I'll consider it."

"And will you pick up some of that fake bacon before you come over for brunch tomorrow?"

"You're fucking impossible, you know that?" He groans as his arms drop from my sides to his in defeat.

" _Please_?"

"Fine! I'll get you your stupid fake bacon."

"Thank you!" I grin, grabbing his arm as he turns to leave and pulling him close enough to plant one last kiss on his cheek. "I love you."

"Yeah, whatever." He grumbles irritably, making sure to flash me one hell of a cheeky smile as he pulls the front door closed behind him.

Tease.

Even though I hadn't planned on going to bed alone tonight, and I have no desire to do so, I still find myself laying in the dark with a smile on my face. It feels as though things between us keep getting better and better every day, especially now that I'm here and we can actually _be_ together every day (or close to it). The emotional closeness we've always shared is magnified by the physical closeness and the stability and certainty that comes from how _real_ this all is. _Finally._ It really does feel like this is it; no more running, no more chasing, no more doubts and fears.

We're here. We made it.

Now I just have to make it through brunch with the "in-laws".

I make sure my kids are dressed and fed long before Tommy and his family are due to show up. I figure there's a much better chance of me actually getting to have a conversation with his mom if I'm not busy breaking up a fight over the last toaster strudel, or cleaning up a spill, or reminding Viggo that we _don't_ eat grapes with our nostrils. The plan is to have brunch out on the patio so that I we can be out in the sun _and_ I can keep an eye on the kids while they play in the pool and keep themselves entertained.

That's the _plan_.

Whether the morning actually plays out that way... I guess we're about to find out.

"Okay, they're here!" I inform my untroubled children, turning off the cartoons they were watching and scooping my nine-month-old up off of the floor before she can successfully crawl out of the room amidst the sudden chaos. "Remember what we talked about?"

"Don't pick your nose!" Viggo grins up at me proudly.

"Right. And?"

"Don't yell." Adds Penny, fussing with her hair clips as she follows me towards the front door. "And be nice to each other."

"Good! And River, what are we _not_ going to tell Tommy's mom?"

"That I stuck my fingers in the muffin batter without washing them first!"

Oh God. That _so_ wasn't what I thought he was going to say. "Yeah, _definitely_ don't tell them that. But what was the other thing you weren't gonna tell people?"

"Um... that I didn't change my socks today?"

Wrong again. And I kinda don't want to play this game anymore. "Never mind. Everyone smile!"

As adorable as they are, the giant, cheesy grins plastered across their faces actually make them look a little crazy, and I'm tempted to tell them they don't have to smile after all. But I've wasted enough time already, and crazy smiles are better than no smiles at all. So, with a deep breath, I open the door.

I honestly don't think I've been this nervous about meeting anyone before. Maybe Steven Tyler or Brian Wilson or Billy Joel or something. But definitely not Natalie's family or anyone I hadn't been a huge fan of my whole life!

Breathe, Taylor. Don't be scary! "Hey!"

"Hi! You must be Taylor?"

"Last time I checked. And you're Dia?" I greet Tommy's mother warmly, shaking her hand quickly before gesturing for her to come in.

"I am indeed."

"Is it okay for me to call you-"

She waves the question off before I can even finish asking it. " _Please_. 'Misses Ratliff' makes me feel even older than I am."

"Okay." So far, so good! "I'm so glad you guys could make it."

"We wouldn't have missed it." She smiles as she steps over the threshold, and Tommy's sister and brother-in-law follow behind her. "This is my daughter, Lisa, and her husband, David."

"Nice to meet you both."

"You, too." Lisa replies, seemingly fascinated by my... well... everything.

I'm guessing it still hasn't quite sunk in for her that her little brother is in a serious relationship with a guy. Serious enough to introduce me to them, anyway. And I don't blame her one bit; a week ago they didn't even know we were seeing each other and now we're having brunch together. One, big, happy family...

Tommy is the last one into the house because he's walking Bridget to the door, and toddlers tend to have two speeds: shuffle or sprint. Bridget apparently wants to make the most of the walk from the car to the house, and if Tommy tries to hurry her along she'll probably end up face down on the ground. I guess now's as good a time as any to distract his family with my own tiny humans.

"This is my daughter, Penny, and my sons, River and Viggo." I introduce them, the proud grin on my face only widening when River waves excitedly. "And this is my youngest, Asta."

"Well, hi there!" Dia smiles down at them. "It's nice to meet you!"

"Are you Tommy's mom?" Asks Viggo boldly.

"I am."

"Did you know Tommy is my second best friend in the _whole_ world?"

She seems momentarily dumbfounded by this revelation, but in a good way. A very good way. He clearly has her charmed already. I'm not surprised by that, but I'll admit that I never expected him to have her wrapped around his pinky before I'd even closed the front door.

"I didn't know that!" She chuckles. "Who's your first best friend?"

" _I_ am!" Announces River, standing a little taller as he beams smugly. "My name's River, and I'm _six_!"

"Six? That's big!" Lisa tells him in the kind of exaggerated awe that kids never seem to realize isn't entirely genuine.

"Well, sort of. I'm not as big as Ezra, but one day I will be."

"Oh yeah? Is Ezra your friend?"

Rivers cheerful expression falters somewhat, and he shrugs in disappointment. "No, he's just my big brother."

"Oh, of course." Dia looks up at me with an apologetic smile. "Tommy told us you had five little ones; apparently I can't count."

"It's okay." I assure her. "It's easy to lose count."

"And lose your mind, I bet." Jokes David amiably.

"Oh, I gave up on ever seeing mine again _years_ ago."

"Seeing your what again?" Asks Tommy as he and Bridget finally make it into the house and she reaches for Lisa to pick her up.

"My sanity."

"Oh." I can already tell I'm about to be teased. He has that glimmer in his eyes. "I didn't realize you ever had any to begin with."

"It wasn't anything to brag about, but it existed... once upon a time."

There's a pause in the conversation. It's not awkward, exactly, just... expectant? It's like everyone is waiting for something, but I'm not sure what. It's probably something I should be saying or doing that I'm not. I look at Tommy, and he looks from me to his mom and then back to me again... and then he leans in and kisses me. It's nothing big, it lasts for barely a second. His lips don't even really touch mine, just the corner of my mouth. Usually I would welcome it, or at least complain that I want him to adjust his aim and try again. But because of the audience we have, it feels like a _big_ deal.

And it's obvious from the looks on all of their faces that they're just as unsure as I am about how to proceed.

"What?" Tommy suddenly breaks the silence with an attempt at a nonchalant chuckle. "You act like you've never seen me kiss a guy before."

His mom rolls her eyes in that way mother's tend to whenever they think their child is being an idiot, but at least she's still smiling. Kind of. And Lisa and her husband seem intrigued, maybe a little surprised, but not uncomfortable. They're handling it a hell of a lot better than any of my family members would. My mom seemed unsettled by the sight of Tommy merely holding my hand. I think if she saw him kiss me the way he just did, she'd probably break down crying. But no one is crying here, or faking smiles, or pretending they never even saw anything. Even my kids don't seem too bothered by it.

I'm going to consider this a _good_ thing. And change the subject before it isn't anymore.

"Well... uh... brunch is ready when you guys are."

River immediately jumps in as maître d', insisting everyone follow him downstairs and out to the pool. But before I can join them, Tommy takes me by the arm and pulls me back. And then he hands me a plastic grocery store bag.

"Your fake bacon, m'lady."

"Angel." I smile as I lean in to kiss him... but he dodges. Oh, right. "Sorry. _Devil_."

"Better."

"Can you take the baby and take over as host while I cook this and finish the frittata? I'll be out in..." I pull the box out of the bag and check the instructions on the back. "Eight to ten minutes."

"You want me to hold the cute baby _and_ talk to my family?" He whines dramatically, even as he eagerly takes Asta out of my arms. "I got you fake bacon. Nothing is ever enough for you."

"I'll make it up to you."

"Damn right." He mumbles, turning to glare at me playfully when I tap him on the butt and give him a suggestive wink as he walks away.

The whole time I'm in the kitchen, I can vaguely hear the sound of laughter and talking coming from the patio below, and it puts my mind at ease. So far, things seem to be going well. I didn't feel as though his mom and sister were immediately judging me the second they set foot in the house, and his brother-in-law seems friendly enough. I think it might take them all a little while to get used to seeing Tommy kissing another guy when it's not part of an act of some kind, but that's fine. It's _more_ than fine, because at least they're willing to _try_.

When I show up on the patio ten minutes later with my plates of bacon and frittata, Tommy and his family are already helping themselves to muffins, scones, and fruit salad. My kids immediately accost me and beg to be allowed to go put their bathing suits on, and I agree just to keep them from tripping me up. I'm pretty sure frittata doesn't taste as good when eaten off of the floor.

"This all looks _so_ good." Dia tells me gratefully as we take our seats around the patio table. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"It wasn't any trouble."

"He's lying." Announces Tommy unapologetically, because he just can't help himself. "He almost had a nervous breakdown when he realized he forgot to buy this veggie bacon crap."

"You didn't get this just for us, did you?" Asks Lisa in surprise, and I shrug as though it was no big deal. "I would've been fine with just muffins and fruit!"

"Bacon's the best part of brunch." I laugh softly. "Fake or not. I didn't want anyone to miss out."

"Kiss ass." Tommy teases quietly, giving my leg a gentle kick under the table.

Everyone drinks their coffee and juice quietly for a moment, sampling bits and pieces of the food on their plates and enjoying the warm, morning sun as we all settle in for what will (hopefully) be a relaxing get-together.

"So, Taylor, since Tommy hasn't exactly been forth-coming with details about your relationship..." His mom begins, glancing back and forth between us inquisitively. "Maybe you can fill us in on how the two of you met?"

Maybe relaxing wasn't the right word...

 


	46. Chapter 46

  


 

 

I really wish that Tommy and I had thought to sit down and get our stories straight (so to speak) before I invited his mother over for brunch. It sucks that we need to make sure we're telling people the same thing, but given how bad the truth makes us both look, it's kind of necessary to keep certain things to ourselves...

"Um... well..." I glance at Tommy, trying hard not to look as though I'm begging for help. Even if I was, he couldn't give it to me. "It was kinda random, actually. We met at a bar in New York a couple of years ago."

"Oh really?" Dia asks in surprise, but to me her words sound more like one of those buzzers that go off on game shows when a contestant gets an answer wrong. "I had no idea you'd known each other for so long." She turns to Tommy, who is busy staring at his plate and shoveling frittata into his mouth. "Didn't you say you'd only known him a few months?"

He shakes his head as he frowns at her like she's losing her mind. "No."

"We _met_ a couple of years ago, but we were mostly just... acquaintances." What a joke. "We hadn't seen each other for a long time until this summer." I explain as casually as I can, hoping that my version of events is now more in line with whatever it is Tommy told his mom. "We kinda... lost touch."

God, it still hurts just thinking about it.

"And you just moved here from Oklahoma?" Asks Lisa curiously.

"Yeah, last weekend."

"But you guys met in _New York_?"

"It was when I was there for Glam Nation." Tommy finally contributes with a dismissive shrug. "And Taylor was there..."

"On business... sort of."

"What kind of business are you in?" David chimes in, and his question feels much more innocent than the others I've been asked so far.

Which is stupid, because I know Tommy's mom and sister aren't _trying_ to trip me up or back me into a corner, they're just trying to get to know me and figure out how it is that I came to know Tommy. But I'm so nervous that I feel like I'm being interrogated for a crime.

"The same business as Tommy, actually." I smile, thankful for the change of subject. "I'm in a band. Or... I was."

"Anything we might have heard of?" Dia inquires. "I'm assuming you must've been somewhat successful to be able to afford a beautiful house like this!"

"I can't believe you didn't tell them." I laugh softly, shaking my head at Tommy in amazement.

"I figured you'd want to." He lies. I know he just wanted to watch _me_ do it. "Didn't wanna steal your thunder."

"Well, I'm _definitely_ intrigued." Chuckles Lisa as she breaks a piece of her blueberry muffin off and pops it into Bridget's mouth. "What didn't he tell us?"

"I was in a band with my brothers... we were kinda famous when we were kids."

"Like the Jackson 5?" His mom asks in surprise.

"Not exactly..." Though that comparison isn't so far off. It's a hell of a lot more accurate than the damn "boy band" one. Then again, the Jackson 5 were more of a boy band than we were. But I digress... "I don't suppose the word MMMBop means anything to you...?"

"MMMBop?" Dia laughs softly. "MMMBop is a _word_?"

Lisa narrows her eyes slightly, searching her memory for any trace of the word. "It sounds kind of familiar..."

"You remember those three boys with long blond hair?" Tommy offers helpfully. "They were _everywhere_ when I was in high school."

"Oh God! You mean the ones who sang that really annoying s..."Her eyes widen in realization before darting from her brother's face to mine. And I smile forgivingly as I wave. "You're _kidding_?"

"I could google myself if you want proof." I joke, pulling my iPhone out of my pocket.

"I think I missed something..." Admits Dia uncertainly.

"He was in that band!" Lisa tells her insistently. "That band of little boys with long hair that sang that song-"

"' _MMMBop_ '." I clarify, noting how completely lost Tommy's mom still looks. "You'd know it if you heard it, believe me. It was basically inescapable for months in ninety-seven."

"I'll take your word for it."

"I can't believe you're dating one of the ' _MMMBop_ ' guys." Teases Lisa, earning herself a glare from Tommy. "I swear you once said that you wanted to beat them all to death with your guitar."

"You said that?" I smirk as all eyes at the table turn to him. "I'm _hurt_."

"You were way more annoying back then, and I was way less tolerant."

"It's true. He was a little ray of sunshine in high school." His mom confirms. "I don't think he actually owned a single piece of clothing that wasn't black or gray."

"I _barely_ do now." He notes proudly. "I like black. It's the color of my soul."

We all know that's _so_ far from true, and so we all roll our eyes at the declaration. He might dress head to toe in black, and listen to some very angry, cynical music, and he might not believe in God, but he has one of the most open, honest, _beautiful_ souls I've ever known. There's nothing black or dark about it.

"So you were in a boy band?" David asks, struggling to keep up with the various threads of this story.

"I hate that term, but... yeah, basically."

He smiles, shaking his head at his brother-in-law. "You're just full of surprises, Tommy."

"You have _no_ idea."

"Did your brothers move out to L.A., too?" Dia frowns at me, trying to piece together my past and my present.

Unfortunately, I'm not sure that's possible. "Um... no. It's just me and the kids, the rest of my family still lives in Tulsa."

"Does that mean the band has broken up?"

"For the foreseeable future." I admit sadly. "I hope one day we'll figure out a way to get back to making music together, but for right now I really needed to be here and put that part of my life on hold. It's been kinda hard to record and tour the way I used to..."

"I can imagine." She smiles sadly, sympathetically. And although I'm sure she does sympathize with how difficult it is to lose a spouse, and anyone would sympathize with how difficult it is to raise five kids alone, I get the feeling that her sympathy isn't only for me. It's for her own son, too. "Do you know what you plan to do now that you're out here?"

Good question. "Not _exactly_. Honestly, my main focus has been making sure everything went smoothly with the move, and making sure my kids are okay... I pretty much put everything else on the backburner. But they start school tomorrow, and we're _almost_ done unpacking, so... I guess I should probably start figuring out what comes next."

It's not that I haven't put any thought into it at all. It's just that every time I do try to sit down and plan my next step, I get so overwhelmed that I almost have a panic attack. I've been in a band with my brothers since I was nine years old. That's twenty years of my life, over _two thirds_ of my time on this planet. I don't remember a time when I wasn't singing or playing piano, even before the three of us started putting on a cappella shows around Tulsa. Music has _always_ been part of my life in one way or another, it's the only thing I know how to do. Besides making babies. And frittatas. But I doubt anyone is gonna pay me to do either of those things.

Well... maybe the making babies thing, but I'm not putting myself on the market for _that_!

I can afford to wait a while and settle into my new life here; I have enough money saved, and the record company still generates revenue here and there. But that's not going to last forever. Without new music and tour dates, the band income is going to start to dry up fast. And I can't depend on my savings indefinitely, I don't _want_ to. Maybe once I get a studio space set up here I can start recording some solo stuff and putting it on iTunes. But that's not going to feed five kids. Neither is playing solo shows around Los Angeles. Assuming anyone would even show up...

God, I need to stop thinking about this right now. I really don't want to start hyperventilating in the middle of brunch!

Apparently sensing my rapidly spiraling thought process, Tommy changes the subject to his trip to South Africa with Adam and the band later this month, and that thankfully seems to take everyone's minds off of my complete lack of a plan for my future. Although I'll admit that, even though I'm glad he gets to see such an amazing place, it's a little depressing. Any time he's gone, it's depressing. I'm excited for him, especially because of how excited _he_ is, and I want him to have this experience, to have _every_ experience he wants to have. I would never begrudge him a single one of them. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss him. He won't be gone long, but it'll be the longest trip he's taken since I moved here, and the thought of not seeing him for a week actually _hurts_.

I guess I should get used to it, though. Sooner or later Adam is going to hit the road for a _real_ tour again. This continent hopping is going to seem like a breeze in comparison. Right now, he's gone for a few days at a time, maybe a few more. When he goes out on tour, he could be gone for weeks.

Months...

And I'm back to being on the verge of hyperventilating again.

Bridget chooses this exact moment to start fussing and squirming on Lisa's lap. She seems to have had enough of sitting around with the adults when she can clearly see my kids having the time of their lives in the pool a few feet away. But unfortunately for her, no one thought to bring their bathing suits with them this morning, and she's a little young to be going for a swim by herself.

"I'm sorry." Lisa tells her sadly as she continues to cry in protest. "You _can't_ go in the pool today, sweetie."

It's impossible not to feel bad when you see a kid crying, when you watch them staring longingly at something they want so badly, reaching for it as though maybe you just don't understand what it is they're asking for, but if they can _show_ you somehow you'll get it for them. I don't think I've ever seen Tommy look quite so forlorn, though. The look on _his_ face right now is more heartbreaking than any of the sounds of distress and discontent coming from his niece.

"You can borrow something from me if you wanna take her in." I suggest, smiling as his frown instantly vanishes.

"Yeah?"

"Check the second drawer of my dresser, there should be something in there." He's already out of his seat before I've finished speaking. "Make sure you tie the drawstrings extra tight!"

He turns on his heel but continues walking backwards as he responds to my teasing comment with a dry "ha ha". I was only half kidding, though. His waist is tiny compared to mine; if he doesn't make sure to pull the strings tight, those shorts will float off of that flat ass of his the second he sets foot in the water!

" _Thank you_." Chuckles Lisa softly, breathing the same sigh of relief that all parents breathe when they see an end to their child's tantrum in sight. "I'm not sure how else we would've gotten her to let that one go unless we went inside so she couldn't _see_ the pool anymore. She's at the stage where she's totally inconsolable when she doesn't get what she wants."

"I've been through that stage a few times." I commiserate with her knowingly, resting my chin lightly against the top of Asta's head as she stuffs a fistful of frittata in her mouth (and half of it falls onto my lap). "I still have one more go around."

"I don't know how you do it." David shakes his head at me in admiration. "One kid is exhausting, but _five_?"

"Honestly, after three it's kind of all the same."

"But three is still _a lot_." Lisa points out as she continues trying to soothe her daughter. "Don't get me wrong, Bridget is the best thing that ever happened to me, she's my little miracle, but I can't imagine having _three_ of her. I think I'd have to give up everything else in my life just to keep up!"

"I take it that means you guys are stopping at one?" I smile, trying to sip my coffee without spilling it on Asta's head. Sometimes she likes to make it more of a challenge than it should be.

David nods, gazing fondly at Lisa and Bridget, despite the fit she's still throwing. "Yeah, we pretty much feel like we've got everything we want with this one."

"And it's probably safe to assume that you won't be having any more." Remarks Dia, more observing than asking. And even though she's smiling at me, I still see something in her eyes that strikes me as less than pleased.

It's nothing cruel or cold, but whatever it is makes me feel guilty somehow.

Tommy reappears on the patio a moment later wearing my dark blue board shorts and the Frankenstein shirt he was in when he got here. He's not going to take that t-shirt off until the second before he gets into the pool. I still think it's crazy how self-conscious he can be, even around people who love him so completely. But I guess we all feel insecure in our own ways; I constantly question how anyone can possibly want me when I'm such a mess, and he stays covered up when he's in "public". 

I spend the rest of the morning chatting with his family while watching him play in the pool with mine. As soon as he so much as dipped a toe in the water, my kids were swarming him and Bridget like piranhas. River and Viggo soon got bored when they realized that holding his niece meant he couldn't splash around with them and chase them across the pool. But Penny stayed close by, talking to Bridget and holding her hand as Tommy waded deeper and deeper into the water with her, until it lapped gently at her tummy. And as soon as her face lit up with delight, so did his. That prompted a discussion about how great he is with Bridget, which naturally led to me telling everyone how amazing he's been with my kids, too.

And then Dia got that _look_ again.

Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Maybe there is no look. And even if there is, it might not be a _bad_ look. I'm probably just on edge; I'm nervous and I want her to like me, so every little thing she says or does gets dissected and given meaning it probably doesn't even _have_.

One person who's behavior I know I'm not over-thinking is Ezra's. At one point during brunch, I happen to glance up at the terrace outside the kitchen and notice him watching us. It's nearly impossible to read his expression even when I'm right in front of him, so at a distance I stand no chance at all. Although I'm certain it's pointless, I wave for him to come down and join us, but he simply turns and disappears back into the house without so much as shaking his head. Lisa happens to notice the exchange and asks me if he's "number five". All I can do is force a smile and explain that he's my eldest, and that he's not feeling well today.

Or _any_ day.

Brunch begins to wind down sometimes in the early afternoon, when both Bridget and Asta start showing all the classic signs of needing a long nap. Tommy's family thanks me again for the food and the hospitality, and Lisa even mentions something about me coming over for dinner once I've actually finished moving in. Even Dia sincerely tells me that it was nice to meet me and that she hopes to see me again soon, which makes me believe that all of those looks I thought she was giving me must have been figments of my imagination. Tommy pecks me on the cheek on his way past, telling me he'll see me tonight, and I can tell from his smile that he thinks this morning was a success.

I guess we'll know for sure once he's had a chance to talk to them on the car ride home...

Viggo and River run off to their bedroom to play as soon as all of the goodbyes have been said, and I get Asta settled in her crib before joining Penny in the family room. She has _Aladdin_ playing on the DVD player, but the far off look on her face makes me think that she's not really watching it right now. When I sit down beside her on the couch, she snaps out of her daze and quickly crawls into my lap, resting her head against my chest and heaving a deep sigh.

"What's on your mind?" I ask her somewhat nervously, stroking my fingers through her damp, tangled hair.

She smells like chlorine with a hint of strawberries lingering underneath, which are two of my favorite smells. They both remind me of summer, and summer always makes me think of freedom, adventure, traveling...

And family.

"I liked playing with Bridget." She tells me quietly, twirling her hair around her finger. "She was cute."

"She was."

"Can I play with her again soon?"

I smile faintly, kissing the top of her head as I idly watch what's happening on the TV screen. "I hope so."

"She makes me think of Junia."

"Oh..." I didn't even think of that. "Yeah... I guess they're almost the same age."

"And Tommy's mom has blonde hair and lines around her eyes, just like Grandma."

"Yeah... she does." This was bound to happen sooner or later. I guess this week has gone by so quickly for me that I didn't realize it really _had_ been a whole week. It's more than enough time for Penny to start missing her cousins and her grandparents. "Do you wanna call Grandma and say hi?"

She tilts her head up to look at my face, smiling hopefully. "Can we?"

"Of course! Anytime you want."

I pull my iPhone out of my pocket, hitting the phone icon on the home screen and selecting "Mom" from my list of "Favorites". And I try to suppress the bitter chuckle lodged in my throat as I think about how frequently I used to do this, and how little I've done it over the past month.

As soon as the phone starts to ring I hand it to Penny, and in a matter of seconds she's grinning from ear to ear as she cheerfully greets her grandmother. I'm close enough to be able to hear my mom's voice, though not really close enough to understand what she's saying. But Penny's side of the conversation fills in all the gaps. They talk about the house, and the pool, and Ezra's birthday party, and Tommy's family. Penny tells her about swimming in the pool with Tommy and Bridget, and I can just about make out a "that's nice, sweetheart" before my mom apparently changes the subject, because the next thing I know, Penny's confiding in her about being nervous about start school tomorrow.

I hold her a little tighter, wishing that there was a way for me to make that next step easier on her and her brothers. I know that the first day at a new school is nerve-wracking for any kid. I may not have ever attended public school myself, but I don't think you need to have had that experience to be aware of how daunting it is. But as much as I want to protect them from it, I know I can't. I know I _shouldn't_. It's part of growing up, part of _growing_. If I shield them from life, they'll never learn how to live.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

I look down to find Penny holding my phone out to me, and I stupidly assume that she's done with the call. But when I glance at the screen, I see that neither she nor my mom have hung up. "Grandma wants to talk to you."

"Oh..." With a deep sense of dread that it breaks my heart to feel when talking to my own mother, I raise the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hi."

I wait for her to continue, but she doesn't. I'm not sure why she asked to speak to me when she apparently has nothing to say. "How's it going?"

"Not too bad." She replies somewhat tiredly. "Same as always, for the most part..."

"Good."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." I shrug, carefully shifting Penny off of my lap so that I can get off of the couch. "Busy."

Hopefully this conversation will stay civil, even if that means it stays awkward, too. But unfortunately, there's always a chance it will veer into murky, hostile territory, and I don't want my daughter listening in if it does.

"How's the unpacking going? Almost done?"

"Pretty much." I'm not being intentionally short with her. I don't _want_ it to be impossible for us to hold a conversation, I just... can't seem to form full sentences . "I'll probably be able to get more done once the kids are in school."

"Penny was just telling me about that. Do you really think Ezra is ready to be back in school?"

I think he's better off in school than at home with me all day. "He'll be okay."

"Alright." She sighs disappointedly, though I couldn't tell you what exactly it is I did to disappoint her this time. The possibilities are endless. "So..."

So...

Is this how it's always going to be from now on? I call my family once a week out of a sense of obligation, but all we do is make uncomfortable small talk and struggle to think of topics to discuss? It's not supposed to be like this.

It never used to be like this.

And as I step out onto the kitchen terrace and look down at the patio where I was having brunch with Tommy's family less than an hour ago, I realize that it doesn't _need_ to be like this.

"I met Tommy's mom today."

"Penny mentioned that, too..." She responds carefully. "How was it?"

"Good. Really good, actually. His mom was really friendly, and his sister and brother-in-law were great. I was worried they wouldn't like me, or that they wouldn't approve or something, but it wasn't like that at all."

"Well... good. I'm glad."

"Are you?" I ask skeptically, my emotions torn between anger and anguish.

I hear her laugh, only for a second, and it's not from amusement. "What kind of a question is that?"

"An honest one."

"Why wouldn't I be glad that his family likes you?"

"Because _you_ don't like _him_."

"I don't know him." She counters in her own defense.

"You didn't _want_ to know him, mom." I remind her, struggling to keep my voice even so that she won't know how hurt I am right now. Though why I'm trying to hide it, I have no idea. "You didn't want to know _us_. You had no interest in even trying, you saw our relationship as a problem that needed fixing." I half expect her to argue, but she doesn't. She can't; it's the truth. She never gave Tommy a chance once she knew we were together. He wasn't worth it, and apparently neither was I. "Do you have _any_ idea how much it would mean to me to be able to invite you and dad over for brunch? To have you genuinely _want_ to get to know the guy I'm in love with the way his family wanted to get to know me? But I can't."

"Taylor, honey-"

"Don't." I shake my head angrily, turning my back on the patio, on the memory of this morning, and leaning against the iron railing behind me. "Don't try to explain it, or try to make me feel better about all of this, because you can't. There _is_ no explanation, mom. At least not a good enough one. God says it's wrong, and you believe in God, so therefore you can't accept who I am, right? Well Tommy's mom believes in God, too. But her son comes first. She's willing to give me a chance because I make him happy, and _that's_ more important to her. So _why_ is it so damn hard for you to do the same for me, huh? _Why_?"

She's silent again, for so long that I'd start to think she'd hung up on me if it wasn't for the faint sound of her unsteady breathing on the other end of the line. I'm about to tell her to forget it, that I don't even want an answer, but she speaks before I have chance to.

"I don't know." She admits quietly, frankly.

There's no shame in her tone, but no animosity, either. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. It's not like she's accepting any blame, but she's no longer laying it all on me. She's not offering to try, but she's not refusing to. She's just... at a loss.

I guess we've finally found some common ground.

"I have to go." I tell her in a mumble, swallowing my rising emotions back down to the pit of my stomach as I prepare to lie my way out of this hopeless impasse. "Asta's awake."

"Okay."

"I'll talk to you later."

"Tell the boys we miss them, please." She practically begs me, as though there's a chance I might decline.

"I will."

"Take care..."

"Yeah... you too."

I wasn't expecting an "I love you" or even a "we miss you", but not getting one still stings. I don't doubt that some part of her does love me, but it's like she doesn't know how to say it anymore. She used to end every phone call with an effortless "love you", and whenever we were out of town for even a few days there'd be a "miss you". Now there's only "take care". I guess I'm just as guilty, though. I don't say it, either. But honestly, I think I'm afraid to. I'm afraid I'll say it and she won't return the sentiments. Or she will, but only because she feels like she has to. I don't want a forced "I love you, too" or an "I miss you, too". I don't want a lie.

I think that would be worse than nothing at all.


	47. Chapter 47

  


 

 

For the most part, the rest of the day is pretty relaxing. Or as relaxing as anything ever can be when five kids are involved. It's not until I'm loading up the dishwasher after dinner that it apparently hits River that tomorrow is his first day at school. He's slammed by a tidal wave of anxiety, and breaks down crying, begging me not to make him go. I promise him that it'll be fun, that he'll make lots of new friends, but all he keeps saying is that he wants _me_ to be his teacher. Even though I don't say it out loud, I can't help thinking that I should never be allowed to teach anyone _anything_. Except maybe how to play piano.

I manage to get him to calm down in time for bed. Or perhaps he's just so exhausted from throwing a fit that he can't keep his eyes open anymore. But just as I've closed his bedroom door, I hear soft sniffling coming from Penny's room across the hall. She's not being quite as dramatic as her big brother, but she's just as worried about tomorrow as he is. And although it doesn't take me nearly as long to soothe her, I get the feeling that tonight is going to be one of those nights where I end up singing her to sleep at two am. It's been a while, actually. It hasn't happened since we moved to Los Angeles, and before that it had only been happening once or twice a week. I'm still desperately clinging to the hope that it'll stop entirely within the next few months...

But deep down I'm afraid that she's about to break all over again.

If Ezra is nervous about school, he shows no signs. I remind him that he has to get up early to get ready, but he doesn't respond. I ask him how he's feeling, and he shrugs indifferently. I assure him it's okay to be worried, that it's normal, and he heaves and impatient sigh, like I'm interrupting something vitally important that he's trying to focus on. So in the end I simply tell him to make sure he's in bed by nine, and then I leave him to his video games. I'm sure he won't listen; I'll have to go back up there at nine and turn the lights out myself. But I keep trying anyway, hoping that he might actually cooperate with me in some small way.

By the time Tommy arrives, I'm sitting out on the side of the pool, dangling my bare feet in the water and sipping my second beer of the night. He wordlessly takes a seat beside me, though he crosses his legs rather than taking off his shoes and dipping his toes into the water like me. I guess he's had enough of the pool for one day.

"That's _my_ beer." He chides teasingly.

"You left it in _my_ fridge." I reply as I let him take the bottle out of my hand and tilt it to his lips. "Let that be a lesson to you."

"Lesson learned."

"So..." I turn my head to study his profile in the glow of the pool lights as he takes another sip and stares out into the darkness around us. "How'd the debriefing go?"

"The what?" He asks innocently, knowing _exactly_ what it is I'm inquiring about.

"You expect me to believe you didn't talk to them about this morning _at_ _all_ after you guys left?" I ask skeptically, receiving nothing but a smirk and shrug in response. Jerk. "Come on, tell me. Where did I rank on the 'Ratliff Family Dating Scale'?"

His hand flies to his face as he tries not to laugh so hard that beer comes out of his nose. "That should _so_ be a thing."

"Stop stalling."

"Why?"

"Because it's driving me nuts!"

He grins proudly. "I know."

" _Tell_ me!"

"Well..." He takes a deep breath, prolonging things further, and I grumble in (mostly) playful irritation, which only amuses him even more. "They liked you."

"And?"

"And what?"

"I swear, I am _this_ close to pushing you in the fucking pool!"

"If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me." He warns, and even though I can think of a dozen ways to make that statement dirty, I refrain because I'm an adult.

And because I want answers, damnit! "Tell me or I'll vote for Romney on Tuesday."

His jaw literally drops as he gasps and turns to me in horror. "You wouldn't fucking _dare_!"

"Try me."

We both know I won't actually do it; I could never vote for a guy who thinks we're less than him just because we love each other. Besides, I already cast my vote for Obama before I left Tulsa. But I think I've made my point anyway, and as Tommy sighs grudgingly, I can tell I've won this little battle of wills.

"Fine." He relents. "But only 'cause I could never love a guy who'd vote for that douche bag."

"So? What did they say?"

"They liked you-"

"You said that already." I cut him off impatiently, earning myself an eye roll. "What else?"

"Would you calm the fuck down? I'm getting there."

"Get there faster!"

"Do you wanna know or not? 'Cause one more word out of you, and I'm gonna _let_ you vote for that shit stain and then never fucking speak to you again!" He threatens, and I mockingly mime zipping my mouth shut and locking it. Then he takes the imaginary key out of my hand and pretends to throw it in the pool, which I can't help but laugh about despite my best efforts to keep up my impatient facade. "You weren't what they were expecting."

I frown a little in concern. "How so?"

"Dunno. They couldn't really put it into words. I guess 'cause you're so... not me. You're not the type I usually go for."

"Because I don't have breasts and a vagina?"

"For example." He chuckles softly. "But I mean, I _do_ kinda have a type. I never really thought about it much before, but most of my girlfriends have been like... brunette, and petite, and generally a lot younger than me, because ever since I turned twenty five it was like girls my own age were all about marriage, and babies, and joint fucking checking accounts, and I just wanted to have fun and relax, you know? I didn't wanna deal with all that crap. And then you come along, and you're basically my age, and tall, and you're _so_ blonde." I nudge him playfully and he smiles. "And you've spent half your life married, and you own a house, and you have _five_ kids... you're like the opposite of everything I've ever wanted in a girl."

" _And_ I have a penis."

"Which is _definitely_ not something I ever wanted in a girl."

"But...you do want this, right?" I ask gently, seriously, already mostly sure of the answer. "Even though it's not what you wanted before-"

His kiss says it all, it's confident and insistent. Certain. "I want _you_. And I'll take whatever the hell comes along with having you."

This is one of those moments where I just want to pinch myself to make sure it's truly happening. That he's really sitting here beside me, after everything we went through to end up here, and he's actually saying these incredible words to me. But instead of pinching myself, I reach out and lift the beer bottle from his fingers, setting it down on the patio before taking his face in my hands and pressing my lips to his. His response is immediate, his mouth moving effortlessly with my own as we both seek to prove to ourselves, and to each other, just how real this is.

"For the record, you're nothing like my type, either." I tell him with a smile when we eventually part.

Well, I _say_ part. We're sitting so close now that his bent knee is leaning against my thigh, and my forehead is resting gently against his. I can feel his hair brush against my cheek in the soft, evening breeze. Only _very_ faintly, but it's enough.

"I didn't even realize you _had_ a type." He smirks. "I mean, aside from those big ass mouths of theirs, Alex and Zac aren't exactly twins."

"True. I guess I didn't really have a type, exactly. But there were certain things I _didn't_ go for."

"And I'm all of them?"

"Basically." I chuckle, and thankfully he seems more amused than offended. "All the things that turned me off of other people turn me _on_ with you. It's like... something inside me saw something inside you the moment I laid eyes on you. And whatever it was that I saw, I was more attracted to than I'd ever been to anyone else _ever_."

"So what's on the outside doesn't matter 'cause you're _so_ in love with what's on the inside?" He asks somewhat teasingly.

I shake my head slowly, the tip of my nose brushing against his with each movement until I pull back a little to look him in the eyes. "What's on the outside is drop dead _gorgeous_. And what's on the inside is even more so."

His gaze falls from mine shyly. "How many beers have you had?"

"Shut up. I've had _one_ and five sips, and I'm being serious."

"Yeah, seriously fucking sappy."

"You know you like it." He does; he can't deny it. Not without lying right to my face, at least. And he knows it, which is why he kisses me again instead. "So besides being surprised that I'm not your usual type, did they say anything else?"

"Mmm..." He shrugs, turning his face away from mine and reclaiming the beer from the flagstone patio beside him. "Not really."

"Liar."

"What?" His laughter isn't as convincing as it was a few minutes ago when we were joking and bantering back and forth. It's forced, which is a sure sign that he's not telling me something. "Is there something you were expecting them to say?"

"No, but I get the feeling that someone said _something_. What was it?" Another shrug. "You're so bad at this."

"At what?"

"Lying."

"I'm _not_ lying!"

"You're not telling me the whole truth, either."

"But I'm not _lying_." He continues to insist, like that makes some huge difference and he's not simply splitting hairs.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I take it back." I tell him apologetically, though based on his scowl I get the feeling it came off as totally disingenuous. "You're not a liar and you're not lying."

"Thank you."

"Now what _aren't_ you telling me?"

"It's nothing, honestly."

"So _say_ it." I continue to pester relentlessly. "You can't admit there's something and then not tell me what it is, it's gonna drive me completely fucking crazy! And I'll probably build it up in my mind to be ten times worse than it really is, and then I'll never believe that your family actually likes me, and I'll never be completely comfortable around them, and-"

"Oh my god, _stop_!" He exclaims in exhausted defeat. "Jesus Christ, you're such a fucking drama queen!"

"You say it like you didn't already know."

"I guess it still surprises me sometimes just how needy one person can be."

"Whatever. Stop trying to insult your way out of this, just tell me why they hate me."

He gives a soft snort and a roll of his eyes, drawing in a long breath as he prepares to divulge whatever this "nothing" is that now has me on the edge of my seat. Or... pool. "My mom's just... I mean I think she kinda feels..." Oh _God_ , Tommy, just _say_ it! "Disappointed."

"That we're together?"

"No... well..." He considers it for a moment, apparently unsure if that's an accurate response. "It's not because she doesn't like you, or because she doesn't like the idea of me being with a guy or anything."

"Then what is it?" I ask anxiously as I try to stop my mind from coming up with one hundred and one possibilities before he has a chance to give me the real reason.

"It's just... Lisa had a ton of trouble getting pregnant, you know? And even if she actually wanted to have more kids, she's kinda at a point now where it's even less likely than it was before she had Bridget. And my mom totally _adores_ Bridget, but..."

"She was hoping for more grandkids." I finish for him knowingly, and he nods as he stares down into the faintly rippling water of the pool. "And now you're with a guy who already has five kids, so it's never gonna happen?"

"Pretty much." He admits quietly, almost ashamedly. "Don't get me wrong, she thought your kids were really sweet and everything-"

"But they're not _yours_."

"She'll get over it; it's definitely not a deal breaker or anything. She's happy as long as I'm happy. And I _am_ happy."

We sit side by side in quiet contemplation for a while, wordlessly passing the beer bottle back and forth until it's completely empty. As I set it down beside me, the sound of the hollow, glass container clinking against the stone ground seems to echo in the silence surrounding us. It serves the same purpose as a fork tapped against a champagne flute.

I have an announcement to make.

"It's not out of the question."

Tommy looks up at me in confusion, a frown creasing his brow. "What isn't?"

"More kids." I shrug like it's no big deal, and he laughs. _Loudly_.

" _More_ kids? What the fuck?! Because five isn't enough for you?"

"It's enough for me if it's enough for you." I tell him simply, sincerely. "But if you want six, or seven, or ten, then I'm in."

"You're out of your fucking mind!" He continues to laugh, shaking his head at me in astonishment. I think he might even be a little be terrified. "Why do you think I'd want six kids?!"

"I don't think you want six. I don't think you even _really_ want five. But like you said, you want me, and they come with me."

"Taylor-"

"I love you." I cut him off before he has a chance to argue with my previous statement. "And I love that you love my kids. But I know that no matter how long we're together, or how much time you spend with them, they're never going to feel like _yours_."

"It doesn't matter."

"You say that now, and maybe you're right. Maybe it never will matter, and you'll never wonder what it's like to have a kid of your own, but... if that's something you do want some day, _I_ want that for you. The way I love my kids... it's a kind of love I never even realized I could feel until Ezra was born. People talk about it, and you _think_ you get it, but until you look down at that tiny little person that _you_ helped create, that little life with your blood flowing through its veins, you have _no_ idea. It's _incredible_ , Tommy."

"So what're you saying?"

"I'm saying it's not out of the question." I repeat. "I'm not talking about doing it right now, or next year or anything. But once Asta's a little older, and Ezra's doing better-"

"Then what? We'll get you a nice, barely-used uterus, have it implanted, and I can knock you up?"

"Who knows? It could be possible in a few years."

"Fuck you." He laughs softly, shoving me for good measure. "I'm trying to make a fucking point here."

"Which is?"

"That you're _insane_! Even if five kids wasn't already _more_ than a handful, and even if I _do_ wanna have a kid of my own one day, how do you picture us going about that, exactly? You, me, and the total stranger we choose to impregnate with my demon spawn makes three?"

I shrug unconcernedly. "Other than adoption, which kind of defeats the point of you having a kid of your own, how else do you think gay couples have kids?"

"I think that when one half of the couple was a total fucking closet case for most of his life, and he knocked his wife up five times before she died and left him to raise their kids with a guy who thinks it's acceptable to buy new underwear so he doesn't have to do laundry, they should probably call it good!"

"I don't want you to miss out on something amazing because of me."

"I won't!"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you're _never_ going to want to know how it feels to be a father. Not an uncle, or a step-father, but a _father_."

"You know I can't." He sighs impatiently, refusing to look in my direction let alone look me in the eyes. "I can't know how I'm gonna feel."

"Exactly! You can't know that you're not going to want it one day. So I'm telling you now... it _is_ an option."

He's still shaking his head, but I get the feeling it's less about protesting what I've said and more about him trying to wrap his head around the idea of _six_ kids when he's still so overwhelmed with five. I guess it's simpler for me; I've been a father for ten years, I have six siblings of my own. I'm so used to all of this that it doesn't really seem like that big of a deal to me. But to him it seems impossible.

Finally, he faces me again, and he looks a lot less incredulous than he did the last time our eyes met. I can't tell exactly what it is he's feeling instead, though.

"You're crazy, you know that?" He says resignedly. _Gratefully_.

"Yeah. But..." I gently cradle his jaw between my thumb and index finger. "I also happen to think it'd be a crime to let these genes go to waste."

"Could you be any lamer?"

"I could write a song about how pretty you are."

"I guess that answers my question." He chuckles, pulling my hand away from his face and pecking me on the lips...

Before pushing me into the pool.

I don't even care, though. He can push me in the pool whenever he damn well pleases. All I care about is that he's here to do it.

That's _all_ that matters.

After I've hauled myself out of the water, he joins me for a much needed hot shower. I offer him some sweats and a t-shirt to change into, even though they'll be much too baggy on him just like my board shorts were this morning (watching him try to keep them from floating off was pretty amusing, though). But he simply gives me a smug little smile and disappears from the bedroom in nothing but a towel. When he comes back he has a duffle bag in his hands, and he unzips it to reveal at least a week's worth of clothes.

"Which drawer is mine?" He asks, pulling his own t-shirt over his head, and I try to refrain from making a big deal about it as I open one of the barely used drawers in my dresser and pull out the only pair of pants taking up space in it.

We spend the rest of the night lounging on the couch, watching ' _Dexter_ ' and sharing the rest of his beer until I feel him beginning to fall asleep. As we make our way up to bed, I stupidly let myself think that everything is perfect. It's a fleeting thought, it barely has chance to occur before I silence it. But that one millisecond is enough. Enough to make the Universe want to roll up its sleeves and remind me who's boss.

I kinda feel like Cinderella; as soon as the clock strikes twelve, I'm covered in pumpkin guts.

Just as I predicted, Penny has a nightmare and needs soothing back to sleep. It seems like I've only just crawled back into bed and closed my eyes again when my alarm clock starts blaring, and I wake up to find Tommy gone. I know he's only waiting out in the car for an "all clear" text, but I still hate it. I'd rather wake up to his face than an empty space in the bed. I force myself to get up and get dressed, and then I have to force all of my kids to do the same. River initially refuses to get out of bed, then he refuses to get dressed, then he refuses to eat breakfast. When I eventually lose patience and inform him that I'm more than willing to take him to school unfed and in his pajamas, his lower lip starts to tremble and I feel like shit. I end up having to promise him that he can watch an extra hour of TV tonight just to keep the tears from falling.

Penny is more co-operative, but much less talkative. I know that means she's struggling with this morning just as much as River, if not more so. I try to remind her that she's going to make lots of new friends, but she just nods and continues to eat her cereal in silence. She's done the whole "first day of school" thing before, and I don't think that's really what's bothering her. I think she's afraid of being the girl with no mom. It's like some kind of disease that she contracted. Some of her friends had divorced parents, but none of them had _dead_ parents. She was the first and the only. She hated listening to them talking about their moms, she hated going over to their houses and watching them hug their moms, and it broke her heart to watch them run into their mother's arms as they left school together at the end of the day. So eventually she just cut herself off from her school friends and spent all of her time with her motherless Disney friends.

I'm hoping enough time has passed now, and that she'll be able to start spending time with girls her own age again. I don't want her to be so isolated and lonely, she's already missed enough of her childhood.

And as foolish as it may be, I hope that Ezra might meet someone today who he doesn't hate as much as the rest of us. It's not entirely out of the question; he did play with that one kid at the beach this summer. Who knows, maybe he'll surprise us all. He certainly surprises _me_ by getting up, getting dressed, and having breakfast without me having to follow him every step of the way like I did with his little brother.

Tommy does his now-routine "good morning" entrance, like he just drove over here from Burbank. He makes some comment about how much traffic sucked, and I try not to smile too widely as I shake my head at his little act. He volunteers to stay home with Asta, who is being abnormally fussy and refusing to eat, while I finish getting River, Penny, and Ezra packed up and ready for school. I'd forgotten how exhausting this process can be, and I know it's only going to get more chaotic once they start bringing home assignments and books...

It's going to take a while to get back in the swing of things, that's for sure.

Once we get to the school, I decide to drop River off in his classroom first so that he doesn't have even longer to work on his anxiety attack. At first he refuses to let go of my hand, and he barely says hello to his teacher when she comes over to introduce herself and ask his name. But while I'm showing him where his cubby is to hang up his backpack and coat, he notices that the little boy with the cubby next to his has the same Spider-Man sneakers on that he has at home. Apparently grown women and six year old boys can strike up conversations about shoes like no one else on the planet, and within five minutes they're debating their favorite superheroes and discussing ' _The_ _Avengers_ ' in great detail.

Penny's drop-off is less successful. She doesn't cry and plead with me to stay, but she doesn't immediately meet a kindred spirit either. She kisses me goodbye, and I hug her tightly and assure her that she's going to have a great day. And then I have to force myself to leave her in her teacher's capable hands so that I can accompany Ezra to his room. I know it's a mistake to glance over my shoulder as we walk out Penny's classroom, and when I see her standing helplessly in the middle of the room, surrounded by chatter and activity, lost in a sea of excitement that she seems completely separated from, all I want to do is go back in there and rescue her. But I know I can't.

The second we get to Ezra's class, he walks right in and finds his cubby with no help from me. I follow him, watching him put away his belongings and ignore the teacher when she asks him his name. I flash her my  most winning smile in an effort to compensate for my son's anti-social behavior, and I introduce us both and tell her that he's a little nervous. I don't think he is, though. I think he's as indifferent to today as he is to everything else. When I try to say goodbye to him, he acts like I'm already gone. It's like I'm talking to myself. I tell him I love him, and I hope he has a good day, and that I'll be here to pick him up later... and he ignores me. He walks over to one of the desks by the windows and sits down while all of his classmates and their parents continue saying their hellos and goodbyes around him.

I guess there's no point in me hanging around; he's made it very clear that he doesn't need me.


	48. Chapter 48

  


 

 

Viggo is practically giddy that he has me all to himself (mostly) for the first time in longer than I can remember, and he has all manner of ideas for how we can spend the day. Apparently he thinks my only job in this world is to take him to the zoo and the movies and the park. And while that doesn't sound like an unappealing career choice, entertaining him is sadly not the only responsibility I have. Trying to explain that to him, though, is like trying to explain astrophysics to a donkey.

When we get home, we're greeted by the sound of Asta crying. It's not a sound I'm all that used to, honestly. She's been the easiest baby out of all of her siblings... if you don't take into account her birth (obviously).

"Is she okay?" I ask worriedly as Viggo and I walk into the family room to find Tommy pacing across the floor, gently bouncing Asta in his arms as he shushes her to no avail. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" He tells me earnestly, almost as though he thinks I blame him for her emotional state. "She's _barely_ stopped since you left. I checked her diaper, but she's dry. I tried to feed her, but she didn't want anything. I tried to put her down but she clung to me like she was totally terrified of being let go. I don't know what else to do, I think I'm making it _worse_."

"It's not your fault." I assure him as he hands me my fussy daughter. "She's been off ever since she woke up."

"Do you think she's sick?"

"She doesn't have any other symptoms... She's probably just teething."

He still looks completely unnerved, like he's never seen a baby cry _this_ much and he's convinced it has to mean something awful. It makes me want to wrap my free arm around him and try to soothe him just like I'm trying to soothe Asta. It's not like I'm totally unconcerned; when your baby starts crying for no apparent reason it's definitely disconcerting. But there are a thousand things that could be causing her to be cranky this morning, and I'm not going to assume the worst. Yet.

Lately all Asta has wanted is to be on the floor so that she can practice standing up and shuffling back and forth along the edge of whatever piece of furniture she can find to cling to. But today she's throwing a hysterical fit at the mere suggestion of being put down. All she wants it to be held, but even when she's being held she's not entirely happy. It makes getting anything else done a bit of a challenge. I don't want to leave Tommy in charge of a miserable baby all day, no matter how many times he tells me he doesn't mind, so we take it in turns to try to keep her somewhat content. And whenever my turn is over, I attempt to get as much unpacking done as I possibly can.

By the middle of the afternoon, Tommy has managed to coax her into eating half a mashed up banana and a handful of freeze dried yogurt drops. She even seems to calm down a little with an icy teething ring and non-stop snuggles. Unfortunately, those non-stop snuggles have to be provided by Tommy instead of yours truly, because Ezra has a therapy appointment after school.

There's no way I'm willing to force his siblings to sit in a waiting room with their cranky baby sister for an hour, let alone any other patients who might be present. I feel like shit for leaving Tommy to deal with not only Asta but Penny, River and Viggo, too. But there really isn't another option. I'm not cancelling the appointment; Ezra _needs_ this. And even though I know Tommy understands, and it was _his_ idea for us to handle it this way, I still wish it didn't feel as though I was relying on him to "babysit" so damn much. I've barely said two words to him today that weren't related to my kids in some way. It wasn't intentional, it's just how things worked out. And I _hate_ it. I know things can't always be playful or romantic between us, our relationship can't be entirely separate from the rest of my life if I intend to spend it with him. But that doesn't mean both our worlds have to revolve around screaming children.

I don't want us to be _that_ couple.

God, I can't wait until Jenna comes back.

I'm pleasantly surprised when Ezra doesn't kick up a fuss about his therapy session. I was expecting him to refuse to get out of the car once I parked, but he doesn't. He walks beside me in silence, and takes his seat in the small waiting room like this is all routine to him now, even though it's only his third appointment. I'm not going to get my hopes up about him actually _speaking_ to his therapist, though. It's like he's voluntarily mute or took a vow of silence or something.

Sometimes I have to think _really_ hard to even remember the last time I heard his voice.

Teresa opens the door to her office right on time and smiles at us, greeting us with a cheerful hello and genuine interest about how our weekend was. But she gets no response from Ezra at all. If it weren't for the way he stands up and dutifully walks into her office, I'd think he was completely oblivious to her presence.

If I said I wasn't curious about what she says to him behind closed doors, or if he says _anything_ to her... well, that would be one of the biggest lies I've ever told in my life. And I've told some whoppers! To the best of my knowledge, he's never confided in anyone about anything he's been feeling since his mom died. Theresa and I have talked on the phone after each of his previous sessions, and even though she's told me that I am entitled to details of anything they discuss, since Ezra is a minor and I consented to treatment on his behalf, I've declined. Not because I don't want to know, but because I'm afraid that if he thinks she's going to report back to me he won't say a word.

I'd rather be kept in the dark and have him trust her. She'll tell me if I _need_ to know, if there's an immediate concern for his wellbeing. But other than that, I have no right to know how he's feeling until he chooses to talk to me.

I pass the time in the waiting room texting with Tommy and Zac. It feels like it's been weeks since I last saw my little brother, and somehow even longer since I've spoken to him, despite the fact that we've texted a couple of times since my arrival in L.A. I miss him. _So_ much. More than anyone else in our family. I've spent so little time away from him over the course of my life, and this past week may as well have been months. I can almost hear his voice when I read his texts, and it makes me want to call him and hear it for real. But when I suggest it, he tells me he's at home and he can't talk because Kate's there.

To be perfectly honest, I was never her biggest fan. I tolerated her because she was Nat's best friend and Zac saw something in her that I never could. But her self-righteous, pious attitude always irked me more than a little. I kept my mouth shut for years, I never really called her on any of the bullshit she spouted, especially not the bullshit my wife and family agreed with (which, sadly, was a lot of it). But now that I'm finally being completely honest about who I am and how I feel...

I _hate_ that bitch.

When Ezra eventually reemerges from Teresa's office he's as silent as he was when he went in there, which doesn't give me much hope that he did a whole lot of sharing over the past hour. He doesn't acknowledge Teresa's goodbye, but as usual, she's unfazed by his attitude and simply smiles at me and tells me we can schedule the next appointment over the phone later.

As we drive back to Beachwood Canyon, there are two voices in my head having a heated debate about whether or not I should attempt a conversation with my own kid. One of them thinks it might not be such a bad idea, but the other one is adamant that it would be a huge mistake. The first voice seems to think it couldn't hurt, it's not like things can get any worse. But the second voice is afraid that they actually can.

"How was school?" I venture in my most innocuous tone. He shrugs. "Did you make any friends."

"No."

"Well... did you talk to any of the other kids?"

"No."

I sigh sadly, not only because of his apparent lack of interest in having a conversation with me, but because of his refusal to have a conversation with _anyone_. "Did the teacher give you any homework, or did they go easy on you since it's your first day?" He shrugs again, and I try _very_ hard to remain patient. "Is that a yes, or a no, or an I don't know?"

"I don't care."

So I take it he does have homework, but he doesn't intend to do it. Awesome.

"I can help you with it, if you want." Nothing. "What is it? Math? English?"

"I don't know."

"Ez-"

His only response is to reach out and turn the volume of the radio up so high that it makes me want to take my hands off of the steering wheel and clamp them over my ears. I resist the urge to turn the radio off completely and snap at him for his behavior and his unwillingness to even make civilized small talk with me about his day, but only barely. There's no way I can leave the volume up so high, though, my head will explode before we get even halfway home. I turn it down until it's quiet enough for me to avoid getting a pounding headache, but still loud enough that we can't easily talk over it.

That seems to be acceptable to him, and I guess I'm just going to have to tolerate it.

It's been a pretty miserable day, all told. I'm miserable, Ezra is miserable, and Viggo and Asta are both crying when we arrive home with takeout for dinner, so I'm betting Tommy's probably miserable, too. Thankfully, Viggo's problems are solved by my return, so at least that's one less inconsolable child to deal with. But Ezra goes straight to his room without having anything to eat, and Asta only calms down long enough to be force-fed half a tub of pureed vegetables. If Tommy is even half as frazzled as I am right now, he's probably on the verge of tearing his hair out. And considering the fact that I have years of experience with this and he's still getting used to it, he's probably _twice_ as frazzled as I am.

Which is why I think it'd be better for both of us if he left.

"Go." I tell him tiredly as I dump the remains of Penny's picked apart meal into the garbage while trying not to make any sudden movements that might irritate the almost unconscious baby glued to my chest.

"What do you mean?" He frowns at me uncertainly, placing the pile of plates he was carrying beside the sink. "Go where?"

"Away. Far, _far_ away."

"Is this you kicking me out?"

"I don't look at it as kicking you out, I look at it as an act of mercy." I argue sincerely. "You've been amazing today, you deserve a break."

"I don't need a break." He lies.

" _I_ need a break. And my whiny kid tolerance is pretty damn high, I've been developing it for almost thirty years. So if I need a break, there's _no_ way you don't."

He opens his mouth to argue with me, but he ends up exhaling a heavy sigh instead. Because I'm right, and he knows it. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine."

"You _just_ said you need a break!"

"They're my kids; I don't get a break." I shrug helplessly.

"Then neither do I."

God he's stubborn. And _stupid_. He should be halfway to Burbank by now! "There's no reason for both of us to suffer."

"Yeah, and there's no reason for you to suffer alone."

"Look... this is _my_ house and I'm _telling_ you to go."

His mouth falls open indignantly, and I'm pretty sure that he'd be punching me in the face right now if it wasn't for the whimpering child I'm holding. "Are you fucking serious? You're _really_ gonna pull that shit on me?"

"If I have to."

"I'm not leaving." He declares defiantly, trying to stand a little straighter so that he'll look a little taller. But no matter how straight he stands, he'll never be taller than I am. "You're gonna have to physically _force_ me to go, and even then I'm just gonna sit in my damn car until you realize what an idiot you're being and let me back in!"

"Please don't do this." I sigh wearily. "I don't have the energy-"

"So let me help."

"If you want to help me, you can go home."

" _How_ does that help you?"

"Because if you're not here, that's one less person I have to worry about."

The outraged expression vanishes from his face in an instant, but it's replaced by something worse.

Now he looks offended.

Fuck.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just... it's been a long day, and I'm tired, and-"

"And I'm making it harder?" He asks dejectedly.

"No! That's not it _at all_." Despite my sincere protest, he walks away as though I never said a word. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Tommy-"

"Just doing my bit to help." He throws back sarcastically on his way out of the room.

God _damnit_! "Don't leave like this. _Tommy_!"

In the process of following him out of the kitchen I almost trip over River, who is staring after Tommy in confusion and concern. I have no idea how much of our conversation he overheard, but between worrying about how he's feeling right now and trying not to drop Asta, there's no way I can get to the front door in time to stop it from being slammed shut.

"Where'd Tommy go?" River asks sadly, gazing up at me with big, puppy eyes, like I just took away his favorite toy. "Is he mad?"

Yes. "No. He just... had to go."

"How come?"

"Because... he remembered he had to do something."

"So he's coming back?" He questions with a hint of a hopeful smile on his face.

As soon as I'm done begging and groveling, which I'll be more than happy to do once all of my kids are tucked into bed and I can finally get a second to myself. "Of course he's coming back."

"Good, 'cause I don't want him to leave."

"He's not gonna leave." I assure him gently, running my fingers through his short, brown hair. "He loves you guys."

"He loves you, too!" River reminds me, and I can't help but smile back at him.

"Yeah, he does." Even when I don't deserve it. "Come on, time to start getting ready for bed."

I'm almost afraid to put Asta down in her crib, because every time Tommy and I tried to put her down at all today she had a meltdown. But it seems as though she's cried herself into a coma, because she barely stirs as I gingerly pry my hand out from beneath her head. With her settled it makes it ten times easier for me to get her siblings to sleep, and by nine-o'clock I'm alone in my _silent_ bedroom. A complete lack of noise has never sounded _so_ good. I feel as though I haven't taken a breath since I woke up this morning, so for a while that's _all_ I do. I just lie in the dark and _breathe_. And once I've caught my breath, I take out my phone and call Tommy.

But he doesn't answer.

I leave a voicemail pleading with him to call me back. Then I text him the same thing. Then I wait twenty minutes and try calling again. All of my attempts to reach out to him fail, though. He's pissed at me, and he doesn't want to talk, and I can't say I blame him. _I'm_ pissed at me, too.

It's after midnight when I finally give up and text him to tell him that I'm going to sleep, and that I hope he'll come over for breakfast in the morning. But even though I'm exhausted and I've wanted to take a nap since lunch time, I can't get my mind to stop running in circles. I toss and turn, unable to find a comfortable position, unable to stop thinking the same things over and over again. My alarm clock keeps me more aware of the time than I want to be, the digitalized numbers changing before my eyes as one o'clock comes and goes, then one-fifteen, one-twenty, one-thirty...

At one-fifty-five I hear my bedroom door open and I sit up in the dark, expecting to see one of my kids standing in the doorway. But it's Tommy.

"Hey..." He doesn't respond, but he _does_ come closer. "What's wrong?"

The nearer he gets, the more clearly I can see him. The more clearly I can see how serious he looks. And how sad. He still hasn't said a word, and he remains silent as he crawls onto the bed with me. I'm about to ask him what he's doing, but he kisses me before I can get a single syllable out. His lips are gentle yet needy as they move against my own, and I find myself breathless all over again. But this time it's not because I haven't had a second to breathe, it's because I forgot to. I was so focused on him, on how good he feels, breathing became secondary, unnecessary. I just didn't care enough to do it.

"I couldn't sleep." He finally admits, his breath warm as it breezes across my face. "I can _never_ fucking sleep when you're not there."

"I'm sorry." I tell him in a barely audible whisper. "If I hadn't been such a jackass, we'd _both_ be asleep right now."

"You weren't a jackass-"

"I was. But I didn't _mean_ to be. I didn't mean to make you feel like you were in the way."

"I know."

"I was just tired, and I knew you were tired, and I wanted to make sure you got a break." I explain earnestly, not needing to think before I speak because all I've done for the past five hours is think about this apology. "There's a reason you still have your own apartment; you need your own space, you need to be alone sometimes. I get that, and I'm fine with it, and I don't want you to feel like you can't be alone whenever you need to be. Even if that means leaving me to deal with a bunch of crying kids by myself."

"But I didn't need to be alone." He replies calmly. "I _wanted_ to be here. No, it wasn't the best day ever, it wasn't easy, and I had the headache from hell for most of it. But I still wanted to help you, and you wouldn't fucking _let_ me."

"I'm sorry. I just... I'm _so_ grateful. Not only for everything you did today, but for the fact that you want to be here _period_. I didn't want you to leave because you weren't helping, or because I didn't want you here. I wanted you to leave because I wanted you to _want_ to come back. And... part of me is still scared that if you have to hold a crying baby for twelve hours straight, you _won't_ want to."

"You're stupid."

"I know." I sigh resignedly. It's a fact I came to terms with a long time ago. "But the things is... I need you. I've never needed another person the way I _need_ you. It's awful, and co-dependent, and disgusting, but... I love you _so_ much. I seriously don't know what I'd do if I lost you again-"

He kisses me, in a way that makes it clear that he doesn't need me to say another word. He doesn't need me to explain how I feel, because he feels it, too. I know it even before he has a chance to murmur against my lips.

"I can't sleep when you're not there."

It hurt my heart the first time he said it, but this time the words hit so hard that they break it. I wrap my arms around him protectively, possessively, holding him close as he curls up on the comforter beside me. And within a matter of minutes, we're _both_ asleep.

He doesn't wake up in time to sneak out the next morning, but my kids don't seem too bothered by the fact that he's already present as they yawn their way into the dining room for breakfast. The day progresses much like yesterday did, except that Asta is thankfully a little less fussy. I'm so busy trying to get River, Penny, and Ezra to school on time that I completely forget it's election day until Tommy tells me that he has to go and vote. I mailed in my ballot before I left Oklahoma, since I knew I wouldn't be there to vote today and I wasn't registered to vote in California. Now all I can do is wait for the rest of the country to make their choices, and hope that the majority of them choose not to put limits on love.

It's just one more thing that's out of my hands, out of my control.

Tommy seems to be even less okay with how powerless we are in this than I am. I don't think I've ever seen him so obsessed with his phone, constantly checking twitter, reading news articles that tell him nothing new and serve no purpose other than to make him more and more frustrated and annoyed. One website tells him Obama is going to win, the next tells him Romney is definitely going to be our next President. Then he's reading that it's neck and neck, and the amount of cussing he does once Asta and Viggo are down for their afternoon nap is unprecedented! Eventually I'm forced to snatch his iPhone out of his hands and tell him that he can't have it back until he calms down.

We end up making a deal to stay uninformed for the rest of the day. We turn off our phones and plan to spend the evening watching DVDs with the kids. The chances of their being any clear winner in the election before midnight is slim, so we agree that we'll check then and not before.

At first we're both incredibly antsy, we don't really know what to do with ourselves. But by the time we go to pick the kids up from school, it's like we've almost forgotten about it all. Unfortunately we end up stuck in traffic behind someone with a Mitt Romney bumper sticker on the way home, and Tommy practically has to bite his tongue in order to stop himself from teaching my children some choice words that they definitely _won't_ be learning in school.

It's not until we put the kids to bed that we find it impossible to stay away from current events any longer. Well, actually, _he's_ the one who finds it impossible. For once I was actually exercising more self-control than I knew I even possessed! But after putting Penny to bed, I come back to the family room to find him watching CNN, his eyes glued to the TV screen.

"Tommy! You _swore_ you wouldn't-"

"He won." He tells me dazedly, tearing his gaze from the news show and turning to look at me. "He fucking won."

Oh God.

Please... no...

"Who?"

"Obama!" He laughs as his stunned expression morphs into one of relief. "They already called it. He got Ohio; he _won_!"

My eyes flit from his face to the TV screen, unable to accept what he's saying until I see it for myself. But even after I read the results on the screen, see the numbers, the red and blue patchwork map, the crowds cheering and crying tears of joy... I _can't_ believe it. It's too early. This was supposed to be an election too close to call, no one expected a clear winner until late tonight, maybe not even until tomorrow or for days after. It might be a mistake. They might be calling it too soon. I don't want to let my guard down, get my hopes up, believe that this country has come far enough to elect a man who openly supports the rights of same-sex couples...

"Taylor-"

"Check another channel."

"But-"

I walk over to him, taking the remote out of his hand and punching in the numbers for Fox News.

"- _some unbelievable miracle would have to occur, and some completely... I don't see how... i-it doesn't... this isn't gonna happen. He's... the President has won re-election_."

Oh my God.

"Do you wanna check every other news channel, or do you believe me now?" Tommy teases, still clearly shocked but completely gleeful as he gets off of the couch and practically pounces on me. "It's over! We _won_ , baby."

I don't know if it was seeing the sorrowful faces of the Fox News pundits that did it, or hearing Tommy call me "baby", but something certainly snapped me out of my denial, and now all I feel is hope.

Pure, unbridled, _hope_.

Next thing I know we're making our way to my bedroom, unable to keep our hands off of each other.

Regardless of how amazing it always feels to be with him, it would be a lie to say that I can remember each and every sexual encounter we've shared. No matter how incredible it may be in the moment, after a certain point you can't recall details of _every_ last fuck. But some of them stand out, and will _always_ stand out.

I remember our firsts.

Our first kiss at the bar. The first time I got on my knees in that dressing room. The first time he touched me in an airport hotel. The first time he made love to me. The first time we had phone sex. The first time I made love to him. The first time we had sex this summer after spending an agonizingly long year apart. The first time we had sex after he told me he loved me. The first (and only) time he put on panties and a dress for me.

And I know that I'll remember this night for the rest of my life, too.

It's not a first, but it _feels_ like one. It holds the same amount of desire and desperation. The same passion and promise.

As we lie on my bed, sweaty and sated and in desperate need of a good night's sleep, I can't help but turn on the TV in my room one last time. Just to make sure nothing has changed, to make sure it's still real before I close my eyes and allow myself to succumb to unconsciousness. We tune in somewhere in the midst of Obama's acceptance speech, which is all the confirmation I need that the results we heard before were accurate. We listen as he thanks his wife, his kids, his campaign staff, and everyone else in the country who supported him. And then the news anchors reconfirm his re-election, summing up the electoral votes he won, the states he carried, and the other newsworthy wins of the night. Including the fact that same-sex marriage was approved in Maryland, Maine, and probably Washington state, too.

Things are changing.

 _People_ are changing their minds, their opinions. Their hearts. A few years ago this wouldn't have happened. A few years ago same-sex marriage was legal in only a few states, and now it's legal in nine. It's not enough, but it's a start. It's a step forward. It means that people who didn't understand before are starting to understand now. People who judged homosexuality are starting to see that there's nothing wrong with it.

People who hated are starting to love.                                      

Maybe someday, not too long from now, my own family might be able to look at me and Tommy and see that there's _nothing_ wrong with what we share. This is right. I know it. I _feel_ it.

This is _so_ right.

"Tommy?"

"Mmm?" He sighs sleepily.

"Marry me."

 


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, twice in 2 days. :p Chapter 57 came easier than it seemed it was going to initially, so...
> 
> TOMMY CHAPTER!!!!

  


 

 

I handled last night badly.

 _Really_ fucking badly.

Like... on a scale of one to ten, with one being calm and mature, and ten being ridiculous and childish, I was a twelve.

Hundred.

And I _know_ that. I admit that I acted like a fucking idiot.

But _he's_ the one who fucking _proposed_. I mean... what the _fuck_?!

One minute I'm lying there, falling asleep in his arms, completely satisfied in every conceivable way, and the next he's asking me to fucking _marry_ him! Like that's even a fucking _option_! Just 'cause they made it legal in a couple more states last night, that doesn't mean it's legal in this one!

What's the point in us getting married somewhere else if it doesn't fucking count _here_?

And why the fuck does he want us to get married anyway? Things were _good_ , they were finally starting to settle down. We were finally doing okay, we were really starting to figure things out, and now he wants to go and change it! _Why_ can't he just let things be good and leave them the fuck alone?! He _always_ has to over-complicate everything, it's like he can't help himself.

And I always have to run away when things get too serious. I can't help myself.

Every time I think about what happened, the things I said and the way I left, I cringe. I _literally_ make a face. Like right now, standing here in the grocery store, staring at the toilet paper, I'm _cringing_. I guess it's an appropriate aisle for me to be standing in, 'cause I definitely feel like shit.

"Dude, you're not supposed to put too much thought into what it's used for."

"Huh?" I frown as Isaac smirks at me and nods his head towards the Charmin on the shelf beside us. "Oh... _ew_ , dude, I _wasn't_ thinking about that."

"Then why'd you look so grossed out?"

Because I disgust myself sometimes. "I was just..."

"Just...?"

"Nothing." I sigh heavily, leaning on the shopping cart handle as I follow him down the aisle towards the cleaning supplies. "Forget it."

"You're totally spacey today."

"Yeah, well... I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Do you ever?" He teases lightly, though the look he gives me is entirely sympathetic. "Everything okay?"

It _was_.

Last night everything was perfect. I was happy, and Obama was reelected, and Taylor and I were having amazing, celebratory sex. And then he uttered two little words, and it all went to shit.

"Tommy?"

"Huh?"

"Seriously, what's going on with you?" He asks, now more concerned by my absent-mindedness than amused by it. "Even on no sleep you're generally more functional than you are right now."

Usually, Isaac's the one I would go to with stuff like this. Not always, but if I'm gonna willingly open up to anyone, it's him. I don't even really know _why_ , I have plenty of friends that I've known a hell of a lot longer than him. But ever since he first joined Adam's band a couple of years ago, we just... clicked. There's something about him that makes honesty a little less of a challenge. I know he'll take me seriously, he'll be supportive even if he doesn't agree with me, he won't make me feel like an asshole even when I am one.

 _And_ he won't tell anyone else.

"Something happened last night..."

"Yeah, it's called democracy, and it was pretty fucking awesome." He beams, and even though that insane grin of his isn't as contagious as usual because of my bad mood, it's completely impossible for me to keep a small smile off of my face. "You shoulda come over. Soph and I got _so_ drunk."

"I kinda wish I had."

"What did you and Taylor do to celebrate?" He asks distractedly as he throws some Windex in the cart and tugs it forward to keep me moving.

"We had a big fight and I walked out on him."

He makes a face, probably one that's pretty similar to the one I was making over by the toilet paper. "He didn't vote for Romney, did he?"

"No." I roll my eyes, helping him turn the cart as we round the corner at the end of the aisle.

"So what happened? Did you guys break up?"

"No." At least, I'm pretty sure we didn't. "I don't know. I _think_ it was just a fight..."

He patiently gestures for me to continue, knowing me well enough to know that I don't give things up easily. He's gonna have to pry this out of me. "About...?"

Shit.

Am I really gonna say this out loud?

"He... um..." Ugh. "He kinda... proposed."

Isaac chuckles quietly, like he doesn't know what that even means. "What?"

"He proposed."

"Proposed what?" He looks at me and I look at him, _hard_ , refusing to spell it out for him and willing him to figure it out on his own. Which he eventually does. " _Seriously_?"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"Exactly!"

"I take it you freaked out and ran for the hills?"

Am I that predictable? "I didn't freak out, I protested. And I didn't run... I walked to my car and then I drove."

He gives me the same look he always gives me when I'm being an ass. It's his unaffected, undefeated 'I see you through your bullshit, TommyJoe' look. "Potato, tomato."

"Look, I admit that I coulda handled it... differently. But there shouldn't have _been_ anything to handle, okay? He's insane!"

"He loves you."

" _So_?"

"So, when two people love each other very, very much-" He doesn't get to finish his condescending mockery because he gets hit in the face by a bag of Doritos. Gosh, I wonder where it could have possibly come from! "Throw potato chips at me, it only makes me stronger."

"You're supposed to be on _my_ side! You're _my_ best friend, you have _one_ job!"

He's still laughing at me as he steps around the cart and pulls me into a hug, and even though I kinda want to push him away like a petulant child, I end up wrapping one arm around him instead. "You know I love you."

"Wanna marry me? 'Cause apparently, if you love someone, you _have_ to marry them."

"I would marry you in a heartbeat, beb." He tells me, draping his arm around my shoulders as we continue along the snack aisle. "But alas, I belong to another."

"Didn't you hear? I l _ike_ my men married." I deadpan, and he smirks as he leans in and presses his lips to my temple.

"You're so full of it."

"Whatever."

"So, come on, tell me how you managed to take a heartfelt proposal and turn it into a fight."

"Why do you automatically assume it was _my_ fault?" I question in offense, but he just side-eyes me. "Okay, fine, so the fight was my fault. But if _he_ hadn't proposed, none of this would've happened!"

"Well why don't we forget whose fault it is and focus on why you didn't just say yes?" He suggests rationally. "Is there a reason you don't wanna marry him?"

"It's not that I don't _want_ to, it's just... why _now_? I mean, what's the rush? We _just_ got back together, and he _just_ moved out here. Why can't we just _be_ , you know? Just for five fucking minutes!"

"Is that what you said to him?"

"Not exactly."

"What _did_ you say?" He inquires with a distinct note of dread in his tone.

"I said he'd lost his fucking mind. And that it probably wasn't legal for him to get re-married before they'd finished burying his wife. And... something about how I didn't want to get married. Ever."

"Nice."

"It was late, and I was half asleep, and he just proposed out of the fucking blue! I didn't know _what_ to say! I mean, what was I supposed to say?"

"You coulda just said 'no, thank you'."

"No, I couldn't. 'Cause he would've looked at me with those big, sad, blue eyes, and he would've gotten all quiet and rejected-"

"You mean he didn't do that when you told him you never wanted to marry him?" Asks Isaac skeptically.

"No, he got mad."

"And that's better?"

"Yeah, actually." Now _I_ sound like the psycho in this situation. How did that happen?! "I'd rather have him yelling at me than just sitting there, looking at me with those wounded baby blues. That shit shouldn't be allowed."

"Tell me about it." He commiserates with a sigh. "Soph has this look she gives me when I won't do what she wants... it's I'm like facing a whole army of weeping women, I don't stand a fucking chance."

"It's not fair."

I know I'm being a baby, but... that's me. _That's_ the problem. I'm not grown-up enough for all this adult bullshit! I'm thirty-one going on thirteen. I don't know when it was that I stopped maturing, if something happened to me that caused me to come to a developmental standstill, or if something that needed to happen to me never did. But I feel like I'm eternally stuck in my early twenties. People say I don't look my age, well I don't _feel_ it, either. And I _like_ that. It's never been a problem for me; I was fine being young, free, and single!

The idea of moving out of my apartment still scares the shit out of me.

I spend every day and every night at Taylor's house, I may as well live there, but I like _knowing_ that I still have my own place. I can't explain why, I hardly spend any time there anymore, but I feel like I _need_ it. I don't know when that's going to change. And I don't know when the idea of marriage isn't going to seem insane to me.

I seriously feel like a teenager, and  it's totally fucking ludicrous for anyone to expect a teenager to get _married_!

Isaac and I are in the middle of checking out when my phone starts ringing. I freeze at the sound of the ringtone, standing there by the conveyor belt with a head of lettuce in my outstretched hand, staring down at my pocket.

"Taylor?" Isaac asks knowingly.

"Yeah."

"Gonna answer it, or just stare at your pants all day?" Stare at my pants all day. Or at least until the ringing stops. "You're gonna have to talk to him eventually."

"I know." I mumble, resuming unloading the shopping cart. "But eventually is not the same as right this fucking second."

He shakes his head at me, smiling to himself. I know he thinks I'm being silly; I _know_ I am. But I don't know what to say to Taylor yet, I haven't figured out how I feel enough to explain it to him. I don't see any conversation between us going any better than the last one we had until I know what it is I want to say.

Once we're done at the store and on our way out to his car, I pull my phone out of my pocket to check my voicemail, and just hearing Taylor's voice makes me feel like an asshole. He sounds tired, and miserable, and I can hear Asta crying so loudly that I'm sure he must have been holding her as he recorded his message. All he says is that he's not calling about last night, that he needs my help, and to please, _please_ call him back as soon as I can.

"Everything okay?"

"I don't know." I sigh worriedly as I pull the phone away from my ear and hit the button on the screen to call him back. "Something's not right."

I can feel Isaac watching me curiously as I wait for Taylor to pick up, and after a couple of rings, he answers. "Hey."

"Hey... what's going on?"

"Look, I know this is a lot to ask, and if there was anyone else I could call, I would-"

"What's wrong?" I ask, my heart beginning to race right along with my mind. "Is Asta okay?"

"I don't know. She's barely eaten since Monday, she's _still_ fussy, and now she's throwing up and has a fever." He tells me over the sound of her distressed cries. "I'm at the doctor's, but her appointment isn't for another half an hour, and the school just called to tell me that Ezra's being suspended for the rest of the day-"

" _What_?" Shit. "Why?!"

"For cussing out a teacher."

Yikes. "Well... that's bad, but are they seriously gonna send him home for it?"

"He said 'fuck you' to an adult. In a room full of nine year olds. So yeah, they're sending him home."

"Shit... I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too." He grumbles in frustrated exhaustion.

"But what do you need _me_ to do?"

"Well, someone has to pick him up, and I can't do it without giving up Asta's appointment. And if I wait until a _fter_ her appointment, Ezra's gonna be sitting in the school office for like an hour and a half."

"So you want me to go get him?" Part of me is ready and willing to do it... and part of me is kind of terrified. I never thought I'd be afraid of a ten-year-old, but _this_ ten-year-old is like a ticking time bomb. "Will the school even let me take him?"

"You're on file for all of them as a secondary contact, I gave permission for you to pick them up if I can't."

"Oh."

"Sorry, I just... I didn't have anyone else to put down, and they _require_ that you put down at least one other person in case they can't contact you and there's an emergency. I didn't think it'd be an issue-"

"It's not, it's fine. I'll go get him."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

I hate how formal he sounds, like I'm providing him a service instead of doing him a favor. I wouldn't be surprised if he tips me on delivery. "Yeah, no problem."

Isaac's disappointed that our plans for the day have to be scrapped, even though those plans consisted of doing nothing. It's been forever since we did nothing together, though. Between him working with various bands and me spending all my spare time with Taylor, we hardly get to see each other. Neither of us are ashamed to admit that we've missed spending time together. But he understands that I _need_ to go and get Ezra, in fact he even looks kinda proud of me when he tells me to "go be a grown up".

After I've dropped him back at his apartment, I head over to Valley View Elementary. I spend the entire drive trying to convince myself that I can handle this. Yes, he's a "difficult" child, and he and I haven't exactly spoken much... at all... in like... _weeks_. Or months. I mean, I say hi to him whenever I see him, but he barely acknowledges my presence. The last time I can remember having an actual conversation with him was the first time we met.

That was over a _year_ ago!

But all I have to do is pick him up from school and take him home. If he doesn't want to talk to me, that's fine. I can take twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence. It'll be okay...

The assistant principal comes out to speak to me after I tell the woman in the main office why I'm here. I show them my ID so they can make sure I am who I say I am, and then she tells me that Ezra is welcome to come back to school tomorrow, but they feel he needs a "break" for the rest of today. Which is their nice way of saying that they're kicking him out because they can't deal with him. I _know_ they have to take all of his classmates into consideration, too, but he's just a fucking kid.

I mean Jesus, way to give up on him at the first sign of trouble!

They "recommend" that he be given some school work to do at home so that he's still learning and not just lounging around all afternoon playing video games. But how they expect me to get him to actually _do_ any of the work sheets they provide me with is a mystery to me. I'm pretty sure he'll just ignore me if I try.

Ezra accompanies me out to my car without a word, and I feel like I should say something to him, but I'm not sure what. I'm not about to reprimand him, it's not my place. But as we drive in silence, I can't help glancing in the rearview mirror every-so-often, wishing there was _something_ I could do or say to make him feel better. I don't see an angry, disagreeable kid sitting on the backseat of my car right now, I see a sad, lonely little boy.

I exit off of the freeway with every intention of taking a left onto Beachwood Drive, but as we approach the turn, I start second guessing myself. I know I _should_ just take him home and let Taylor deal with him when he gets back from Asta's doctor's appointment... but I don't. I don't take the turn, I drive right past it and onto Los Feliz, heading east towards Griffith Park.

I notice his expression change slightly when he realizes that we're not where we should be. He doesn't ask where we are or what we're doing, but I can tell from the look on his face that he's curious. We follow the winding road around until we reach the parking lot by the carousel, the same place we came with his brothers and sister the day I first met them. When I park and get out of the car, he hesitates for a moment before following me, but he still doesn't say a word.

Then again, neither do I.

I lead him over to the exact bench that Taylor and I sat on that day as we watched him play tag with his siblings, and I sit down without explanation. For a while he just stands a few feet away from me, looking around at the other children and their parents, and then he sighs in defeat as he trudges over and sits down on the opposite end of the bench.

"Why are we here?" He mumbles. "You were supposed to take me home."

I shrug, trying to pretend that I'm not even the slightest bit nervous that my decision to bring him here might have been a bad one. "I didn't feel like being indoors."

"But you felt like coming to a stupid park?"

"It's not stupid. I like it here."

"It's for kids." He points out bitterly, digging his heel into the dirt at our feet.

"You _are_ a kid."

"No I'm not."

Should I argue with him? I don't really see how that's going to do any good, but he's _so_ wrong. And I think he _needs_ to know that.

"You're ten. You're not an adult, you're not a teenager, and you're not a baby. So if you're not a kid, what are you?" He shrugs indifferently, turning his face away from mine. "You know, you didn't seem to think this park was so stupid last year."

"So?"

"So what makes it so stupid now?" Again, he refuses to answer. But this time I don't even get a shrug. I can't decide if that means I'm winning or losing this little battle of wills. "You know why I like it here?"

"I don't care."

Too bad, I'm gonna tell you anyway. "I like it 'cause it reminds me of the first time I ever met you. You and your brothers and sister. Do you remember?"

"Not really." He lies, staring down at his shoes as he continues to dig a trench in the ground with his heel.

"You played tag with them, right over there. You were running around, chasing them, laughing... then you guys got me and your dad to join in, and-"

"I _said_ I don't remember."

"Well _I_ do. It was the last time I saw you play with them like that. They miss you, you know?"

"Boo-freaking-hoo."

I gotta hand it to him, he's got this snide, hardhearted act _down_. Unfortunately for him, I can see through it. I've been there, done that. Maybe not to the same extent, but I went through my own 'angry at the world' phase when I was a teenager, I've done the whole 'fuck you all' routine, and I know that underneath it all he's not as heartless as he's pretending to be. He's hurting, he's _been_ hurt, and he thinks that he can protect himself from more pain by shutting everyone out. But the walls he's put up aren't just shutting us out, they're shutting him in. And in the end that's gonna hurt him even worse. He can't stay in there forever.

 _Something_ has to break him out of this box he's built for himself.

I may as well start throwing stones. "I'm sorry about your mom."

"Whatever."

"I know it sucks-"

"You don't know anything." He cuts me off cynically, shooting me a look that tells me that his mom and her death are off-limits topics.

So I guess I won't talk about either.

"My dad died." He's visibly taken aback by this information, and by my willingness to share it. But the break in his hostile facade only lasts for a second before he resumes his uninterested expression. "I hate saying that. It makes it sound like it was something he chose to do, not something that happened to him. My mom always says we 'lost him'... I kinda hate that even more, you know? 'Cause it's like... we didn't _lose_ him. He's not lost, we're never gonna find him. He's gone, and he's not coming back."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You said I don't know anything." I shrug. "But I know how much it sucks when someone you love dies. And I know it sucks even worse when it's your mom or your dad."

He eyes me suspiciously, like maybe he thinks I'm trying to trick him. "How'd he die?"

"He got sick." I explain quietly, fighting to keep my mind from going back to those weeks he spent in the hospital. Not that I was around for most of them... "Part of his body stopped working properly, a really important part... and he needed a new one, but the doctor's couldn't find one in time."

"Were you mad?"

"At who?"

"Anyone." He replies simply, like it doesn't matter _who_ I was mad at as long as I _was_ mad.

"I was mad that the doctors didn't save him. But they did everything they could. It wasn't anyone's fault, it just... happened."

"Were you mad at him?"

I frown uncertainly. "Who?"

"Your dad."

"For dying?" He nods, folding his arms defensively over his chest. I never really asked myself if I was mad at my dad. It seems stupid to be mad at someone for getting sick. But if I'm honest... "Part of me was, I guess. I was angry that he didn't hold on a little longer, even though I knew it wasn't up to him. I know he would've stayed if he could. He didn't _try_ to get sick, but he _did_ try to get better."

He's quiet again, and I study him carefully as he scowls at his shoes. I have no idea what he's thinking. I wish I did, because if I could figure it out then maybe I could try to understand it. Right now, all I know is that he's mad. But I was already aware of that; it's pretty fucking hard to miss.

Maybe he just needs someone to acknowledge that, though? Maybe he needs to be know that it's _okay_.

"Were you mad when your mom died?" I ask carefully, feeling like an idiot for even posing the question because it's _obvious_ he was. He still is. And apparently it's such a pointless question that he's not even gonna dignify it with an answer. "Who were you mad at?"

"I don't know."

"You were mad but you don't know who with?" He shrugs. I get the feeling he's just closed the drapes on the window I'd found into that little room of his. "You don't have to know who you were mad at; sometimes you just get mad at no one. And everyone."

"Whatever."

Yup. The drapes are closed and the lights are out. But at least now I know that there _is_ a window. And I have plenty more stones I can throw at it. Hell, I have rocks!

"I know you're mad at your dad. And I understand why-"

"No, you don't."

"You're mad because he couldn't save your mom. And because he was gone a lot-"

"Try _always_."

"He missed you all the time. And he _really_ misses you now."

"No he doesn't." It's scary how convinced he sounds of that. "He wishes I wasn't here."

"That's not true."

"What do _you_ know?"

"I know your dad, and I know he loves you more than anything-"

"If he loved me more than anything, then how come I was never enough?" He snaps, getting off of the bench and stalking back in the direction of the parking lot as I hurry to keep up.

"Enough?"

"I wanna go home."

"Ezra-"

"I don't wanna talk to you anymore." He informs me bitterly, and when I reach out to grab his arm and try to make him slow down and look at me, he turns on me furiously. "Take me home or I'll _scream_!"

Great.

Like I can really risk having a ten-year-old boy scream at me in the middle of a children's playground! One look at me, and two dozen mother's are gonna be dialing 911. I'll have cops all over me before I can even attempt to convince them that I'm his father's boyfriend. And, oh yeah, did I mention that his father is Taylor ' _MMMBop_ ' Hanson?

I think I'll skip it.

This is _so_ unfair! Kids shouldn't be able to threaten to pitch a fit just to get whatever they fucking want, it's _so_ wrong. But he has the upper-hand in this situation, and he _knows_ it. I can't do _anything._ I'm not his father or his legal guardian. I have no way of proving that I'm not just some sick pervert trying to snatch him out of the park. I don't exactly look like I belong here.

I have no choice but to give in and let go.

He doesn't speak to me for the entire drive home, but unlike the drive out here, I'm not all that broken up about it. I'm still pissed off about that stunt he pulled at the park, and I'm actually happy for us to both keep our mouths shut. But as we get out of the car and make our way over to the front door, he stops me.

"Are you gonna tell my dad what I said?"

I'm more than a little surprised. Not only because he cares enough to ask, but because he looks genuinely concerned. I don't think I've seen him display any emotions besides anger and apathy since Taylor and I got back together this summer. I want to do the right thing here, but I don't know what that is. The right thing by Taylor isn't necessarily the right thing by Ezra, and vice versa.

"No, I won't tell him." I regret the decision as soon as the words leave my mouth.

"Promise?"

_Fuck._

"I promise."

 

 


	50. Chapter 50

  


 

 

Today has sucked.

From waking up alone because my boyfriend walked out on me after I proposed to him last night, to having my infant daughter throwing up on me and refusing to eat, and then getting a call from my son's new school to say he's been kicked out on his third day... it has not been the best twenty-four-hours ever. I don't understand how I went from feeling so hopeful to feeling so hopeless. It was like things were going borderline well for once, and I got too comfortable, and the universe noticed my complacency and was like "fuck that".

And ever since then, it's just... _sucked_. 

By the time I'm done with Asta's appointment, and I've gone by the pharmacy to get the Infalyte that the doctor told me to pick up to help her rehydrate, I've got just enough time to make it over to the school before it lets out for the day. I feel awful for Viggo; he's spent the last few hours in the car and at the doctor's office, bored and missing his big brother. He's used to seeing him all day, every day, and now suddenly he has no one to play with. Except me, and I'm not _nearly_ as much fun as a six-year-old. I keep thinking I should look into pre-school for him, at least for a couple of days a week so that he's not so lonely. But until he starts handling it better when I leave him, I don't know that it's such a good idea. The only time he doesn't mind being away from me is when _he_ leaves _me._ It's like he believes that as long as I'm at home, nothing could possibly happen to me. He knows where I am, and he knows that I'm safe, so he feels safer. But I don't have anyone to take him to pre-school for me, at least not until Jenna comes back. I don't particularly want to ask Tommy to do it for me...

I'm not sure enough of where we stand to ask him to commit to doing something like that.

Apparently, commitment isn't something he's fond of. I don't know what the hell he wants or what's going on in his head. It's like he says one thing and then does something to completely contradict it. He wants to be with me, but he doesn't want to marry to me. He practically lives at my place, but he won't actually move in. He says he's in this with me, but sometimes it feels more like he's got one foot in and one foot out.

And last night, I honestly couldn't tell anymore whether it's because he's still working up the courage to be _all_ in, or because he's still resisting the urge to flee.

I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I _want_ to believe he's not going anywhere. But if this is permanent for him, if he and I are long term, I don't understand why he reacted the way he did to my proposal. I know it came as a surprise, to _both_ of us, but was he really _that_ fucking shocked?

He jumped out of bed like someone had just fired a gun and he felt the need to run for his life!

Logically, I already knew that Tommy's car would be in the driveway as I arrive home; it's not like he was going to dump Ezra on the doorstep and take off, no matter what's going on between us right now. But actually _seeing_ it there automatically causes me to heave a deep sigh. The kind of sigh you always heave right before you face something you'd rather put off a little longer. I don't know what I'm supposed to say to him. Then again, maybe it won't be a problem. If he's as desperate to get out of here as he was last night, I won't have a chance to say anything before he's already on his way out of the door.

He's hanging out in the family room as the kids come bursting into the house and make a beeline for him. Actually, I'm not sure if it's him or the TV they were making a beeline for. I guess they got a two for one deal. As soon as they're done jumping all over him, he's off of the couch and on his feet. I know I expected him to go, and part of me didn't want to deal with talking to him right now, but that doesn't make the fact that he's actually leaving any less disappointing.

But instead of walking out the way I thought he was going to, he walks right over to me. "How's Asta? What did the doctor say?"

"Uh..." I'm momentarily thrown. I wasn't prepared for him to ask about her, I thought he'd be too busy making excuses to get out of here. "It's some kind of stomach virus thing. She's dehydrated, so I have to try to get more fluids in her."

"So it's nothing serious?"

"Not as long as she can keep this Infalyte stuff down."

He breathes a sigh of obvious relief, reaching out to stroke her curly blonde hair as she sleeps in my arms. It's almost enough to make me smile. "Good."

"Thanks for picking Ezra up."

"Yeah, sure."

"Was he any trouble?" I ask as he hesitantly follows me through the house towards the nursery.

"Uh... no." He chuckles softly, but I can't tell if the waver in his tone is a result of a lie or the uncertainty lingering between us. "We just... came home and he went straight to his room."

I love the way he so effortlessly refers to this place as home, and yet he still doesn't actually want to live here. "Well, I'm glad he didn't give you attitude."

Neither of us says anything else while I set Asta down in her crib and gently cover her with a blanket. I pause for a moment to gaze down at her pale little face, my heart hurting at the lack of color on her normally rosy cheeks. I feel like I should have known sooner that something was wrong, but I just chalked it up to teething. Maybe if I'd taken her to the doctor yesterday, she wouldn't be so exhausted and dehydrated. She'd be in the family room with her brothers and sisters, cruising around the coffee table and babbling happily to herself and anyone who cares to listen.

Natalie probably would have known it was more than just teething.

My eyes meet Tommy's the second I turn around, and he immediately looks away. It just makes me even less sure of what's going on here, and even more frustrated with him, and myself, and _everything_. He moves back as I walk towards the door, giving me room to step out of the room. And making sure that we don't come anywhere close to touching at all.

"You don't have to stay." I tell him as I walk by him. "I appreciate the help and everything, but I've got it under control. You can go if you want to."

"I don't want to." He replies, as though the mere insinuation is absurd. "I can stay-"

"You don't need to."

"I know, but..."

"But?" I sigh tiredly, turning to face him as we reach the stairs. "Last night you couldn't get out of here fast enough, and now you expect me to believe that you _want_ to be here?"

"I _do_!" He argues defensively. "Last night... I fucked up, okay? I know that. I overreacted-"

"Maybe you didn't. Maybe you just reacted."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying that... maybe what happened was a sign."

"A sign?"

I shrug, even though I could not be _less_ indifferent to all of this. "That you don't want this."

"That's bullshit!"

"It didn't _feel_ like bullshit last night."

"So you can propose to me out of the fucking blue, and I'm not allowed to be surprised without you doubting our _entire_ relationship?" He exclaims incredulously.

"You weren't surprised, Tommy. Hell, I don't think it'd be unreasonable to say you were _horrified_." He holds my stare as though he'd going to challenge my accusation, but he doesn't actually do it. "You flat out _said_ you didn't want to marry me, not now, not ever. The idea of it made you want to run."

"You're right, it did."

Wow.

"So then why don't you just _go_?" I snap, turning away from him and retreating to my bedroom at the end of the hall. But rather than leaving, he follows me.

"Because I don't want to!"

It doesn't make _any_ sense! Whenever I try to get closer to him, he bolts. And when I start to pull away, he clings.

"Well what the hell _do_ you want? Because I sure as hell have no idea at this point."

"I want you to stop doubting me all the damn time!" He demands impatiently, pushing the door shut behind us so harshly that it slams "I want to be able to be afraid without you assuming I'm ditching you! I mean, how many fucking times do I have to tell you I'm _not_ going anywhere?!"

"You can say it as many times as you want. Actions speak louder."

He throws his hands up, gesturing to our current surroundings as though it's all the proof I should need. "I'm _here_ , aren't I?"

"You weren't here last night."

"What the fuck did you expect?! You asked me to marry you out of _nowhere_!"

"And you _ran_!" I repeat as he rakes his hands through his hair and makes a sound of total and utter frustration. At least we have one feeling in common. "Look... I was honestly fine with you not wanting to move in with me yet, I still am. And I wasn't suggesting we fly to New York this weekend and get married, I was just asking you to _consider_ doing it _some day_. And your immediate, gut reaction to that request was to call me crazy and get as far away from me as you could! It was like you couldn't think of anything more ridiculous than making that kind of commitment to me. And I'm _not_ okay with that; I don't know _how_ to be okay with that. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. This is it for me, Tommy. _You_ are _it_ for me-"

"You're it for me, too!"

"Then why don't you want to marry me? Why are you still holding back?"

"Why are _you_ rushing?" He hopelessly implores. "If you want to be with me for the rest of your life, _why_ are you so fucking intent on trying to fit our entire future into our first few months together?! I mean, are you dying or something?"

"No, I'm not _dying_. And these _aren't_ our first few months together. I don't know if it makes you feel like all of this back and forth is justified by saying we've only been together for a few months, but we both know that what we have has lasted a hell of a lot longer than that! I _never_ stopped loving you, or wanting you, or wishing I could be with you the _entire_ time we were apart. And before that, we spent a year talking and texting _every_ -fucking- _day_. This might be our second chance at making things work, but that doesn't erase everything that came before!"

"I never said it did!"

"So stop acting like we barely know each other!"

"I will when you stop acting like a total _ass_!" I can tell from the way his expression changes almost the second he's finished speaking that he's aware of how stupid that response was. We both take a deep breath and try to reel ourselves in from the insanity of this argument so that we can get back to the point rather than delving any further into this cycle of petty bickering and name calling. "You're right. We have been together longer than a few months, and we did spend a year getting to know each other before everything went to shit. You _know_ me, Taylor. But whenever we get into it like this, it's like you completely fucking forget who I am! This is new for me, okay? The way I feel about you isn't something I've ever felt for anyone else, and it scares the shit out of me most of the time!"

"I'm scared, too! I've never felt this way before, either. And when you recoil at the mention of moving in together or getting married or anything that relates to long term commitment, I panic! All I can see is me losing you _again_ , and I _can't_."

"You're not gonna lose me! I'm sorry that I'm messed up, and immature, and the idea of getting married makes me feel like I'm suffocating. I _know_ it's stupid, I know it doesn't make any sense to be so afraid of it when all it really is is what we already have..." He shakes his head sadly, apparently at a loss to explain to me how he feels so that I can really understand it. "I'll get there, I promise. I don't know when, but I _will_. But you need to accept the fact that me marrying you wouldn't make me any more or less likely to stick around than I already am. Promising to spend the rest of my life with you in front of a bunch of people, and signing a bunch of papers, doesn't make it _impossible_ for you to lose me. You _know_ that."

"Then what _would_ make it impossible?" I ask before I can think to stop myself.

And now he knows.

I can see it in his eyes, I can _see_ the pieces falling into place. I just asked him the question that I'd only ever asked myself before. I'd never asked _him_ because I didn't want him to know that it was even a fleeting thought I'd had. It's pathetic, and stupid, and there _is_ no answer; I know that there's nothing I can say or do to ensure that I never lose him. I can hope that he'll stay, and I can try to hold on to him, but that's all. That's _all_ I can do, and it _terrifies_ me.

Because what if hoping and trying isn't enough?

After staring at me in speechless silence for what feels like forever, he slowly turns and walks away from me. I feel my heart begin to fracture and fall to pieces in my chest as I watch him leave again... until he simply locks the door and turns back to me. Now I'm the one who's speechless, too unsure of myself and of what's happening to speak while he slowly closes the small distance between us. It's not until he actually touches me that I realize I've been holding my breath. His fingers graze gently across my cheek, lacing themselves into my hair...

Before pulling me into the most demanding, _possessive_ kiss I've ever shared with anyone.

As he pushes me over to the bed, his body forcing mine to submit despite our height difference and his much smaller frame, I briefly worry that we shouldn't do this. Not because I don't want to, not _at all_. But because my kids are still downstairs, unsupervised, and I don't know how _not_ to worry about them. But I honestly don't think that this is going to take long, not if the way he's already got my pants half way off is any indication. I feel as weak physically as I am emotionally, vulnerable and exposed from letting him hear thoughts and fears I never intended to share. And he's radiating strength, and confidence, and everything that he knows I'm lacking right now. Because that's how we work, that's what we are and have always been for one another.

That's why I _need_ this for the rest of my life.

I give myself over to him completely, maybe even more willingly than I ever have before. I'm naked before him in more ways than one, but rather than feeling helpless, I feel _safe_.

"You." I hear him gasp against my ear as he pushes into me forcefully, leaving me grasping at the sheets beneath me and biting my lip in an attempt to stifle a moan. " _You_ make it impossible."

"Fuck... Tommy, I-" He thrusts against me again, and whatever it was that I was about to say comes out of me as a cry of desperation as my arms practically give out under me from the force of his movements.

His lips brush the nape of my neck, his warm breath hitting my skin as he grunts and firmly grasps at my hips. "I love you." Oh _God_. "I won't leave you."

"Never." I practically whine, pleading with him to keep going, to keep talking, to hold me tighter, to take me over entirely.

"I'll _never_ leave you." He swears as our bodies collide roughly again. And again, and again, and _again_. "Never. Never. _Never_..."

It's all a blur. And incredible blur that I wish would last indefinitely and yet can barely handle another second of. It's intense. The two of us together is _always_ intense, but this... I can't breathe unless it's a side-effect of begging him not to stop. He has to stop, though, we both do. I'm not even sure which of us comes first; maybe it's simultaneous, it doesn't even matter. One minute I'm burying my face in a pillow to muffle the sounds I'm making, and the next it's done. His body is sprawled over mine, his head resting between my shoulder blades, and I can't imagine where I'm going to find the energy to move again for the rest of the day.

"I don't have a meaningless piece of metal to put on your finger." He eventually murmurs against my skin. "But if you want my _word_ that I'm not going anywhere, you've got it."

"I know." I tell him appreciatively as he shifts his weight to allow me to roll over beneath him. "I believe you."

"Does that mean you'll stop assuming the worst whenever I panic over the idea of being a responsible adult?"

"I'll _try_."

He nods slowly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to my lips. "You try not second guess how I feel about you, and I'll try to grow the fuck up so that you won't have a reason to. Deal?"

"Deal."

I would love nothing more than to stay in here with him and take the late-afternoon nap that I'm sure we're both dying to take. But responsibility is quite literally calling me from the other end of the house, begging me for cookies and chocolate milk. I'd wish for five minutes more, but I know we were insanely lucky to go uninterrupted for this long.

We clean ourselves up and re-dress as quickly as possible for two people who are not only completely exhausted, but who also have absolutely _no_ desire to not be touching. Tommy hangs out with the kids while I check in on Ezra and make a start on dinner, and when Asta wakes up he's halfway to her room before I can even close the oven door. I wish I could understand why he's still so unsure of his ability to do this, because his own self-doubt is the only thing holding him back. He's amazing with my kids, he's a natural. The _idea_ of taking care of all five of them freaks him out, but in practice he handles it like it's _nothing_.

I, however, can't seem to handle it at all. My conversation with Ezra is... I can't even call it terrible. It's not terrible, it's not really anything. One-sided and pointless, maybe? It's like talking to a brick wall. I know he can hear me, but I'm not sure if he's _listening_ , and I have no clue how to make him listen. I could hold him down and scream in his face, but I feel like he wouldn't even flinch. Being calm and rational gets no reaction, and yelling and threatening to take away his video games doesn't seem to bother him one bit.

I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do differently.

By the time dinner is on the table, Tommy looks as wiped out as I am. I feel bad for leaving him to take care of four kids alone, even if it was for less than an hour and all they did was watch cartoons. I'm almost completely sure that he got no sleep last night, so between that, and dealing with Ezra, and fighting with me, and then fucking me... I'm not all that surprised that he looks like he's about to fall face first into his mashed potatoes. He doesn't even seem to have the energy to raise his fork to his mouth, he just kind of prods at his food a little and heaves a deep sigh every so often.

My kids, on the other hand, stuff their faces and then want to know what's for dessert. They each get a scoop of ice cream, which is devoured within two minutes of me setting the bowls down in front of them, and then I send them off to play in their rooms until it's time to get ready for bed. Tommy tries to help me with the dishes, but I banish him to the family room before he can so much as pick up a plate. He puts up a bit of a fight, but he's too tired to devote as much effort to it as I'm sure he normally would, and eventually he gives in and does as he's told.  When I go to join him once the kitchen and dining room are spotless, he's passed out on the couch with last night's episode of 'The Daily Show' playing quietly in the background. It's almost time for him to fake leaving for the night, but I can't bring myself to disturb him.

I'm sure he'll gripe at me later for not waking him up to help put the kids to bed, but he'll just have to get over it. I'm capable of getting them to sleep by myself, even if it does take twice as long. And the extra effort is worth it if it means he gets some well earned rest. As I tuck each of them in and kiss them goodnight, they ask if Tommy is still here. I lie and tell them that he had to go, but that he'll come back for breakfast tomorrow.

And that's when something amazing happens.

Penny looks right at me, with those big, brown eyes of hers, and says, "Is he gonna sneak back in after we go to sleep like he always does?"

I stammer my way through a pathetic attempt at assuring her that he never sneaks back in, but she's not fooled. I don't know how she knows the truth, but she does. For all I know, she's been in on it since the beginning.

"Why does he say he's leaving and then come back?" She asks, like it's the stupidest thing she's ever heard. "And why does he pretend to come over in the morning like he wasn't here the whole time?"

"Uh... well, he... _we_ thought that maybe you and your brothers might not be okay with him sleeping here."

"How come?"

Because it seemed to break your heart to see someone besides your mom in bed with me. "Because you're still getting to know him, and we thought it might be weird for you guys to have him staying over."

She seems to consider this information carefully, but I get the feeling she still isn't buying it. "It's weirder that he pretends like he's going home and then comes back."

"Yeah, it is." I agree with a small smile as I lean over and peck her on the forehead. "It's really weird."

"He should just not do it anymore."

"Are you saying you don't mind if he sleeps over?" She shrugs, not because she doesn't care, but because she apparently doesn't see how it's any of her business. "It's okay if you don't want him to."

"Why wouldn't I want him to?"

"I don't know... but if it makes you sad-"

"It doesn't make me sad when he's here." She interrupts me seriously, her little lips twisting into a pensive expression for a second before she continues. "It makes me sad that mommy isn't here anymore."

"I know."

"And it makes me _really_ sad that she's not gonna come back."

I think it's safe to say that my heart is just a lump of ground meat in my chest at this point. "I know, baby."

"But Tommy doesn't make me sad. I like him."

"Good. I'm glad."

"So will you tell him he can sleep over?" She asks hopefully.

"I will. I promise."

I can't wait to get back to Tommy and tell him about this, I feel like it's the best reason I could possibly have to wake him up. But he's no longer on the couch when I return to the family room, he's out in the entry hall, sleepily pulling on his leather jacket.

"Where're you going?"

"Home." He sighs apologetically. "I'm _so_ fucking beat."

"All the more reason for you to stay." I insist, already tugging on his jacket in an attempt to make him take it off. "Besides, I have some good news."

"Oh yeah?"

"Penny knows you've been sneaking in and out at night."

He shakes his head in confusion as he shrugs his jacket back _on_. "How is that _good_ news? The whole point of it was so that she wouldn't know I was staying over."

"I know. But she _does_ know, and she told me to tell you not to do it anymore. She doesn't mind if you stay here."

"Really?"

" _Really_." I pull on the sleeve of his jacket once again, and he groans in protest. "Don't go."

"I don't _want_ to..."

"So don't."

"I dunno, Taylor... I feel kinda weird..."

"There's nothing to feel weird about! She's _honestly_ fine with it-"

"That's not what I mean."

"Well what do you mean?" I frown uncertainly as he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. I watch him swallow, _hard_ , and unless my mind is playing tricks on me... I think he might have just swayed a little.

"Oh, fuck..."

His hand flies to his mouth, and before I can ask him what's wrong, he's darting off in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

Oh...

Fuck.

 


	51. Chapter 51

  


 

 

I already knew that he was throwing up, but as I approach the half-open bathroom door and _hear_ it I freeze. I don't know how you can expect something to happen and then still be disappointed when it does. But then again, that's something I've been trying to understand for most of my life. I tap my knuckles against the door quietly, slowly beginning to push it further open, but before I can even set foot inside he speaks.

"Don't." He orders me, sounding breathless and broken. "Don't come in."

"But-"

"I mean it..." He's sick again, and I cringe sympathetically as I struggle to make myself obey his wishes. " _Please_?"

God, he's stubborn.

I guess I can't hold it against him, though. I feel the same way when I'm sick; I don't want someone standing there watching me puke my guts up. And usually I don't have any interest in being anywhere near someone else while they do it. I mean, my fatherly instinct kicks in and helps me put my disgust on hold if one of my kids is throwing up, and I remember taking care of Zac when he had food poisoning one time when we were younger. But he _needed_ me to. He was still just a kid, and we were away from home, and away from our family, and he felt absolutely _wretched_. He didn't particularly want an audience, but he still appreciated having someone there to soothingly stroke his back and hold his hair out of his face for him.

Tommy is telling me that he doesn't want me in there with him right now. And whenever Natalie used to tell me the same thing, I'd accept it and wait for her to come out when she was ready. But I don't want to just accept this, it feels _wrong_ to stay on this side of the door when I know that he's in there alone and he feels like total crap. So I do the only thing I can think of to do; I sit right outside the door.

Because even if he doesn't want me right there with him, I still refuse to leave him.

Once I finally hear the toilet flush and the sound of water running, I stand up and cautiously push the door open. He's standing over the sink, gripping the edge with one hand while he uses the other to scoop small amounts of water into his mouth to rinse it out. He _looks_ weak, like he might fall down if he lets go of the vanity. And I don't think I've ever seen his skin look so colorless, which is saying something when you take into consideration the fact that he's pretty damn pale to begin with!

"You okay?" I ask gently, almost afraid that if I try to comfort him he'll shrug me off.

I get the feeling he's one of those people who prefers to be left alone when they're not feeling well. That could be a problem, because I don't know how to _not_ take care of people I love when they're suffering in any way. But luckily, he's either too worn out to be annoyed by my presence, or he actually doesn't mind me being here. I think he may have even leaned into my touch a little.

"I think your baby infected me." He groans miserably as he turns off the faucet. "I feel like _shit_."

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

"No." He whines when I attempt to lead him out of the bathroom, trying to squirm out of the arm I have locked around his waist. "I need to go home."

"Uh... _no_. You need to _sleep_."

"I'll sleep at home."

"Really? You _really_ want to drive all the way back to Burbank right now?" I question incredulously, and his face somehow pales even further at the thought of being in a moving vehicle. "Be sure to call me when you get home and let me know how many times you had to pull over on the freeway and throw up between here and there, okay? Ooh, I have an idea! Let's place bets before you go-"

"Okay, _fine_ , you win." He concedes grudgingly, his body slumping uselessly against mine. "I'll stay."

"Thank you."

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

In this case, I'm willing to admit that I am; he made it necessary. "It's for your own good."

He lets me assist him to my bedroom, but when I ask if he wants help getting undressed (which was never an offer I thought I could make him without a single dirty thought in my head), he merely groans and crawls onto the bed fully clothed. If he was just tired, I'd make more of an effort to at least get him out of his jeans before he falls asleep. But since I know how terrible he feels, and that moving _at all_ only makes it worse, I leave him be.

By the time I've undressed and turned out the light, he's sound asleep. But an hour later, when my mind is _finally_ done running in circles enough to let _me_ sleep, he's stumbling off of the bed and making a beeline for the adjoining bathroom. That cycle continues for the next three hours. Every hour, practically _on_ the hour, he wakes up from the restless slumber he's in and hurries out of the room without a word. The fourth time it happens, I can't take it anymore. I don't care whether or not he wants me in there with him while he's being sick, I _can't_ just lie here and do nothing!

When I walk into the bathroom, I find him on his knees in front of the toilet. He's completely oblivious to the fact that I'm here until I crouch down beside him and place my hand gently on his back, then he flinches away in surprise.

"Fuck... _no_. " He grumbles glumly, his voice so frail that he almost sounds like he's on the verge of tears. "Taylor-"

"Shut up." I command him quietly, brushing his bangs away from the clammy skin of his forehead as he looks up at me through tired eyes. "I'm _not_ leaving."

The utterly hopeless expression on his ashen face is nearly enough to make me take back my previous statement and walk out of the room. I don't want to make him feel _worse_ , I just want to take care of him. But right as I'm in the midst of second guessing my decision to force my comfort on him, he turns back to the toilet bowl and his whole body retches as he throws up _again_. His stomach _has_ to be empty at this point, there's nothing left in him, which I know from experience makes this the least fun part of an already entirely unpleasant process.

But hopefully it also means it's the end of it.

Despite the fact that he's still wearing pants _and_ a hoodie, he's noticeably shivering as I help him back to bed. I finally manage to convince him to at least take the hoodie off and get under the comforter, and as soon as he does so, he pulls it up under his chin and tucks his limbs in until he forms the smallest ball he possibly can. I feel wrong thinking of him as cute, because he's sick and he's suffering... but I can't help it. If you could see him, you'd understand. The way he's curled up right now reminds me of a cat, he almost forms a perfect circle, and all I want to do is wrap myself around him and protect him from any kind of pain.

So I do.

He tilts his head back a little, forcing me to pull away so that I can see his face. His dark brown eyes seem almost sunken, ringed with tired circles and smudges of black liner. And they look _so_ sad.

"You saw me puke." He laments regretfully.

"Yeah."

"That's not sexy."

It's probably completely inappropriate to laugh, but a soft chuckle escapes me before I can contain it. "No, it's not."

"You weren't supposed to see that."

"I don't care."

"But it's _gross_."

"It is." I nod in agreement, pressing my lips to his feverish forehead. "But it had to happen soon or later."

"Why?"

"Because you can't spend your life with someone and _never_ see them do anything gross or unsexy."

He pouts, as though this is devastating news to him. "Says who?"

"You seriously never saw any of your ex's do anything disgusting, or vice-versa?"

"Well... yeah, but... they're my _ex_ 's."

"Nice."

"I just..." He sighs wearily, nestling his head back under my chin. "I don't want you to think about puke every time you look at me now."

"I can _promise_ you that won't be a problem." I assure him wholeheartedly. "I mean, if you saw me throw up, would that be all you ever saw when you looked at me from then on?" He hesitates, but I can tell without even seeing his face that he's doing it on purpose. And if he wasn't feeling so lousy, I'd find some way to make him pay for that playful pause. "I rest my case."

He drapes an arm around my waist, but I'm not surprised that he doesn't pull me closer or hold me any tighter; he doesn't have the strength. It turns out I was right about his body granting him mercy now that his stomach is well and truly empty, and he spends the rest of the night sleeping soundly in my arms.

Asta wakes up earlier than usual, but even her discontent cries crackling through the baby monitor aren't enough to disturb Tommy. Thankfully, after another dose of Infalyte and some rice cereal, she seems to be feeling much better than she has been the last few days. She's no longer fussing or throwing up, and she actually seems to have an appetite. But when I go to wake her siblings up, Viggo complains that his tummy hurts. I have a feeling Tommy won't be the only casualty I'll be tending to today.

I just hope I don't succumb to whatever virus it is they have, because then we'll all be screwed!

Since I don't want to wake Tommy up and ask him if he minds keeping an eye on Asta and Viggo while I run their brothers and sister to school, I end up deciding to take them with me. It's not ideal, especially considering that Viggo isn't feeling great, but I'm kind of used to things not being ideal. For example, in an _ideal_ world, I wouldn't have to start my day by apologizing to my son's fourth grade teacher for his in-class cussing. I wouldn't have to remind him before leaving him for the day that "fuck" is not appropriate language to use in an elementary school (or _ever_ at his age).

I wouldn't have to use the prospect of spending all day, every day being home-schooled by me to try to scare him into behaving in public school in order to avoid being expelled in his first week.

On the way back home I make a quick pit stop at the grocery store to pick up an array of morning-after-puking-your-guts-up essentials, just in case Tommy is feeling brave enough to attempt to eat or drink anything. I purchase a selection of bland food that would usually seem too boring to eat by itself, but is usually all you can stomach after being so horribly sick. Saltines, white bread, white rice, ginger ale, and Gatorade. And some apple sauce and Cheerios for Viggo because, as predicted, he throws up all over the back seat just as we pull into the driveway.

I probably should've invested in a Hazmat suit while we were out. I don't see how else I'm going to avoid contracting this plague.

As difficult as it was to see Tommy so sick last night, it's definitely worse to watch Viggo go through the same. At least adults _know_ it's going to get better eventually, even if it seems like it's never-ending while it's happening. But Viggo has some kind of fear of throwing up, he always has. He fights it so hard that he makes himself feel even worse in the end. I don't know how to make him understand that it's okay; it doesn't _feel_ okay to him, it terrifies him. I end up spending most of the morning comforting him while Tommy snuggles up on the couch with a blanket and a still-sleepy Asta. Apparently he's forgiven her for "infecting" him, and the family room has been unofficially designated a recovery ward for survivors. He alternates between feeding her yogurt and feeding himself dry toast, while I alternate between cleaning up vomit and comforting my inconsolable son.

By lunch time Viggo appears to be done being sick, and he falls into the same coma-like sleep that Tommy fell into last night. That seems to be the way this thing plays out: hours of endless puking and then complete exhaustion. Hopefully that means that, by the time he wakes up later this afternoon, he'll be ready to join the rest of us for some daytime TV.

"How're you feeling?" I ask Tommy, gently lifting his legs off of the couch and settling myself beneath them. "No more nausea?"

"Only when I move." He sighs tiredly. "I keep thinking I'm feeling better, but then as soon as I try to get off of the couch or even just sit up, I feel like crap all over again."

"So then _don't_ try to get off of the couch or sit up." I instruct him as I open the box of Saltines I brought in with me from the kitchen and pull one of the sleeves full of crackers out. "Wanna give some of these a shot?"

He eyes them suspiciously for a moment, almost as though he thinks they might be plotting against him. "I guess..."

I take one of the crackers out of the packet and lean over until the edge of it bumps against his bottom lip, and he laughs softly as he turns his face away from it. "Open wide."

"I _can_ feed myself, you know?"

"No you can't; you're on couch rest. Doctor Taylor's orders."

" _Doctor_ Taylor, huh?" He smirks at me over the cracker in my outstretched hand. "I always pictured you as more of a naughty nurse."

"It's nice to see you didn't throw up your sense of humor." I tease playfully, waving the cracker around under his nose. "Eat!"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

It's funny the things you find yourself doing sometimes. Simple little things that weren't ever outside the realm of possibility, but somehow you never would have imagined that you'd end up doing them. Things like lying on the couch with your boyfriend, feeding him crackers and watching 'Law & Order' while your baby girl naps against his chest. It's so... normal. So ordinary. No one else probably gives moments like this any thought at all. They just happen, and then they're over, and you can't even remember them in amongst all of the more noteworthy things that occur in your life.

But when I think about how far we had to come to get to this place, this everyday place that some people fall into without any form of struggle at all... it's incredible.

Asta wakes up from her nap just as 'Law & Order' is coming to a close, and I smile as I listen to her babble in response to Tommy's questions about how she slept and how she's feeling. But as I'm flipping lazily through the channels, trying to find something to watch that _isn't_ 'Snapped' or 'Dr. Phil', I hear a sound that causes me to stop suddenly.

"Ugh. You _seriously_ wanna watch 'Maury'?" Tommy groans in disapproval. "'Law  & Order' was one thing, but-"

"Did she just say 'dada'?"

He frowns at me, looking back and forth between me and the TV screen. "Who?"

"Asta."

"Oh..." He glances down at her. "Uh... yeah."

"She said _dada_?"

"I think so. Why? She's said it before, right?"

"No." I laugh softly, gazing at my daughter in awe. I doesn't matter how many kids I have, that very first "dada" _never_ gets old. "She's been saying 'mama' for months, and 'baba', and 'papa', but not 'dada'!"

A grin spreads across his face as our eyes meet, and I can tell that he knows how significant this moment is and how glad I am that he's here to share it with me. I reach over and lift Asta out of his arms and into mine, beaming at her with overwhelming pride. Rationally, I _know_ it's probably just a new sound to her. It could be months before she starts using it to refer to me specifically. But right now the rational part of my brain is no match for the emotional part.

"Can you say 'dada'?" I coax her hopefully as she bounces up and down on my lap contentedly. "'Da-da'."

"Dada." She repeats easily...

As she squirms in my arms and reaches for Tommy.

Now it's _his_ turn to freeze. He stares at her, what little color he'd regained over the course of the day suddenly draining from his face. And then he looks at me guiltily, as though I might blame him for this and hold it against him. But I don't. At least... I don't think I do. I mean, yeah, it kind of sucks that the first time my kid said "dada" it was to another guy. But it's not just another guy, it's _Tommy_. So even if it was more than a new sound to her, it's okay.

It's okay with _me_ anyway...

"It's just a noise." He blurts out uncomfortably. "Kids her age don't really know who 'mama' and 'dada' are."

"Tommy-"

"Bridget calls my mom 'mama'. Every adult female is 'mama' to her."

" _Tommy_ -"

"The first time she said 'dada', she said it to a _dog_!"

"It's okay!" I assure him as he continues to gaze at Asta apprehensively. "You're right, it probably _is_ just a meaningless sound to her, and it probably was just a coincidence that she happened to reach for you when she said it."

He nods faintly, taking a deep, calming breath. "Right."

"But... even if it wasn't... it's okay." Now he looks anxious again. "Isn't it?"

"I... I don't know."

"If you don't want her to call you that, it's fine. I mean, she might for a while, because like you said, most kids go through a phase where every woman is 'mama' and every guy is 'dada'. But we can teach her to call you something else when she gets to the point of using specific names for specific people."

"Okay."

"Or..."

"Or?" He swallows, his tongue darting across his lips nervously.

"If you want... we can just let her call you 'dada'." I shrug, watching as he turns his attention back to Asta.

I don't want to laugh at his ridiculously conflicted expression, because I know this is a big deal for him. It's not like I'm asking him what he wants for dinner, or what movie he wants to watch tonight. I'm asking him if he wants my daughter to refer to him as "dad", to _think_ of him as her father in the same way that she'll think of me as one. I know it's not a question he's _ever_ been asked before, it's not a decision he's ever had to make. And despite the fact that we both knew we'd have to deal with this situation eventually, we haven't talked about it before. Not like this.

"I don't know..." He admits, sounding completely apologetic about the fact. "Can I think about it?"

"Yeah, of course. It's not something we need to decide right now, it probably won't be an issue for a while."

I can almost _hear_ him say "good", but he doesn't. He doesn't say anything, he just forces a small, unsure smile, and continues staring at my bouncing, babbling baby girl. Who is completely oblivious to the life altering event that has just taken place as a result of a simple sound she chose to make.

Which is exactly how it should be.

The rest of our afternoon together isn't anywhere near as relaxed as it was before Asta's little "dada" revelation. I think we're both too deep in thought to watch whatever it is that's on TV, even as she plays somewhat happily on the floor by the couch. I'm still pretty much fine with what's happened, but I get the feeling Tommy isn't. Not because he doesn't _want_ to be "dada", but because hearing her say it _to_ him made him realize that this is happening. Now.

It's not a hypothetical, it's not "one day", it's _now_.

Viggo's still not awake by the time I need to leave to pick the rest of my kids up from school and take Ezra to his therapy session. But even though Tommy's still not feeling one hundred percent, he promises me that he'll be fine watching Asta and handling whatever fit Viggo might throw at him when he realizes I'm gone. But I'm hoping Viggo will still be too wiped out to protest my absence as much as he usually does.

"Do you need anything before I go?" I ask worriedly as I pull on my jacket. "Some water, or something else to eat?"

"I'm good." He tells me for the thousandth time, gladly accepting the kiss I lean down to offer him. "How about you? How are you feeling?"

Honestly? I think I'll probably be falling victim to this stomach bug sometime before dinner tonight. But for right now, I'm capable of taking my son to his much needed therapy. So that's what I'm going to do.

"I'll be fine." I smile as convincingly as I can. "Wish me luck!"

I kiss him one last time, and peck Asta on the forehead before heading out of the family room. But before I can leave, he's calling my name and bringing me to an abrupt standstill. I turn to face him expectantly, waiting for him to request a glass of water or a slice of toast... but he doesn't say a word. He just lays there on the couch, staring at me, and I can't figure out what's on his mind. He looks just as conflicted as he did earlier, when he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted Asta to call him "dada" or not. But I get the feeling that's not what he's thinking about now.

"What's wrong?" I frown in concern, taking a step back towards him.

He shakes his head and smiles faintly. "Nothing... forget it. It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, totally." He nods. "Good luck with Ezra."

"Thanks."

I'm sure I'll need it.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Adam and Co. went to Asia after South Africa, but in this fic they came home instead. :p

  


 

__

_ Los Angeles, California - November 18, 2012 _

 

All the luck in the world couldn't have saved me from being struck down with the same stomach bug that had hit Asta, Viggo, and Tommy. They'd barely recovered when I started getting sick, which basically left Tommy to juggle his rehearsals for Adam's South Africa shows with trying to help take care of not only me but my kids, too. Luckily, Penny and River held off on getting sick until I'd just about recovered. I guess spending most of their time at school and away from the rest of us helped them to stave off the virus for a few days longer. Ezra managed to avoid it altogether.

Probably because he avoids _us_ altogether.

As awful as it sounds, part of me was almost disappointed that Ezra made it out of that weekend without so much as a passing sense of nausea. Not because I'm some asshole who wishes gastroenteritis on a ten-year-old kid, but because if he'd fallen ill maybe he would have needed me. Whether he'd wanted to or not, he would have had to let me help him at least a _little_. And maybe, just maybe, something inside of him would have been forced to admit that I do care about him. He would have _seen_ it.

Instead, all he saw was me running around tending to his younger siblings, which I'm sure only reinforced his belief that I love them more and don't care about him at all.

By the time we were all done throwing up, and the last of the Gatorade and Saltines had been consumed, Tommy was on another continent. It wasn't how I'd planned to spend our time together before he left town. Between the chaos at home, and his rehearsals and travel prep, it felt like the only time we really got to be alone together was when he crawled into bed beside me at the end of the day. And by that point we were both too exhausted to do anything but _sleep_!

It almost makes me miss being sick. I'm not saying that puking every ten minutes for an entire day was fun, but recuperating on the couch with Tommy was nice. Being able to relax and let him take care of me was exactly what I needed. But more importantly, I think it was what he needed, too. Even though he was barely feeling better himself, and he was exhausted from hours of band practice, he handled the whole thing amazingly. I think it was good for him to see that he _could_ do it, that he didn't need to follow my lead and wait for instructions or permission of any kind. He could take charge when he needed to.

When it came down to it, when I needed him and my kids needed him, he was there.

We still haven't talked about the whole "dada" incident, though. I haven't brought it up, because I meant it when I told him there was no need for him to rush his decision over whether he wants to encourage it or not. But as much as I don't want to make him feel pressured to give me an answer... I'm dying of curiosity. I wish I knew if he thinks about it as frequently as I do. If every time Asta says the word during one of her bouts of meaningless babbling, it gets his attention as immediately as it gets mine. I want to know what about it makes him hesitate, if he feels that he's not entitled to the name. Not now, and not even when he's more than earned the right to be referred to as her father.

Because there's no doubt in my mind that he _will_. He's already doing it _every_ day.

I believe that, by the time she's old enough to understand that a dad is a man who is there to take care of you, who loves you _unconditionally_ and would do _anything_ for you, she'll know that she has two. He's going to be that person for her, so I wish he felt more comfortable with the idea of her calling him "dada", and eventually "dad" or whatever form of the title he prefers.

She already misses him.

He doesn't believe me when I tell him that, he thinks she'll have forgotten who he is by the time he gets back. But _I_ know that's not true. My kids never forgot me, no matter how long I was gone for. And every time I show Asta his picture on my phone screen while I wait for him to answer my calls, she smiles and reaches out for it. He insists that she just wants to use the phone as a teething toy, and while that probably has something to do with her eager little grabby hands, I still think it's more about wanting to see his face.

I don't blame her one bit.

I know it's stupid to miss him so much, we've spent so much longer apart than this before, it's only one week! But because of how much time we've spent together since I moved here, it's even worse now than it ever was before. Being without him is no longer the norm for me; I'm used to seeing him _all_ the time. I'm used to falling asleep with him, and waking up with him, and having breakfast with him, and watching him play with my kids. The house feels strange without him. I wouldn't say "quieter", but... something is different.

Something is missing.

I may not have ample time to sit around dwelling on it, which is definitely for the best. But at the end of the day, when my kids are all asleep, and I'm the only one awake in the house... _God_ , do I feel that ache.

At least he's in a time zone that's somewhat compatible with mine. Neither of us has to stay up late or get up early. Just as I'm ready to settle into bed, he's waking up. He can say good morning, and I can say goodnight. It's no substitute for falling asleep with him in my arms, or waking up to his unruly bed hair and unmade up face. But it's _definitely_ better than nothing. And knowing that he's out there living his dreams, doing things he never thought he'd get the chance to, seeing places he never imagined he'd go to on vacation, let alone get to play shows in, it makes it worth it.

I'd love to have him here, but I'd rather have him gone if this is what he gets to do.

Although, I'll admit, life is easier when he's here. And not just because I don't have to deal with missing him. There's a reason I wouldn't have considered moving out here unless I knew I had someone who would be willing to stand beside me and help me make it work. Taking care of five children by myself is a full time job, I couldn't do it indefinitely. And thankfully, I know I don't have to. Tommy will be home tomorrow, and Jenna will be back by the end of the month.

Things will be better then.

I am _determined_ that next year is going to be better than this year was, for _all_ of us. I'm going to figure out who I truly am now that I've broken free of the life I'd been living for everyone else for so long. I'm going to learn how to share my life with someone that I love with _every_ last cell in my body. I'm going to find a way to make my family see that who I am and how I feel about Tommy isn't something they should want to change. I'm going to help my kids heal. I'm going to fix my son.

I'm going to be _happy_.

But _first_ , I'm going to figure out how the hell to hang these damn sound control panels on the walls before Tommy gets home tomorrow, and I'm gonna do it _without_ waking my kids up in the process!

"I still don't get why the fuck you left this until the last minute." Alex sighs as he helps me to lift one of the panels into place so that I can mark its position on the wall. "You had _all_ week!"

"Yeah, but I also had the kids to look after, and I had to paint the room, and then let the paint dry, and then apply a second coat, and then the carpet got installed, and then the chairs were delivered earlier than I expected, and-"

"Okay, I get it. The universe conspired against you."

"You say it like it's a joke, but it happens _way_ more often than you'd think!" I inform him, my words almost unintelligible around the pencil between my teeth.

But there's no such thing as almost unintelligible between best friends. "You're talking to a guy who's known you for over a decade, even if we didn't talk for the majority of it. I'm well aware of the universe's unfounded grudge against you."

"Right? I'm totally not just imagining it!" He smiles up at me as he hands me the hammer I'm holding my hand out for. I love how I didn't even have to ask for it. Okay, so maybe anyone paying attention could've guessed what it was I needed, but I'm sure plenty of people would have still waited for me to _say_ it. "I just wanna make sure it's done before he gets back."

"We can do it. We've got all night."

"I guess."

"And FYI, nothing says 'thanks for holding up my acoustic panels' like a nice soak in the hot tub..."

"If we get this done on time, you can _live_ in the damn hot tub."

"Can I also get a soothing backrub...?" He bats his eyes at me oh-so innocently. " _Naked_."

"I'll call Z and have her come right over." Without a word, he sets the panel he's holding down on the floor at his feet and begins to walk away. " _Alex_!"

"You mocking my pathetic, non-existent love life does _not_ motivate me to help you."

"I'm sorry! I wasn't mocking." He raises a skeptical eyebrow at me, folding his arms over his chest. "Okay, there was slight mocking, but I take it back."

"Where did we land on the whole you-giving-me-a-naked-backrub thing?"

 _Miles_ away. "Which one of us would be naked?"

"Both, I would hope. But if I _have_ to choose..." He heaves a sigh of inconvenience, apparently weighing his options. "You."

"Then no."

"Okay, me!"

"Hmm... let me run it by my boyfriend and see what his thoughts are."

"I already know what his thoughts are." Mutters Alex as he makes his way back over to me. "They're boring and selfish."

"He just has this stupid thing about not wanting anyone else to grope me. Go figure."

"I'd let him watch!"

"I know you would." I assure him commiseratively, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I guess he's just not as considerate and giving as you are."

"What a jackhole."

"Right?"

He picks the panel back up, and I smile at him gratefully as we maneuver it back into place so that I can finish checking that it's level and marking where I need to fasten it to the wall. But just as I'm about to attempt to _quietly_ hammer in the first nail, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket to alert me to the text I've just received. I tell myself that I can leave it for a few minutes, it's not going to kill me. But when I feel that second "reminder" buzz, I can't take it anymore.

"Can you get my phone?"

"Sure, where is it?" Alex asks as he glances around us at every flat surface nearby.

"In my pocket." I nod towards my jeans. And he smirks. "Don't even think about it."

"Too late."

"Fine, think about it but don't act on it." I warn him with a playful scowl as he eagerly slips his hand into the front pocket of my pants and lets it linger for just a _second_ longer than necessary to fish out my phone. "What does it say?"

He hesitates, looking back and forth between me and the phone uncertainly. "You want me to read your messages?"

"Well... yeah. I mean, I kinda have my hands full."

"Yeah, but... what if it's Tommy."

"What if it is?" I shrug. "We've had sex with you in the next room _more_ than once. I think I can handle you reading a text from him."

"Fine. But if he's sexting you, I demand a threesome."

"If he's sexting me, I promise you'll get one." I chuckle, confident that I won't regret that declaration.

"It's from Ike." Alex tells me after taking a moment to unlock my phone and read the text, and I'm so surprised that I almost bash my thumb with the hammer.

I haven't received a text from him since a couple of days after I moved here. He didn't even reply to the 'Happy Birthday' text I sent him yesterday. "What's it say?"

"Uh... ' _Call_ _Zac_ '."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Ask him why?" I watch as Alex expertly texts Ike back, and it's less than a minute before I see his expression change when a response appears on the screen.

"' _Just call him, please._ '" He reads stoically, and then he pretend to text him back again. "Thank you, Isaac, for that detailed and heartfelt reply. I feel closer to you than I ever have. I think we've connected on levels I never dreamed-"

His sarcasm comes to an abrupt halt as I literally drop what I'm doing and get down off of the step-stool I was standing on so that I can snatch the phone out of his hand and call my little brother. It's hard not to panic while I listen to it ring, and ring, and ring. I have to believe that if it was an emergency, if something was seriously wrong, Ike would have _said_ something. He would have warned me. But I'm so alienated from _everyone_ in my family at this point, I have _no_ idea what to expect.

"Tay?"

"Hey!" I exhale in relief, sinking down into the leather recliner next to me. "I was starting to think you weren't gonna answer."

"I had to pretend I was going to the bathroom." He practically whispers. "What's going on?"

God, I _hate_ this. "You tell me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ike just texted me and told me to call you." He sighs in frustration, which is all I need to hear. He wouldn't be pissed at Ike if there was nothing wrong. He'd laugh it off and call him an idiot. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Zac..."

He sighs again, but this time it's not a sound of irritation, it's one of defeat. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me the _truth_."

The line falls silent. And the quiet lasts for so long that I start to worry that he's hung up on me, even though I know he wouldn't. And even if he did, my phone would have beeped at me to let me know the call was over.

"Zac-"

"I miss you."

I already knew that, and it's not the first time he's told me that since I left Tulsa. But every other time he's said it, it's been via text message or email. _Hearing_ him say it hits home a hell of a lot harder. Hearing the emotion in his tone, the way his voice fails him ever so slightly, how hopeless he sounds... I don't know what to do with any of it.

"I knew it was gonna suck after you left, but..." He takes another, long, tired breath, and my fingers grip the phone a little tighter as I wait for him to continue. "Everything's different now."

"It'll be okay." I try to reassure him, even though I'm not sure I believe it enough to sound convincing. "It's only been a few weeks-"

"Yeah, and it gets worse and worse every day." He insists. "No one gets it, Tay. _No one_. They say they miss you, but no one wants to _talk_ about you. They just say they hope you're okay and they hope the kids don't miss us too much, but they don't want to talk about you, or Tommy, or the house, or _any_ of it. It's like nothing you do now is okay to talk about. And I _hate_ it, because I miss you, and _no one_ knows what that feels like!"

 "I miss you, too." I admit honestly. "And no one knows what _that_ feels like. I haven't even said it out loud to anyone, because I know there's no point."

"I hate this." He mutters miserably. "Ike wants us to keep making music, just the two of us, but it's not the same. It doesn't sound the same, it doesn't _feel_ the same... It's _not_ the same without you."

"I know. I'm _sorry_. I wish I could do something to-"

There's a loud knocking sound on his end of the line, and the muffled sound of somebody else speaking to him. He tells them he's not talking to anyone, that he'll be right out, and then I hear that dreaded beep that signals the end of the call. A few seconds later, my phone vibrates in my hands, and I stare down at the text message he's sent me.

_Duty calls. Over and out._

"Everything okay?" Asks Alex cautiously. "That didn't sound like the most pleasant conversation ever."

"It wasn't." I mumble, tossing my phone onto the chair beside the one I'm sitting in. Alex picks it up and takes its place, setting it down on the arm of the recliner. "I _hate_ her."

"Zac's warden? I mean, wife."

Right the first time. "I can't even talk to my own brother because she's convinced that I'm a terrible human being, and that if he has anything to do with me, it'll make him a terrible human being, too."

"I thought you said that _you_ told him to do what she wanted." He points out, though he's very careful to remain sympathetic sounding. I don't know how he always manages to do that.

"I did, and I knew it was going to be difficult, but I had no fucking clue it was going to be _this_ difficult. I mean, I hate that I barely talk to the rest of my family, and I hate that it's because they basically _choose_ not to call me because they still disagree with me moving here and me being with Tommy... but Zac doesn't. He doesn't hold it against me, and he _wants_ to talk to me, but he's not 'allowed'."

"That's such bullshit."

"Tell me about it. And the worst part is, I think he _needs_ to talk to me, you know? I can _hear_ it in his voice. He hasn't sounded this down since we were recording ' _Underneath_ ', and we dealing with all the record label crap, and I was getting married..."

Whoops.

Did that sound weird? Alex doesn't _look_ like he thinks it's weird, but I'm not sure it's normal for someone to be depressed over their older sibling's impending nuptials. Not unless it's in a "I was supposed to get married first!" kind of way. But with us, it wasn't like that at all. He wasn't miserable because it should have been him getting married first, he was miserable because he wanted to be the one marrying _me_. And wouldn't _that_ have been a headline for the _National Inquirer_!

_Sixteen-Year-Old Teen Idol Wants to Marry Nineteen-Year-Old Brother._

_So_ illegal in _so_ many ways.

"I'm worried about him, that's all. When he's low, it's _really_ hard to break him out of it. And now that I'm a thousand miles away, and I can barely fucking talk to him, it's gonna be that much harder."

"Maybe he should just tell Kate to get the hell over herself, and do whatever the hell he wants."

"He _can't_. You don't know her, Alex, she's vindictive and selfish. We're talking about the woman who was ready and willing to out me to my own parents without warning just because she was mad at me for wanting to leave town! If he pisses her off, he'll lose his kids."

"She can't just _take_ them away from him. He has rights; they're his kids, too."

"Yeah, in theory. But even if he does get joint custody, he'll still lose them at least part of the time."

"And that blows, but... I mean... you were willing to go that route once, weren't you?"

It's weird to think about it now. The idea of living on the other side of the country from my kids, only seeing them for a couple of weeks every few months... it seems inconceivable. I've been with them practically all day _every_ day this year, and I'm ashamed to say it's the longest, consecutive period of time I've spent with any of them since they were born. And even though it's been rough sometimes, to the point where some days I just want to throw my hands up in defeat, fall to the ground and _quit_ because it feels so impossible, I'd never actually _do_ it. They're my _life_. As much as I love Tommy, and as much as I want to be here with him, and as hollow as I know I'd feel without him, if I _had_ to choose between him and my kids...

"The whole situation is totally different."

Alex frowns in confusion. "How so? You walked away from your marriage, and your kids-"

"Yeah, but I was doing it for someone, to be _with_ someone. Zac doesn't have anyone, he'd be totally alone."

"No he wouldn't; he has _you_."

"Right." I laugh softly, rolling my eyes. "He can move out here and sleep on my couch indefinitely. I'm sure Tommy will _love_ that."

"It's not his house, and _he_ chose not to move in yet, so it's not his call." He shrugs. "If he has a problem with your little brother crashing here for a while, he needs to get over it."

"It's more complicated than that."

"Why?"

Oh, Alex. If only you knew. "It just... is."

I wait for him to argue, or press for an actual answer, or simply say something sarcastic. But he doesn't say a word. It's not like him to just give up, he's like a dog with a bone (not _that_ kind of bone. Although...). When I look up at him, I find him watching me, _studying_ me. It makes me so uncomfortable that I unintentionally squirm in my seat. It's like he's waiting for me to say or do something, but I don't know _what_.

"Stop!"

"What?" He frowns.

"Staring."

"I like staring at you."

"And usually I don't care, but right now it's making me feel like the headlining attraction at a freak show! It's like you're looking for my second head or something."

He smirks playfully, but there's still something serious lingering in his dark brown eyes. "I know where your second head is. I don't need to _look_ for it, I could find it blindfolded."

"Alex!" I whine, giving him a half-hearted shove.

"Seriously, though... I'm just wondering if we're _ever_ gonna talk about it."

"About what?"

"That fact that I _know_ , Tay."

"Know about _what_?" I repeat with a soft, uncertain chuckle.

"About you... and Zac."

 

 


	53. Chapter 53

  


 

 

How am I supposed to respond to that?

Does he mean what I think he means? Can he _really_ be referring to the not-so-brotherly relationship that Zac and I used to share?

 _How_ can he be referring to that, though?! _No one_ is supposed to know!

Well... no one besides Tommy, anyway. And the only reason he knows is because he walked in on us kissing. Alex never saw us together. _No one_ ever saw us together, because if they had, our lives and our careers as we'd known them our whole lives would have been _over_. We would have lost our family, our wives, our kids, our friends, our fans, our futures...

Some part of me used to wonder if Alex was on to us, but I never actually _believed_ it. It was just a fleeting feeling I had, a look in his eyes... but I always chalked it up to nothing more than a desperate desire on my part to have someone I cared about know _all_ of me and accept _all_ of me. Even the ugliest parts, the parts I was convinced I could never show _anyone_ because they were so _completely_ unlovable.

And yet, as I sit here, staring at my best friend in terrified silence... I _know_ he knows.

"Wh... what are you talking about?" I ask, feigning confusion, still too afraid to simply let my guard down. I _can't_. "He's my brother-"

"Tay-"

"What? I-I don't know what you're asking me. I... what _about_ me and Zac? What's there to know?"

He sighs heavily, sadly, shaking his head in disappointment. "Never mind."

"Alex-"

"I never told _anyone_ about you and me, not back then and not since. And I never told anyone about you and Tommy, either. I've kept every secret you've ever shared with me, I've _helped_ you hide things from people without you even having to _ask_ me to. I just figured you might trust me enough by now, you know?"

Shit.

 _Why_ am I so fucking good at hurting the people I love most? "I _do_ trust you, I trust you with my _life_."

"Not _all_ of it, obviously."

He's right. I wish he wasn't, but he is. If I trusted him as much as I claim to, I would be able to confide in him about _anything_ , even my deepest, darkest secret. If I was willing to literally put my life in his hands, I would know that I can tell him this.

And I _do_. I just...

"I don't know how to _say_ it, Alex." I admit quietly, unable to look him in the eyes.

"Well... how about _I_ say it, and you just... nod if I'm right. Okay?"

My eyes slowly rise to meet his, and the moment they do, his expression immediately softens. He can clearly see how scared I am right now, and all I can see is how sympathetic and _understanding_ he is. And _always_ has been.

"Okay."

He takes a breath, sitting up a little straighter, almost as though he's the one who has something to be nervous about. And after a moment of silent struggling, he laughs softly. "You know, I'm not sure _I_ know how to say it, either."

I exhale a soft chuckle right along with him, and even though it's actually genuine, it sounds completely forced. "So much for that idea."

"Maybe I should text it to you or something?"

"You'd still have to figure out what to say first."

"True." He admits with a small sigh, sinking down into his chair as he contemplates how to word it. "This was _so_ much simpler in my head."

"Yeah, well... it's _not_ a simple thing to say."

"And yet we've basically said it. All this talking around it... we both know what we're saying."

I nod slowly, trying to take some kind of comfort in that fact. Trying to let it make the actual words less frightening. "We're saying that... Zac and I... we were..."

"In love." He finishes for me when he realizes that I can't.

I'm actually surprised. Yes, he's right, but I didn't expect him to label it that way. I thought he'd call it "fucking around", or something else crass and emotionless. Because who would believe that two brothers could actually fall in love?

 _I_ wouldn't think it was possible if I hadn't experienced it for myself.

"How did you know?" I ask him somewhat ashamedly. "And how could you know and still want anything to do with me?"

 _Now_ he looks at me like I'm crazy. Discussing my romantic relationship with my little brother doesn't get me that look, but asking why I don't disgust him does?

Only Alex, I swear.

"Okay, first of all, I don't give a shit what the rest of the world thinks. People make mistakes, it's part of life. Some are bigger than others, but if all we see of someone is the mistakes they make, if that's _all_ people amount to, then _no one_ stands a fucking chance. I know _you_ ; I know your heart is so fucking big that you can barely breathe most days! And yeah, okay, I didn't know you all that well when I first got the feeling something was going on between you guys, but..." He shrugs, at a loss for how to justify why he didn't recoil like most people probably would have. "I _wanted_ to know you. Don't ask me why, 'cause I can't explain it. I was just... drawn to you, I guess."

"I know what you mean." I smile nostalgically, feeling eighteen all over again as I look him in the eyes. "I met _a lot_ of people after we first got famous. People I'd respected my whole life, people I'd never heard of, people I wanted to work with, people I wanted to be friends with... but I never felt the same kind of pull with any of them that I did with you. It was like... I don't know. Like... I knew I needed you in my life."

"Damn right you did." He smirks as his hand nudges mine on the arm rest between us. "I don't even wanna _think_ about where you'd be without me..." After pretending to consider it for a moment, he shudders dramatically. "Yikes!"

I know he's kidding, but that doesn't make it any less true.

When I met him, I was completely lost. And even though he couldn't change that (mostly because I was too afraid to _let_ him), he gave me somewhere to go. Somewhere to be _me_ , even if only for a little while. And when we reconnected at Fool's Banquet, he did the same thing. He saw me, and he accepted me, and he helped me to find the strength to finally break away from the life I'd been living and try to start over. No, it didn't work out, but again, it wasn't his fault. He _tried_. He never stopped trying to do what he thought was best for me, even when that included staying out of my life completely.

"As for _how_ I knew..." He shakes his head slowly, narrowing his eyes at something I'm pretty sure isn't actually here in the room with us. "At first it was just a feeling. I'd never seen siblings as close as you guys were, it was like he wanted to be _everywhere_ you were. And the way you looked at each other... there was just something there. Something that wasn't there when either of you looked at Ike or anyone else, you know? I kinda wrote it off as an intense closeness because of how young you were when you got famous, and how much time you'd had to spend together, even though deep down I didn't really believe that was the cause. But then when you and I started fooling around, and Zac and Ike found out, they reacted so differently. They were both mad, but it was for _totally_ different reasons; Zac was jealous. And not because I was taking his big brother away from him and he was feeling left out. He was the epitome of a jilted ex."

"No one else saw it that way."

"Maybe no one else bothered to look." He shrugs, a mischievous smile slowly curling his lips. "Like I said, I enjoy staring at you."

"Yeah, but a lot of people stared at me when I was younger; I lived half of my teen years under a microscope!"

"But you told everyone you were straight, and for the most part they just accepted it as fact. Especially once Natalie came into the picture. I knew better. And everything you told me about the only other guy you'd been with before me... it kinda narrowed the list of possibilities down by _a lot_."

Well, shit. "So much for all of the hard work I put into trying to be vague."

"You _were_ vague." He assures me. "I mean, it wasn't like I was one hundred percent _convinced_ that you and Zac were fucking. It was just... a theory, I guess. But then after what happened at Fool's Banquet-"

"Tommy told you about that?"

"He didn't need to. I took what I saw happening that day, and what I thought I already knew, put the pieces together, and it just... fit."

I'll admit, part of me feels incredibly uneasy knowing that Alex has been aware of my relationship with Zac since he and I first because friends. It makes me wonder who else might have seen those "looks" he mentioned, who else might have thought we were too close for comfort. Did Natalie ever notice? Did Kate? I assumed she was always kinda pissy towards me because she thought her best friend deserved better, but maybe she was jealous of how close Zac and I were.

But knowing Kate, if she had even the slightest suspicion that Zac was gay, let alone in a relationship with his brother, she wouldn't have stayed with him as long as she has.

I think our secret is safe. As safe as it ever was, anyway.

"So how does it feel?" Alex asks curiously, leaving me frowning in confusion as I pull myself out of my thoughts of the past.

"How does what feel?"

"Knowing I know. Knowing there's _nothing_ you could ever tell me that would make me walk away."

I didn't even think about it that way. I was so anxious about this little soul-baring session that I didn't stop to consider how it would feel once everything was out in the open, _finally_ , and for the first time. Until tonight, Tommy and Zac were the only two people in my life who knew the truth, who loved me in spite of my ridiculously messed up adolescence and relentless emotional problems. Now my brother, my boyfriend, and my best friend know.

I honestly feel like the whole world could find out every sordid detail of my entire existence, and as long as I still have the three of them at the end of it all, I'll be fine.

So, in answer to his question... there aren't even words to explain how much this means to me. Thankful, grateful, relieved, lucky, loved... none of them are enough. No stream of positive adjectives would be enough.

And, Alex being Alex, he knows that just by looking at me.

"Come on." He coaxes, pushing himself out of his recliner with a soft groan of displeasure. "I came here to watch you pound some wood against a wall, and damnit, I'm not leaving until you nail it."

"That was impressive."

"Thank you."

"A little hit and miss in places, maybe, but an admirable effort all the same." I praise him as he hands me back my hammer and bows.

It takes us another couple of hours to successfully hang the acoustic panels and put the finishing touches on the room. And standing in the door way, looking over our handiwork and admiring how different it looks now compared to how it did the day I moved in, I'm so excited for Tommy to see it. I almost take a picture and send it to him, but that's not how I want the big reveal to play out.

 _I_ want to see the look on his face when he walks in here tomorrow.

God, I hope he likes it...

Alex assures me that Tommy will "lose his shit" over it, and if he doesn't I should dump him and find someone who appreciates it. He's then quick to add that _he_ thinks it's awesome. I tell him to shut up and take his pants off, which he eagerly does. And then we take a well earned and much needed soak in the hot tub with a few Coronas. He doesn't even try to make a move, not really, and he seems to think it's a sign that he's maturing. I think he was already mature, and regardless of all of his brazen and suggestive comments about naked backrubs and threesomes, I know he would never act on them. Partly out of respect for Tommy, but mostly out of respect for me.

It's almost one o'clock in the morning when he leaves, and even though I know it was stupid of me to stay up so late when I have such a long day ahead of me tomorrow, I was just too wired to sleep. I needed to wind down, otherwise I would've been alone in bed, tossing and turning for hours, rather than relaxing in a hot tub overlooking the Hollywood Hills with one of the best people I've ever met.

Sometimes the right decisions don't necessarily present themselves as the smartest ones.

Even with my less than responsible bedtime, I still wake up before my alarm. Not because of a bad dream, or because one of my children is crying or calling for me, but because something in me is _so_ aware that Tommy is almost home. I want this day to begin already, whether I got enough sleep or not. I want to get up, and shower, and shave, and have breakfast, and take my kids to school, and get to LAX two hours early because I have _nothing_ better to do with my time, nothing more worthwhile, than being right there in that baggage claim when his plane lands.

Unfortunately, my kids don't seem to want my morning to go _that_ smoothly.

Penny finds it completely impossible to decide what she wants in her sandwiches for lunch, Viggo spills half a gallon of milk on the floor while trying to make his own cereal when I turn my back for five seconds, and River fakes feeling sick because he doesn't want to go to school and miss out on Tommy's return. And while I'm undeniably tempted to keep them _all_ home and take them _all_ to the airport to greet him, I know that I can't let them skip school on their third week. They'll see him when they come home this afternoon. Besides, I'm sure he could use a few hours to get his bearings once he's back on American soil before he has a herd of excited children climbing all over him.

" _Promise_ you won't let him see the surprise until _after_ school!" River demands anxiously as I help him out of the car and hand him his back pack. " _Swear_ you won't even tell him!"

"I _swear_ that I won't so much as mention to him that there's a surprise until we pick you guys up later." I vow to him sincerely, giving him the boy scout salute for good measure. But since he isn't a boy scout, and therefore has no idea what I'm doing, it doesn't make much sense to him. "I won't let him see it until you're there."

"Can't I please just come to the airport? _Please_?" He whines, trailing along behind Penny and Ezra all the way to the school buildings.

"Buddy, school is important, you can't cut classes." I'm _so_ glad he still doesn't realize that I never attended public school. It would make arguments like this one seem _so_ hypocritical. "It'll be three before you know it, and he'll be _right_ here to pick you up with me, I _promise_."

"But-"

"Riv, I'm sorry, but you're _not_ coming to the airport." I tell him for what feels like the thousandth time this morning. "Another day, when you're not in school, we'll all go and pick him up together, okay? But not today."

" _But_ -"

"You're gonna have _way_ more fun here anyway! You don't want to be hanging around a crowded, boring airport all morning when you can be here with your friends." He's still pouting, but I can tell from the look in his eyes that he's actually seriously weighing his options now. "Don't you wanna play with Logan, and Kara, and... " Crap, what's his name? "Who's the kid who always has a Batman cape on?"

"Elijah."

"Right!"

"Can he come over for a play date?" River pleads, suddenly distracted from his previous obsession with the airport. "I wanna show him my LEGO Batcave!"

"We'll see. Maybe next week, if his mom says it's okay."

Next thing I know, he's let go of my hand and rushed off into his classroom, making a beeline for his caped crusader friend. I swear sometimes he has the attention span of a puppy with ADD! I call out a goodbye to him, and he turns and waves to me before returning to whatever animated conversation it was he was engaged in.

Penny's drop-off is less excitable than her younger brother's (but a little more so than her older brother's). She's not shy, not by any means. In fact, she's always had a sassy side that she's never been afraid to show. But it's been much more subdued since her mom died, and I can't help but wonder if she's _forgotten_ how to be friends with girls her own age. I watch her every morning when I leave her in her classroom, and every afternoon when I pick her up outside... she's always with the same group of girls, but I don't think I've ever actually seen her talking to any of them. She's mentioned some names over dinner, but she merely shrugs whenever I try to get her to elaborate on how her day was or who she spent time with.

Maybe I'm worrying over nothing. Maybe it'll just take her a little more time to find her place here and settle into her new school. At least she's not sobbing and begging me not to make her go, which is a vast improvement over how she was handling drop-off every morning at her last school!

With my kids delivered safely to their respective classrooms, there's nothing left for me to do to occupy my time until Tommy's flight lands. I don't really want to deal with a restless and bored Viggo for that long, but... there's nowhere else I want to be!  I'd rather chase my kid around baggage claim for the next three hours than make a hopeless attempt at distracting myself at home.

I already know I'll fail.

Thankfully, getting to LAX and finding a decent parking spot takes a good chunk of time, and then I keep Viggo occupied for a while with a Strawberries and Cream Frappuccino from Starbucks and a sticker book from a gift shop. But the last hour of our wait is spent doing aimless laps around baggage claim, weaving the stroller around clumps of people and piles of luggage, trying _not_ to check the arrivals board every time I pass it.

When I inevitably _do_ check it (for the thirtieth time), my heart leaps at the sight of the "landed" note next to Tommy's flight number.

"He's here!"

"Where?" Viggo gasps, peering at all of the travelers around us expectantly. "I can't see him!"

"He'll be here in a minute." I promise him, trying to keep my own inner impatient child under control. "He just has to get off of the plane, and then he'll be here."

I'm so busy gazing at the escalator that leads down from arrivals, I don't even notice the small pack of paparazzi photographers nearby until _they_ notice Adam Lambert coming towards us. And then I hear the all too familiar (and irritating) sounds of creepy, middle-aged men asking him how his flight was, and where his boyfriend is, and what he's doing next. I doubt any of them will recognize me, they haven't so far; I'm not enough of a celebrity to make their stalker senses tingle. But as they mill around me, making it nearly impossible for anyone to move, I make sure to keep my head bowed and my face turned away until they've followed their prey over to the exit.

Which means that I don't realize that Tommy is only a few feet away from me until my son gleefully announces his presence. Viggo jumps off of his standing platform on the stroller and makes a dash for Tommy, who crouches down just in time to catch him in his arms before Viggo barrels into his legs and knocks him off of his feet. Again, I have to restrain myself from behaving in a similar manner, because right now all I want to do is tackle him to the ground!

Once Tommy is done hugging Viggo, he makes his way over to me... or my daughter, to be more specific. He bends down in front of the stroller, grinning at her and saying hello, stroking her chubby little cheek with the back of his finger as she beams at him and desperately reaches out in a silent plea to be released from her confines and greeted properly.

But it's _my_ turn!

"Don't I get a hello?" I ask in (mostly) feigned impatience. "Or are you only interested in my kids?"

He smile at me, doing his best to appear nonchalant as he stands up straight again. "Not my fault they're so freakin' cute."

I can't play this game. Not today. Usually I'd be happy to run through the whole "who cares less" routine with him, dancing around each other, letting the sexual tension simmer for a while longer...

But it's been simmering for almost a week and a half, and I can't take another second of it; I'm _done_!

His laughter is muffled by my jacket as I pull him into a tight hug, and he instantly drops his backpack to the ground and returns the embrace. He's squeezing me so tightly that it actually hurts, but that's fair because I'm confident I'm squeezing him just as tight (if not tighter). I can't _not_. I've _missed_ him. I've missed _this_. He smells like twenty-four-hours spent in minivans, airports, and airplanes, nothing like he usually does. There isn't even a hint of his hairspray or aftershave... but somewhere underneath all of those foreign aromas is the scent that's _always_ there. It's just _him_. And as soon as my senses detect it, it's _all_ I can smell.

I know, I know. I'm standing in the middle of a busy airport, _smelling_ my boyfriend. You probably think I'm crazy, and okay, I probably am. But I don't think you understand how much I _missed_ his scent.

I think I'm entitled to wallow in it for a moment!

But after that moment has passed, I feel the overwhelming need to experience something else about him that I've missed. My lips find his effortlessly, it's as though we're both thinking the same thing at the same time; we don't even have to look at each other. He loosens his grip at the exact same second as I do, just enough so that we can both begin to pull back a little. Just enough so that our mouths can find one another like magnets.

Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I'm aware that someone is applauding, and someone is whistling. Someone else is cheering, and judging by the fact that they used Tommy's name during their outburst of encouragement, I'm guessing it's one of his band mates. I feel him let go of me with one hand, and I curiously crack an eye open mid-kiss to see what he's doing with it.

And I can't help but laugh right along with his friends when I see that he's giving them all the finger.

 

 


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you had to wait so long for an update. It was a stressful week at work, and I didn't have any real time or energy to write much. I'll try to get the next chapter up ASAP. <3

  


 

 

 

Obviously, I don't _want_ to stop kissing Tommy. And I can tell that he has no intention of ending the kiss, either. But knowing that we have an audience is making it a little difficult for me to focus! I'm still not used to kissing someone this way in such a public place, and it's even stranger to do it _knowing_ that we're being watched. Natalie wasn't big on public displays of affection, she thought that what was between us should remain between us. And to be honest, I never had an overwhelming desire to flaunt my marriage in front of my fans, or the press, or even total strangers. And I _couldn't_ flaunt my relationships with Zac or Alex, _or_ my relationship with Tommy.

Until now.

Now there's no reason not to.

Not to be a jerk or anything, but I really do feel like announcing it to the world. In a very "Haha! He's _mine_!" kind of way. I'm not feeling at all classy or mature about it, I really just wanna gloat!

But this probably isn't the time or the place. Especially not with my four-year-old son tugging on both of our jackets as he begs to be picked up, and my nine-month-old daughter making cranky sounds of discontent in her stroller because she feels that she's being ignored.  Besides, I've never met Tommy's band mates before. It's probably kinda rude to completely ignore their presence in favor of sticking my tongue in their friend's mouth...

Tommy resists when I try to pull away, and I'll admit that it makes me feel more than a little smug. I give him one, last peck on the lips before clearing my throat and catching my breath as I turn towards the highly amused faces a few feet away from us. They don't seem ashamed of the fact that they were blatantly _staring_ , not even when Tommy shakes his head at them in exaggerated disapproval and disdain.

"What're you lookin' at?"

" _You_ mackin' on a dude in the middle of baggage claim." Replies one of the guys, who I assume (based on what Tommy has told me about all of them) is Brian.

"I _was_ gonna introduce you, but now I don't want to." Tommy glares at him playfully. "Show's over, go home."

"Aw, Tommy, don't be like that!" Coos one of the women in the group. Reyna, maybe? Or Keisha?

I guess I shouldn't wait around for Tommy to initiate a greeting, he's too busy having a slap fight with his musical director.

"Uh... hi, I'm Taylor." I smile uncertainly, picking up my suddenly shy son with one arm and holding the other hand out for somebody, _anybody_ , to shake.

The first person to reach out and accept it is a _tiny_ woman with two-tone hair. If her personality is as compatible with Tommy's as her looks are, I'd say they probably get along famously. "Hey, I'm Ashley."

"Nice to finally meet you."

"You, too! To tell you the truth, we were all starting to think he was making the whole thing up."

"I _can_ hear you!" He tells her indignantly.

"I know." She replies unconcernedly, turning her attention to my kids. "Aww, who are the cuties?"

"This is my youngest son, Viggo, and that's my daughter, Asta."

"She's _so_ adorable!" Gushes Keisha. Or maybe it's Reyna? God damnit, Tommy! "Hi, I'm Keisha."

Ha! Who needs him? "Hi."

"How old is she?"

"She'll be ten months next week." Wow... I can't believe we're closing in on one year already.

How did _that_ happen?!

"Oh, dear _Lord_ , I cannot deal with babies." Keisha sighs wistfully, clasping her hands over her chest. " _I_ want one!"

" _No_ , you don't." Reyna assures (or rather commands) her, placing an arm around her and pulling her away from the stroller. "A baby is for Christmas, and New Years, and Valentines, and every other damn day of the year, _not_ just for Thanksgiving."

"But _look_!"

"I know, I saw, she's cute as all hell. But _you_ can't have one!"

Tommy and Brian finally finish beating on one another, and judging by the pleased look on his face I'd say Tommy won. They rejoin the rest of the group, and Tommy offers me a sheepish little look, like a kid who just got caught misbehaving in public. It's not fair; he _knows_ I'm no match for that face!

"How far did you get into the introductions?" He asks, slipping his arm loosely around my waist.

"Well, I've _officially_ met Ashley and Keisha... and I'm guessing this is Reyna?"

She smiles warmly back at me before shaking my hand. "You guessed right."

"And this _loser_ is Brian." Tommy teases, earning himself a playful scowl and a punch on the arm. "And that's Rick, Johnny, and Terrance."

"I think we actually met before." I note as Terrance and I shake hands briefly.

He narrows his eyes at me for a moment, trying to decide whether or not I look familiar. And then he suddenly seems to remember. "Right! You came to Adam's show in... oh, God, where the hell was that?"

"Thackerville." Replies Tommy helpfully, fighting back a self-satisfied smirk.

Ashley frowns uncertainly. "You were in Thackerville? Why didn't you come backstage?"

"No, not the show this summer. The one we played during Glam Nation."

"That was the night you _totally_ missed the bus to the next city." Terrance laughs as Tommy bows his head in embarrassment.

"You _what_ now?" Chuckles Johnny in surprise. "How'd you manage to _miss_ a tour bus? I mean, what or _who_ were you doing?!"

That question leaves me blushing, and Tommy snickering quietly at my side as Terrance continues to regale the rest of the band with the events of that night.

"No one knows for _sure_ what went down." That would be me, Terrance. "But we had a hell of a lot of fun speculating..."

"So?" Presses Brian, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. "What _were_ you doin', Tommy?"

"Uh..." Tommy glances at Viggo warily, and everyone else immediately seems to follow suit. "I was just... sleeping."

" _Right_." Smirks Ashley knowingly, shaking her head at him. "You must've been _really_ worn out."

"Oh, I was."

"Daddy, I'm _hungry_." Thank God. "We got Tommy, can we _go_ now?"

"We can go as soon as I get my bag, dude." Tommy tells him before I can even open my mouth. "I'm sick of hanging out with these guys anyway."

"Ditchin' rock and roll to hang out with a pre-schooler? Sounds like _my_ life." Rick smiles as he offers Tommy a high five. "Up top, T-Bone. Welcome to the parent _hood_."

Even though Tommy is laughing as he slaps Rick's palm with his own, I can still hear a hint of unease in his soft chuckles. No one else seems to notice, but maybe none of them have any idea how truly terrified of this whole "parenting" thing he is. I wish he didn't have to be. He's _so_ good with my kids, they all adore him, and he only seems to get more comfortable around them and more confident of his role in their lives the longer he spends around us. But no matter how right it feels, or how much of a natural he is, he can't seem to break out of that bubble of fear he's been trapped in since the beginning.

I'm not sure what it's going to take to finally get through to him.

Once we've fished his luggage off of the baggage carousel, and he's said his goodbyes to his band mates, we make our way out to the parking garage. I ask him where he wants to go for lunch but he defers to Viggo, which isn't the smartest idea because it lands us dining at Chuck E Cheese.  I try to suggest that we go somewhere with better pizza, but nowhere I suggest has pizza _and_ Skee Ball, so I'm shit out of luck. Viggo is happy, though, and Tommy doesn't seem to care as long as he gets to stretch his legs and eat something other than airplane food (though I'm not sure Chuck E Cheese pizza can be considered a culinary upgrade).

Honestly, though, despite how mediocre I _know_ the foods is, I'm so happy right now that it may as well be gourmet cuisine. No, I wasn't thrilled with the idea of coming here, but it's not so bad at all. I get to be with Tommy, and I get to see my son smiling as he races all over the building, too excited to even use a token on one game before he's distracted by the next. Once he's settled down enough, he and Tommy play a couple of arcade games (badly) while I stand aside with Asta and cheer them on. And even though they lose repeatedly, Viggo's enthusiasm never wanes.

But my good mood takes a hit when I happen to notice a woman a few feet away from us, watching us out of the corner of her eyes and shaking her head in disapproval. I didn't even realize that I had my arm around Tommy until I saw her staring. It's become so natural for me to be touching him in some small way, no matter where we are or what we're doing. Whether it's holding hands or simply placing my hand on the small of his back as he steps in front of me to enter a room, any excuse for contact.

I guess this is the first time we've been out together as a couple somewhere this "family friendly" though. Apparently two men showing affection isn't appropriate at Chuck E Cheese.

Part of me is enraged and feels compelled to take a stand by asking her what the hell she's looking at, or kissing Tommy in full view of everyone just to make a point. But another part of me, a bigger part, is afraid. And more hurt than I'd like to admit. I was just trying to enjoy lunch with my boyfriend and my kids. She's probably here doing the same, but no one is rolling their eyes at her and giving her looks of contempt. And if I confront her about it, chances are she'll run and tell the manager or something, and then _I'll_ get reprimanded for harassing her or behaving " indecently ".

I don't want my son getting kicked out of Chuck E fucking Cheese because of me.

Thankfully, Viggo is on the last of his tokens, so it's only a matter of minutes before we're ready to leave anyway. He and Asta both fall asleep on the car ride home, and Tommy and I try to carefully relocate them into the house without waking them up. It's pretty easy with Asta, she rarely wakes up once she's napping. You could pretty much make a party game out of "Pass The Baby", and see who ends up with her when the music stops, and she'd _still_ be sound asleep. But with Viggo, it's another game entirely. It's like Operation, where one wrong move could mean game over.

When I meet Tommy back out in the hallway between the nursery and Viggo's room, he gives me this _look_. He doesn't even have to say a word, I know exactly what he's thinking. I'm honestly a little surprised that he's not passed out like my kids right now, but I'm not complaining. Between him having the stomach flu, then me having it, then him being on another continent for the past week, we haven't had sex in twelve days.

That's _not_ okay!

Without a sound we make a simultaneous grab for each other, and neither one of us lets go for even a second as we stumble our way towards my bedroom, bumping into walls, almost tripping over one another, and holding on that much tighter as a result. I guess this is the upside of him being gone for so long. And having incredible, desperate, all-consuming, how-did-we-survive-almost-two-weeks-without-this sex is one _hell_ of a silver lining.

It's like we're both fighting for control, and both fighting to relinquish it. I have no idea which of us is going to take over until one of us finally does. And while I might be buried inside him to the hilt, he's the one with all of the power here. All I can do, all I _want_ to do, is feel him, touch him, watch him as he moves above me. He's not begging me for anything, he's _demanding_ it. And I'm powerless, blissfully so, willingly submitting to every bruising grasp of his fingers, every merciless roll of his hips.

The only thing I _won't_ do for him is come before he does.

I can tell he wants me to, but no matter how relentlessly he rides me, I _refuse_ to give in. I refuse to give myself over to that impending ecstasy, no matter how badly I'm craving it. Because I know that as soon as I let go, he will too. And I don't want to be so lost in my own pleasure that I miss that moment. That moment when he throws his head back, that moment when his body tenses and tightens around me, that moment when his lips part to allow one last moan of complete satisfaction to escape.

I swear he's doing things to me that he's quite possibly never done before, and it feels so fucking good that I barely know what the hell to do with _myself_! He can try all the new tricks on me he wants, though, I only need to resort to a single tried and true one to win this battle of wills. The seconds I wrap my fingers around his erection and my hand begins to move, I know it's over. He was barely holding on before, now he's falling apart. And as soon as I experience that one moment I've been longing for, I surrender right along with him. 

He makes a sound of contentment as he rolls off of me, it's something between a hum and a purr, and I smile as I turn my head to look at him. "That was _so_ much better than any of the sex I had in South Africa."

"Shut up." I chuckle breathlessly as I deliver a pathetic, back-handed slap (more like tap) to his chest.

"We're seriously gonna have to come up with some kind of plan for how we're gonna deal with this in the future. 'Cause this whole 'no sex for two weeks' thing just isn't gonna work for me. I mean, it was bad enough before, but now you're here all the time and we can fuck pretty much whenever we want, going without is like _torture_!"

"So what do you propose? That I fly to whatever continent you happen to be on every few days for a quick 'fuck fix'?"

"Is that _so_ unreasonable?"

I'm all set to tell him that, yes, having me fly halfway around the world twice a week just so he doesn't get hyper horny is extremely unreasonable, not to mention bad for the environment. But one look at those big, brown eyes of his gazing at me in the most devastatingly helpless way, and all I want to do is give him everything he wants. Even if that involves dedicating my life to following him around the globe just so he can get laid whenever the urge strikes him!

"No, it's not."

"So then how come we can't do it?" He whines, those perfect, pink lips of his forming an insanely kissable pout. "I was so fucking horny by the time I got off of that damn plane this morning, I came _this_ close to humping your leg in baggage claim!"

I laugh out loud, not only at the statement but at the mental images it immediately conjures. "That would have been fun."

"Not half as fun as you bending me over one of those air hockey tables at Chuck E Cheese! Which was a thought that crossed my mind every thirty seconds while we were there, by the way." He shakes his head as he runs his fingers through his hair, marveling at how hopeless he is.

I wish I was still finding the whole thing amusing, but the mere mention of us fooling around at Chuck E Cheese has reminded me of that stupid woman and her stupid, judgmental looks. And all of the amazing things I was feeling only moments ago have been chased away by the same feelings of anger, frustration, and misery I felt as I watched her shaking her head at us.

"Taylor?" When I turn my face to look at Tommy again, he's frowning at me gently in obvious concern. "Where'd you go?"

At first I shrug, opening my mouth to tell him "nowhere" and make up some lie about being tired. But I don't think he'd believe me, and I don't _want_ to lie to him and leave him worrying that there's something wrong. Yeah, what happened today sucked, and I don't want to burden him with it. But it's probably not the worst thing anyone is ever going to do to us, and I know we need to stick together if our relationship is going to survive it all.

"It's stupid, but... that crack you made about us at Chuck E Cheese..." He watches me, waiting patiently as I take a deep breath and force myself to let him in on my thoughts. "When we were there, this woman was looking at us."

"What do you mean?" He asks, his frown deepening.

"Right before we left, I noticed this woman watching us. I had my arm around you, and she was just... shaking her head and like... rolling her eyes at us."

"I didn't even see her." He sighs. "I would've told her to mind her own fucking business."

"No, you wouldn't."

"I _so_ would!"

"In front of Viggo?" I ask skeptically, studying his face as he's hit with the realization of how different moments like that become when you have children in your life. "If it'd just been you and me having lunch at a restaurant somewhere, I bet you would've told her to get over it and stop staring at us, or you would've kissed me to piss her off more. _I_ even thought about doing that at first, but... I couldn't risk making a scene in front of my kid."

"Yeah."

"And I hate it, because it's like I _let_ her be 'right' somehow, you know? By _not_ doing anything, by walking away, I feel like I gave up. Even though I _know_ it was the right thing to do... I hate it."

"She _wasn't_ right." He insists adamantly.

"But she probably thinks she is, because I didn't say anything. And it wasn't just because I didn't want to do something in front of Viggo. I mean, that was the main reason. But deep down... the way she looked at us made me feel... small." I admit, my voice becoming quieter and quieter with every word that passes my lips, to the point where I'm not sure he even heard the last word I uttered. "It was like she thought we had no right to even be there, like we were hurting people. She looked at us and saw something ugly, and it just hit me all over again that she's not the only one who sees that. My own _family_ sees us that way, Tommy. And... I don't know how to live with that. But I don't know how to change it, either."

He's silent for a moment, apparently at a loss for anything to say or do that might make me feel better about this. I'm not really surprised, though. Outside of disputing the truth, or making me promises we both know he has no ability to keep, what _is_ there to be said?

His kiss doesn't solve anything or change anything, but somehow it's still reassuring. The gentle motion of his lips against mine is soothing, and knowing he's so close makes me believe that it's okay not to have all of the answers. It'll be okay as long as we're together.

"There's _nothing_ ugly about this." He tells me whole-heartedly. "You and me? We're fucking _beautiful_. Maybe your family can't see it yet, but one day they're gonna have to pull their heads out of their asses, and open their eyes, and really _look_ at us. And when they do, there's _no_ way they won't see what we are."

Don't cry, Taylor. Don't you _dare_ cry! "I think that might be my second favorite thing you've _ever_ said to me."

"What was the first?"

"'I love you.'"

He smirks at that, maybe even blushes faintly. "Sorry it took me so long to get the words out."

"It's okay." I shrug, smiling back at him as I pull him into another languid kiss. "It was worth the wait."

If I had my way, this past hour would play on a continuous loop for all eternity. But reality refuses to be ignored, and it's not long before I glance at the clock by my bed and find that I barely have enough time to get dressed and drive over to my kid's school before they get out for the day. Tommy stays behind to take a shower and wash the "airplane stench" out of his hair. At least, that's what he says. I'm pretty sure he's mostly doing it so that I won't have to deal with waking Asta and Viggo up and getting them back into the car.

River and Penny are disappointed by the fact that Tommy isn't waiting for them like I promised them he would be when I left them at school this morning. Ezra is, as always, indifferent. I (mostly) dispel any discontent over Tommy's absence by explaining to them that he spent an entire day on a plane and he needed to take a nap. They might only been six and seven years old, but they've done enough flying in their young lives to understand how much it sucks to spend extended periods of time on a cramped plane. Besides, I didn't mention the "surprise" to him, and that was their main concern, which makes them more willing to forgive me.

By the time I've got them back to the house, Tommy is out of the shower and lounging on the couch with Viggo, who is still in the midst of waking up. Maybe that's why he's not freaking out over the fact I wasn't here. I'm honestly more than a little taken aback to walk into the room and see him sitting there _not_ throwing a fit and crying out for me. But it's a good feeling of surprise, a wonderful one. He still leaps off of the couch and races over to me the moment he notices my presence, but before that it seemed as though he was perfectly comfortable, like maybe having Tommy there was enough. Maybe he finally found someone who makes him feel safe enough that he doesn't spend every second I'm gone worrying that I won't come back again.

Or maybe he was just too sleepy to notice I was gone at all.

I guess time will tell on that one.

"Can we show him now?" Penny begs, batting those big brown eyes of hers at me. I'm not even sure she realizes what she's doing when she does this. It seems as though it has to be intentional, but it doesn't _feel_ manipulative in the least. "Please?"

"Why don't you ask him if he wants to see?" I smile down at her.

"You _have_ to come see!" River tells him eagerly, jumping off of the couch with almost as much energy as he had when he jumped onto it (and Tommy) as soon as we arrived home. "It's _so_ cool!"

"What's so cool?" Chuckles Tommy bemusedly, allowing my sons and daughter to pull him off of the couch and lead him excitedly through the house towards what _was_ the den last time he was here.

"Your birthday present!"

Tommy immediately looks over his shoulder at me in question, even more confused now than he was when my kids dragged him out of the family room. "You already gave me a present."

"Did you seriously think that video call was your _present_?" I ask him, shaking my head in playful disbelief. "It's like you don't know me _at all_."

The door of the den has a giant bow on it, and he laughs almost nervously as I stand behind him and place my hands over his eyes before River can open the door to let us all inside. Tommy takes a hesitant step forward, obviously anxious over the fact that he's being guided by an over-excited child. But I think he knows I'm here to catch him if he happens to trip, so he finally takes a deep breath and stops resisting.

" _No_ peeking!" Penny commands firmly, hurrying over to grab the projector remote and press play, just like I showed her how to when we "rehearsed" this moment before school. "Don't look yet!"

"Even if I did look, all I'd see is fingers!" He chuckles, reaching his free hand out for balance as River gives him an unexpected tug. We awkwardly maneuver him over to one of the plush, black recliners nearby, and I try to keep my hands over his eyes as he practically falls into it. "What the fuck?!"

"Grown-up word!" I quickly inform my kids as they gape at him in shock. "You're not to use it until you're _at least_ eighteen."

"Sorry. Habit." He apologizes sheepishly while I watch the screen in front of us and wait for the right moment to reveal his surprise to him.

And as the opening credits role on 'The Munsters', and I can literally _feel_ his interest pique at the familiar sound of the theme song, I pull my hands away from his face and let him take in his new surroundings. He looks _completely_ confused, as though nothing he's seeing makes sense to him at all. Probably because this room didn't exist a week ago. Not in its current state, anyway. It was empty, with no furniture, no decor, and no purpose.

Mostly because I wanted it that way, so that I could transform it into a home theater as soon as he left town for more than twenty-four-hours.

"I don't understand..." He frowns as his gaze finally falls on my face when I take a seat beside him. "What is this?"

"It's a movie theater." I shrug nonchalantly. "Well... a mini version of one."

"This wasn't here before, right?"

"No, I did it when you were in South Africa." I think his mouth just fell open a little further; I wish I was filming this. "I had to find _some_ way to keep myself busy while you were gone!"

"You're crazy!" He laughs, looking around us in amazement, running his fingertips over the leather armrests of the recliner. "But this is _awesome_!"

"You like it?" Asks Penny hopefully, kneeling on the seat in front of his to look at him over the top of the headrest.

"Yeah! Who _wouldn't_?" His smile falters a fraction as he turns back to me again, and he seems almost embarrassed as I quietly adds. "But... I kinda already have this DVD. I mean, it's great, but-"

"It _is_ your DVD." I explain, leaving him puzzled all over again. "I stopped by your apartment while you were gone, and Mike let me raid your DVD collection for something child-friendly."

"Okay, then... I don't get it. If it's my DVD, then... what's my present?" I gesture to the room around us, and his gaze does another sweep of the walls and the ceiling, looking for something he apparently thinks he missed before.

What he's _really_ missing is the point. But when our eyes meet again, it finally seems to click.

 "Wait... you... _what_?!" I can't do anything but laugh as he all but balls his fist up and shoves it into his mouth to prevent a stream of profanity from escaping. And when he eventually takes a breath and attempts to speak again, the only word he can manage is another, stunned " _What_?!"

"Happy belated Birthday."

"You're giving me a freaking _room_?! You _made_ me my own movie theater?!" I nod simply, as though it's no big deal. But on the inside my heart is skipping an unhealthy number of beats and my stomach is trying out for the Olympic gymnastics team! "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" He laughs out loud, which is why I don't take offence to the comment at all. "Who even _does_ shit like this?!" River gasps again, and I try to keep a straight face as I once again remind him that it's a grown-up word he's not allowed to repeat for another twelve years. "Damn, _sorry_! I keep messing up-"

"It's okay. I kinda thought you might have a little more trouble than usual censoring yourself."

"I just... I don't know what to say." He admits in flabbergasted awe. "I mean, if I could cuss in front of your kids, I'd be all set! But since I'm trying not to, I'm like... _totally_ speechless."

"You don't have to say anything." I smile, leaning across the armrests between us to peck him gently on the lips. Or lip, I guess, since they're still parted in shock.

" _Thank you_."

"Welcome home, Tommy."

It was kind of a risky choice of words, but I knew that before I used them. There was a chance he'd think nothing of it, assume I was referring to him being back in the country, back in Los Angeles, and be fine with it. But there was also a chance that he'd think I was referring to this house as home specifically. _Our_ home, even though he hasn't officially moved in yet and we haven't discussed when he might bring more than a drawer full of clothes over.

My intent with this room and those words wasn't to pressure or guilt him into taking that next step. If he's still not ready, that's fine. But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't hoping he might be willing to at least bring his movie collection over now...

And as a smile slowly spreads across his face, and he kisses me, I get the impression that relocating a shelf full of his DVDs isn't totally out of the question. I'm not sure if it's because he's had more time to get used to the idea now that I've been in L.A. for almost a month, or if being gone this past week made him realize that he doesn't want to be any further away from me and the kids than he has to be when he _is_ here, but I feel as though something has changed for him.

He's not _as_ opposed to the idea of this being his home as he was before.

We're barely half-way through the first episode of 'The Munsters' when Tommy gets a text. He pulls his phone out of his pocket disinterestedly, his eyes still fixed on the black and white sit-com playing in front of us as his fingers mechanically swipe at the gadget in his hand. I smile when he heaves an inconvenienced sigh before forcing himself to look down at the message he's received. But as he reads over whatever it says, his expression changes from entirely apathetic to entirely anxious. And my heart starts skipping beats for an entirely different reason than it was before.

"Oh _shit_..."

 


	55. Chapter 55

  


 

 

I'm too curious and concerned by the reason for Tommy's sudden and unapologetic use of profanity to worry about my kid's reaction to it. And apparently he's too distracted by whatever it is he's looking at on his phone to even realize what he's just said. I try to wait patiently for him to explain what's wrong, but he's busy texting, or reading a website, or whatever the hell it is he's doing. He seems to have forgotten I'm even sitting here.

"What's going on?" I finally ask, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. "Is everything okay?"

He doesn't reply, which does nothing to help me feel better about this. Whatever _this_ is.

"Uh... you guys stay here and watch the show." I tell my kids as calmly as I feel able to right now, tugging on the sleeve of Tommy's t-shirt in a silent request for him to follow me. Which, thankfully, he does. "We'll be right back."

Tommy doesn't look up from his phone as I lead him out of the room, not unless you count a very brief glance up when he almost trips and falls. As soon as we're safely out in the hallway, with the door closed behind us, any patience I may have had disappears. I _need_ to know what's going on, and if he doesn't tell me in the next five seconds, I'm gonna take that phone out of his hands and find out for myself!

But just as I'm about to make that petty threat, he speaks. "Someone saw us."

"Who?"

"One of those fucking stalkerazzi assholes at the airport, I guess."

Oh _shit_. "How do you know?"

He takes a deep breath as he looks me in the eyes, and what I see in _his_ eyes only makes my heart sink further. They're full of guilt, sympathy, maybe even regret. Because he knows that this isn't how I wanted the world to find out. I hadn't figured out exactly _how_ I wanted them to find out, but via some candid picture that was taken without our permission definitely wasn't it. I waited too long, though, and now it's out of my hands. I can't undo it and I can't stop it. All I can do is try to deal with whatever fallout comes our way.

My unsteady hands accept his phone from him when he offers it to me, and I have to take a moment to prepare myself before looking down at the screen. The first thing I notice is the Perez Hilton logo at the top of the webpage, and I'm not sure whether to feel better or worse because of it. On the one hand, Perez has always been pretty merciful to us in the past, especially me. Maybe, by some miracle, he'll handle "breaking" this story (if it can even be considered that) delicately. But on the other hand, it's Perez Hilton. No one wants their private life all over his blog. And the fact that my relationship with Tommy is already making headlines on such a popular gossip site turns my stomach.

Especially when that headline reads " _Hanson Hotty Hooking Up With Adam Lambert's 'Straight' Bassist!"_ '

So his facts are off from the get go? That's promising...

' _You read that right!_ ' Begins the over-zealous article. ' _Middle Hanson brother, **Taylor** , was spotted this morning at LAX with 2 of his 5 adorable rug rats. Amidst the chaos of **Adam Lambert** 's homecoming from South Africa, Taylor apparently thought that no one would notice him kissing the American Idol alum's bass player, **Tommy Joe Ratliff**. Both Taylor and Tommy have always claimed to be straight, but one observant photog spotted the pair sharing what appears to be one hell of a hot make-out session... IN THE MIDDLE OF LAX!!! Talk about coming out with a MMMbang!_ '

Lame MMMpuns? Like this wasn't bad enough already.

My brain can't even process anything else he's written. I continue scrolling down the page, but none of the words register. I know I should read it, I need to know what information the rest of the world is being fed right now so that I know what kind of backlash to expect. But I don't _want_ to know. I don't want to know if he mentioned my ten year marriage to Natalie, or the fact that she died during child birth less than a year ago. I don't want to know if he's speculating that Hanson is over, or that it's because of me. Because of us.

When my eyes actually focus on the phone screen again, I see a picture of Tommy and Adam kissing at the AMAs, with Perez's trademark scrawl all over it. A crudely drawn speech bubble is protruding from Tommy's preoccupied mouth, with the words " _I'm totally straight!_ " written inside. And a little further down the page is a picture of the two of us kissing. It's not the best picture ever, but it's clear enough for people to see that it _is_ me. And just in case there was any doubt about it, there's another picture of us talking with his band mates. It's undeniable who we are. And on that picture is another speech bubble, this time shared between the two of us. It declares " _No, really, we're totally straight!_ ".

I seriously think I'm going to be sick.

"Are you okay?" He asks worriedly.

No, I'm really not. I wasn't prepared for this, not today. I guess I knew it was going to happen eventually, we couldn't avoid it forever. But I stupidly thought that when we "came out", it would be on our terms. Neither of us is enough of a paparazzi magnet for us to have to worry about being spotted in public together, not unless we attend some kind of newsworthy event, or hang out in a prime celeb-spotting location like The Grove. Even our fans don't care enough to lurk behind bushes and parked cars taking pictures on their phones. I thought we were safe for now. No one besides out families and closest friends know about us; no one else was interested enough to find out. We were living our low-key lives, and everything was normal.

Or as normal as it ever seems to get.

I was so stupid to think I could just kiss him like that, especially when I _knew_ there were photographers nearby. I thought they were too busy harassing Adam, but I was wrong. I took a chance. I let my desire to be near Tommy overrule the deep-seated sense of self-preservation that I've had since I was a teenager. I acted on impulse for a _second_ , but a second was long enough for there to be consequences.

"I should make some calls..." I mumble numbly, handing his phone back to him as I pull my own out of my pocket. "I don't want my family to find out about this from someone else."

"Yeah, sure." He replies understandingly, reaching out to stop me when I turn to walk away. "It's gonna be okay. I know it's gonna suck for a while, but... it'll be okay."

I nod, because deep down I know he's right. This isn't the end of the world; it's not going to ruin our lives. It might ruin our reputations, making me look like a lying, duplicitous, douche bag... but that's what I am. Or was. I've never _truly_ had to answer for that.

Maybe it's about time I did.

After finding myself a quiet corner of the house to begin making the phone calls I never wanted to make, I'm faced with yet another dilemma. Where do I start? Who should I call first, and how should I break this to them? If I begin with Zac (assuming he can even answer the phone), the news will be received with understanding and empathy. And as desperately as I want that right now, I don't think it's what I deserve. My parents will be upset, and Ike will be pissed, but I'm used to those reactions at this point, so I guess it really doesn't matter. I may as well just flip a fucking coin and get it over with.

So that's basically what I end up doing.

It takes Ike so long to answer his phone that I'm about ready to give up on him and call my parents instead. I can't leave him a voicemail, it's a cop out, and it would only make him more angry with me. But just before his voicemail greeting has a chance to kick in, he picks up.

"Hi."

"Hey." I sigh in relief. Kind of. I can't decide if it's better or worse that he answered. "How's it going?"

"Fine."

"How're the kids?"

"They're good. Yours?"

Wow, this conversation is so full of sincerity and genuine emotion, I think I might c _ry_. "They're doing okay."

"So... what's up?"

"I... uh..." Shit. I really _don't_ want to do this. "I need to tell you something. And... you're not gonna like it."

I think I just _heard_ him roll his eyes. "What else is new?"

"Look... I went to the airport to pick Tommy up this morning. He was playing some shows in South Africa with Adam last week-"

"Yeah, _and_?"

"And... I guess some paparazzi photographer saw us and took some pictures." He hisses an infuriated " _shit_ " under his breath, and I feel my whole body tense in response. It's been this way since we were kids. Whenever he gets angry at me, I feel like I have to emotionally brace myself in order to endure the impending guilt trip. "The pictures are already on Perez's blog, so it's probably a safe bet that they'll be on that stupid Livejournal site soon, and then... who knows."

"Great."

"I just... wanted to give you a heads up."

"Am I supposed to be grateful?" He asks tersely, clearly anything but appreciative for this news.

 "You're not _supposed_ to be anything. I'm not trying to win points here, Ike." Lord knows I quit trying to do that a long time ago. "I _know_ I messed up. I'm just trying to do the right thing-"

"Yeah? Well how about next time you try doing the right thing _before_ you do the fucking _stupid_ thing, and then maybe you won't need to give me a 'heads up'."

"Ike-"

The double beep sounds to alert me to the fact that he has ended the call, and even though I'm not really surprised, I'm still hurt. I was hoping he'd hear me out, that maybe he'd want to put aside his frustration and discuss how we wanted to handle this whole situation going forward. Because this is undoubtedly going to involve him and Zac at some point; none of us have ever been able to do anything without everyone wanting to know how the other two feel about it. But apparently he has no interest in doing any form of "damage control" or coming up with a party line to feed the press. Not if it involves talking to me for another second.

I wasn't looking forward to calling my parents to begin with, but now I'm even less eager to go through with it. Isaac reacted exactly how I thought he would, and I'm sure they will, too. What I'm not sure about is how much more of their disapproval I can endure.

Usually, when it comes to personal matters, I call my mom. I guess it's instinct to go to her for comfort, but lately that's not something she's been able to provide much of. So instead of selecting her from my list of contacts, I hit "dad". He's always been our rock when it comes to business affairs and career advice. So maybe if I approach this situation in that way, and try to keep emotions out of it, we'll actually be able to have a reasonable discussion.

"Hello?" He asks uncertainly when he answer his phone, almost as though he can't quite believe I'm calling him.

"Hey, dad." Why does it feel weird to say that? He _is_ my dad, I've talked to him this way my whole damn life, so why is it so strange now? "How are you?"

"I'm good! This is a nice surprise, I haven't heard from you in a while."

I'm about to tell him that three days isn't "a while", but then I realize that it's been longer than that. I talked to my _mom_ three days ago, briefly,  for our routine exchange of current events at the end of her twice weekly phone call with the kids. And I guess, in my mind, talking to her counted as talking to both of them. But in reality... I can't actually remember the last time I heard my father's voice.

"Yeah... sorry. It's been a little crazy around here."

"I know. You've had a lot going on, your mother's been keeping me up to date."

"Well, that's kind of why I'm calling." I admit apprehensively. "I um... I have something I need to tell you."

"Okay..." He takes a breath, and I can't tell if he lets it out again or not. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's 'wrong', exactly... but when I was picking Tommy up at LAX this morning, there were some pictures taken of us together, and now they're online. I don't know if or when it'll spread further, but I wanted you guys to know about it. I mean... I haven't really told anyone else in the family, and don't know who you've told about... me."

"We haven't told anyone."

"I figured." The fact that I'm going to hell isn't exactly something they'd want to boast about. "So... if anyone calls you or anything, you can just tell them to call me. I don't want you to have to deal with explaining it to everyone."

"I appreciate that, Taylor, but I think your mother and I can handle any questions people might have."

God, I can only imagine. "What do you think you'll tell them?"

"That really depends on what questions they ask, doesn't it?"

"Well... what if someone asks you how you feel about it?" I press, already regretting it before I've even finished speaking.

I'm very clear on how he feels about my sexuality and my relationship with Tommy. I don't need to hear him say it _again_.

"Well, I suppose I'd have to tell them that... I love my son." Wait... what? "And even though I don't necessarily understand the changes he's been making in his life recently, those decisions don't undo how proud I have been of him since the day he was born."

I feel foolish for being on the verge of tears, but those are some of the most heartfelt words he's said to me in a _very_ long time. They'd mean a lot under normal circumstances, but under the current ones... I don't even know how to really process what he's said or how it makes me feel. I actually have to turn my face away from the phone for a moment and try to regain my composure before I attempt to speak again.

And even then, I know he can probably hear the emotional waver in my voice. "I don't understand..."

"What don't you understand?" He asks gently, though I'm sure he already knows.

"Any of it." I choke out, squeezing my eyes shut tightly and willing my stupid lip to stop trembling. "The past couple of months, you and mom have barely been able to talk to me. I feel like you just... gave up on me, like I stopped being part of the family because of something I never _chose_ to be or feel. I know you think it was a choice I made, but it wasn't, dad. The only choice I made was to stop pretending that I didn't feel it. I chose to be myself, and it felt like none of you were willing to accept me anymore. And now you're telling me that you love me... I just... I don't _understand_."

"Neither do we. But you need to know that we're _always_ on your side, even if we might not be able to completely understand what it is you're going through. We would never do anything to _ever_ intentionally hurt you or your brothers and sisters. _Never._ And if anything we have done has hurt you, I'm _sorry_ , Taylor. I truly am. Because no matter what might have been said, or done, or felt... we have never, and will _never_ stop loving you."

"What changed your mind?"

"Nothing. I haven't changed my mind; nothing I just said was ever _not_ the case. And I'm not saying that your mother and I feel any differently about... everything. We're trying to come to terms with it, and I'm sorry that we're not able to just accept it and make peace with it. It hasn't been easy for us... but I know that it hasn't been easy for you, either. I know you struggled with this for a long time before we even knew the truth, and I know that our reaction hasn't made it any easier on you."

"I never meant to let you down, dad." I tell him earnestly, begging him to believe me. It feels like there's more of a chance of him hearing me now than there has been at any point since I came out to them, and I'm so _desperate_ to hold on to this hope. "I tried to be who I thought everyone wanted me to be... but I was _so_ unhappy. I wasn't living _my_ life, I was living someone else's."

"I know." He sighs sadly, resignedly. "I... was listening to some of your music last week. I ended up listening to ' _Believe_ ', which isn't something I do very often, to be honest. I've always had a lot of trouble with that song... I guess it's difficult for a father to listen to his children sing about feeling completely hopeless and not being able to take any more pain. And until now, I told myself that none of you had ever _actually_ felt the things you sang about in that song. I convinced myself that you'd just... exaggerated the feelings of frustration and rejection you were experiencing because of the record label struggle, and used it to write more compelling lyrics. But... that's not true, is it? _You_ really felt those things."

Every day. "Yeah... I did."

"I'm so sorry, son. I had _no_ idea."

"I know." I assure him, my heart breaking because of his pain rather than my own. "I put _a lot_ of effort into making sure that you didn't."

"I wish I'd been the kind of father you could have confided in."

"You _were_."

"Not about this, though. You never thought you could tell me about this, and when you did, I proved you right."

"It wasn't your fault."

"And it wasn't yours, either."

I'm not sure what it is about that statement, but it breaks me. Any resolve I'd had to hold myself together fails, and I completely fall apart. "Dad..."

"We're trying, Taylor." He promises me, his own voice noticeably faltering. "We're _really_ trying to accept this. We love you, we don't want to lose you."

"I love you, too."

Quite honestly, I think I could've probably sat there on the phone with my dad and cried indefinitely. It was something I'd needed, _badly_ , and something I hadn't been sure I'd ever find. He seemed more than willing to simply be there, even from a thousand miles away. And that meant more to me than I could've put into words.

The only reason I eventually end the call with him is because of an incoming call from Zac.

"I take it Ike called you?" I greet him, feeling no need to bother with pleasantries, because it's _Zac_.

"Called me. Ranted at me. Hung up on me."

"You, too?"

"Well I dared to disagree with him, so..."

"You totally had it coming." I joke with him, still wiping at my damp cheeks and trying to gather my thoughts. "So you know?"

"I know you're all over PerezHilton.com. Congrats." He deadpans. "You deserve it more than anyone else I know."

"Thanks."

"How do you wanna handle it? Are you just gonna lay low for a while?"

"I guess." I sigh grudgingly. "I mean, I don't _want_   to go into hiding, but I don't really want to deal with answering a bunch of questions about my personal life, either."

"Okay, well, I'll call Bex and tell her to say 'no comment' if anyone calls for a sound bite or whatever. And as far as the band stuff goes... I'll just put something on the website saying we're on hiatus for a while because we need to focus on our families."

"You don't have to do all that. I should-"

"It's fine." He protests before I can argue that it's my responsibility to take care of all of this. "I want to. It'll give me something to do."

"Are you okay?" I ask worriedly.

"You mean has my emotional state improved since last night? Oh yeah. _Complete_ one-eighty."

"Zac-"

"No, really, you wouldn't recognize me. I can't stop smiling, it's the darndest thing"

"I'll take that as a no, then?" He doesn't reply, but I don't need him to. Even without his sarcastic retorts to my genuine concern, I know him well enough to know when something isn't right. And right now, _nothing_ is right. "What can I do?"

"Nothing." He replies honestly. "You're doing exactly what you should be doing."

"But it's hurting you."

"No, it's not. Other people are hurting me. You're just trying to be happy, and I _want_ you to be happy. More than anything."

"I want _you_ to be happy, too." I insist stubbornly.

He's quiet for a moment, and I give him time to figure out what it is he's feeling and how to express it. But instead, he only withdraws further. "I should call Bex before the press starts harassing her."

"Don't do this."

"Someone has to."

"Zac-"

"Let me know if you need anything else."

God damnit! "Zac, _please_ just-"

I wasn't surprised when Isaac hung up on me, but I'm more than a little taken aback when Zac does. And I'm more frustrated, too. Because I _know_ he's struggling, I know he's not okay, but he won't let me help him or even attempt to be there for him. It's hard enough when his wife won't let him talk to me, but when he _refuses_ to, I'm powerless to do anything about it!

There's no time for me to dwell on it too much, though. Mere moments after my little brother hangs up on me, I hear Asta crying from the nursery. I give myself a minute to breathe and calm down, trying to absorb the various feelings I've been left with after the conversations I've had with my family this afternoon. I don't want to go to her while I'm an emotional basket case, I know she can tell when something is wrong. When I'm tense, it takes her ten times longer to settle. Sometimes I think she's psychic. Or I'm contagious. Either way, it's better to let her cry for an extra sixty seconds rather than hold her close when I'm a wreck. It's like exposing her to all of my negative energy, and I don't want to do that.

I'm halfway to the nursery when her crying slowly stops. At first I wonder if maybe Tommy beat me there, because it's highly unusual for her to simply _cease_ crying without getting attention first. But as I reach the open door of the nursery, my gaze falls upon a sight that leaves me completely dumbfounded.

Ezra is standing over the crib, waving her favorite stuffed animal in front of her as she babbles contentedly and reaches out for it. I have _never_ seen him interact with his baby sister, not _once_ since the day she was born. He refuses to touch her, talk to her, even _look_ at her. It's like he thinks that if he doesn't acknowledge her existence, maybe she'll disappear and his mom will miraculously return from the grave.

As soon as he notices me watching him, he drops the toy into the crib and begins to walk towards the door with his eyes trained on his feet.

"I can't do my stupid homework if she's crying all the time." He mutters, making sure that he doesn't so much as brush against me on his way past. "She _never_ shuts up."

I stare after him in shock as he stalks off down the hall, and I don't even flinch the way I normally do when he slams his bedroom door shut behind him. I'm too stunned to react.

This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder.


	56. Chapter 56

  


 

 

It's not long after my phone calls to my family that I start receiving more texts than I think I ever have before in my life. Some from my extended family, some from friends, too many to keep up with while trying to prepare dinner for seven people. And honestly, after reading one or two of them, I don't _want_ to keep up with them. I knew this was coming, and I knew it wasn't going to go over well with certain people. It's why I lied for most of my life, and it's why I haven't been broadcasting news of my relationship with Tommy to anyone who will listen. I didn't want to know what everyone else thought about it. I didn't want to hear their opinions, answer their questions, or deal with the rest of the bullshit that comes from being me, and having the history I have, and coming out as gay. It's not easy for anyone in the public eye to be honest about their sexuality...

But most celebrities who admit to being gay after years of camping out in the closet don't have five kids and a dead wife.

I can only imagine the things being said on our fansite forums; I'm sure the moderators are having a hell of a time keeping the peace and deleting inappropriate comments and threads. Honestly, if it was me, I'd just shut the whole damn forum down. But then there's always our Facebook page, and Twitter... If people want to tell me how ashamed of me they are, and how disgusted and betrayed they feel by what I've done, they'll find a way to let me know. I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who support me, and who are even _happy_ to learn that I'm gay. Lord knows they've spent enough time speculating about the possibility over the years, even _fantasizing_ about it. But I've been in this business long enough to know that all it takes is that one hateful comment to overshadow any positive things people have to say about you.

It's crazy how you can know better and yet still find yourself believing the cruel and spiteful things you read about yourself.

Tommy is all too familiar with that feeling, which is why he has _demanded_ that I not go anywhere near my phone or my computer. Actually, he took my phone away from me entirely halfway through dinner because it was vibrating with text messages so frequently that and I couldn't even focus on Penny trying to tell me about her friend's birthday party this weekend!

It's not until after dinner, and after we've put the kids to bed, that the two of us can finally talk about everything for the first time since Tommy found out about the picture of us on Perez Hilton's blog. We shut ourselves away in my room, collapsing side by side on the bed in complete exhaustion. It's pretty much how I imagined we'd spend this evening. Only I pictured us without clothes, and I thought we'd be worn out for _entirely_ different reasons.

"How are you holding up?" I ask as I roll onto my side to look at him, and he automatically does the same.

" _Me_? What about _you_?"

"You're the one who just got home from another continent less than twelve hours ago, and you haven't had a chance to breathe since!"

"So? Jet lag comes in second to having your boyfriend outted to the whole world by Perez fucking Hilton."

"You got outted, too." I point out, but he only rolls his eyes and shrugs.

"Anyone who googles my name is gonna find countless pictures and videos of me making out with Adam." He reminds me indifferently. "I was basically out already."

"You _know_ it's not that simple."

"It is if I want it to be. I've never hid who I am from anyone; my family knows the real me, they know I kiss guys, and wear makeup, and support gay marriage, and I don't believe in god-"

"Yeah, but you've always said you were straight."

He shrugs again, and I find myself incredibly envious of his unconcerned attitude. I wish I could feel as calm about all of this as he does. "I always thought I was. I mean... I kinda still think I am."

"This better not be leading to a 'chick from Hanson' joke." I glare at him playfully, and he smirks as he retaliates with a gentle kick to my shin.

"It's not. I'm not joking at all, I'm actually serious. I mean... I know you're a guy-"

"Thanks for reaffirming that for me."

This time the kick isn't quite as gentle, and it's followed up with a smack on the chest. "My point is, even though you're a guy, and I really like fucking you, like... _really_ -"

"Really?" I tease, a smug smile spreading across my face as I lean in to kiss him. But he dodges my lips, which I guess means he wants me to shut up and let him finish. "Sorry. You were saying something about how much you like fucking me...?"

"I was saying that despite the fact you have a dick, and you're _highly_ fucking annoying, you're pretty good in bed."

"Thanks."

"But fucking you doesn't make me gay. I mean... I've slept with girls my whole life, and most of the time that was good, too. Not _as_ good, but..."

"So you think you're bi?" I ask curiously, taking this whole thing a little more seriously now as I watch him trying to explain his feelings to me. And possibly to himself.

"I don't know. Maybe. But... maybe not? 'Cause even though I've slept with other guys, and I _did_ get off, it wasn't the way it is with you." Control your self-satisfied grin, Taylor. No one likes a conceited jackass. "I didn't fuck them because I was attracted to them. I mean, they weren't ugly, ya know? But I wasn't like 'I _want_ to fuck them' or anything. I dunno..."

I feel kind of bad for him. He doesn't seem troubled by this topic, but he's obviously confused about his own thoughts and feelings. Not being able to define your own sexuality is an incredibly strange thing to be faced with. "You don't have to declare yourself, _especially_ not to me. You don't like labels anyway."

"True."

"Maybe you're just one of those amazing people who can be attracted to someone regardless of their gender?"

"That doesn't make me amazing." He snorts.

"It does in my eyes. To be able to want someone regardless of whether they have certain body parts or not... it seems like it should be that way for everyone, but it's just _not_. I mean... I'm gay. I'm _one-hundred-percent_ same-sex oriented. Yeah, I slept with a woman, countless times, but it wasn't because I really _wanted_ to. I was trying to be someone I wasn't, so I tried to force myself to enjoy it. But even though my body obviously reacted to hers, it was just... physical. It felt good _physically_. So I just closed my eyes and focused on that, not on who I was with or the fact that I didn't want her in that way. But with Alex and..." Maybe I shouldn't go there. "I don't have to pretend when I'm with you. I don't have to close my eyes. In fact, I prefer _not_ to. I don't wanna miss a single second of it, because it's _exactly_ where I want to be, and you're _exactly_ who I want to be with."

His body shifts lazily closer, his lips landing on mine almost as though it's unintentional. But it's never unintentional. He pushes me onto my back and slowly crawls on top of me, and I willingly reposition myself in any way his body requires me to. It would be so easy to just let it all go, to lose myself in him and forget all of this mess and all of these unanswered questions. But the sad truth is, sex really doesn't solve anything. This little problem of ours isn't going anywhere. And the longer we wait to deal with it, the worse it'll be. Whether we want to or not, we need to decide how we're going to handle this, what we want to tell people and how we want to tell them.

And we need to do it before it gets any more out of our control than it already has.

"I think it's time to turn our phones back on." I sigh regretfully as our embrace gradually comes to an end.

"I think it's time we get new phones and new numbers." He counters, rolling off of me and flopping onto his back on the bed. "This is bullshit. _Why_ does anyone give a shit who either of us fucks?"

"In my case they give a shit because I grew up in the public eye, and because I made headlines for marrying a female fan and knocking her up at a very young age. And I was married to her and had five kids with her before she died... and now I'm kissing a guy in public. And in your case, they give a shit because..." Because he's dating Taylor Hanson, former teen idol and devoted family man. How _dare_ he? "You're pretty."

"Fuck you." He laughs. "That's not why."

"It doesn't matter why they care. The fact is, they do. And they're not going to stop caring just because we refuse to comment on it. In fact, in my experience, they take 'no comment' to mean that they're free to speculate and write total and utter bullshit about you. Most of which is ten times worse than the truth."

"So let them. If that's all they have to do with their shitty little lives, who are we to take that from them?"

"If it was just you and me, I'd be totally on board with that idea. But... it's not just you and me." I remind him apologetically. "I can't afford to have people writing whatever the hell they want about me; I have kids. I don't want people questioning my ability to take care of them."

"They're gonna do it anyway, Taylor. It sucks, but it's true. I mean, just go to the nearest grocery store and take a look at the front page of any fucking magazine. If they're not ragging on Angelina Jolie's kid for 'cross-dressing', they're bitching about Tom Cruise brainwashing his kid with Scientology! Parents take their kids to church and let them wear what they want all the fucking time and no one gives a crap, but as soon as those parents win an Oscar or a Grammy or have their own shitty reality show, everyone and their fucking _dog_ has an opinion about it. You can't stop them from saying whatever they want about you."

"But this is different. It's more than just what clothes they wear or what religion they're raised in. I mean, my own _family_ came at me like I was having a mid-life crisis when I told them about all of this. My wife of ten years dies, and then nine months later I quit my band, move my kids out of the state, away from their entire family and everything they've ever known, and I start seeing a guy. I know to you and me it all makes sense, but to everyone else on the planet it's going to look like I've lost my mind!"

"So what do you wanna do?"  He asks sympathetically, and if I'm not mistaken, maybe even a little anxiously.

"I don't know. I guess... we should probably sit down and figure out what we want people to know, and make sure that whatever we want to tell people can't be contradicted by anyone."

"What do you mean?"                            

"Well... we could tell everyone the same story we told your mom, that we got together this summer. But if anyone who knows the truth comes out and tells everyone that we're lying, it's gonna look even worse than it would've if we'd just told the truth ourselves from the start."

I watch as he inhales a long, deep breath, gazing up at the ceiling above us and trying to work through all of this in his mind. I wish I wasn't putting him in this position, but we're here now and there's no way for me to get him out of it. If I wasn't me, people wouldn't give a shit. If I'd just been some unknown guy he'd kissed at baggage claim, that photographer wouldn't have wasted a single shot on us, let alone half a dozen .

"Well... the only people _I_ know who know we were together last year are Adam, Isaac, Sophie, Mike and Dave." He finally admits. "And Sutan, I guess. And maybe the rest of the band... I don't know. I never told them anything for sure, but they kinda drew their own conclusions."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"But I trust them. I can talk to them all and tell them to keep their mouths shut, and I know they'll do it."

"That just leaves Alex, who I _know_ I can trust. And my brothers..."

"You trust them, right?"

I trust Zac. Ike is kind of a loose cannon when he's upset... "Yeah. Pretty much."

"And that's it?" He asks hopefully, rolling back towards me again. "No one else knows we were hooking up while you were still married?"

"No one else _knows_... but..."

"But...?"

"I'm pretty sure Kate suspects that when I left Natalie last summer, it was to be with you. "

I swear I actually just saw something vanish from his eyes. It was like seeing the flame of a candle extinguished by a gust of cold wind. "But she can't _prove_ it."

"She doesn't need to prove it. You know what the tabloids are like, they'll go for the more scandalous version of events _any_ day. If my own sister-in-law says I cheated on Natalie with you, they'll have a field day with it. All they'd have to do is prove that we were in the same place at the same time just _once_ before Natalie died. That's all it'll take. People will believe whatever the hell they choose to, and you _know_ they'll choose to believe the worst."

"So... you want to tell everyone the truth? That we were fucking around behind Natalie's back for almost a year?"

No, I don't want to tell people that. I really, _really_ don't. But as unappealing as that option is, it's still possibly the best one we have. Either we out ourselves, or Kate will gladly do it for us.

"I want to stop lying." I explain as honestly as I can. "I've been lying my whole life, Tommy. I've told so many lies that, even when I try to stop, it's like all the lies I've already told are still re-telling themselves over and over... I'm tired of it." His eyes remain glued to the creases of the sheets in the small space between us, which makes it almost impossible for me to tell what he's thinking. But if I had to hazard I guess, I'd say he's _incredibly_ torn. "This was supposed to be a fresh start, you know? I wanted to be honest about who I am. I told my parents I was gay, I stopped hiding... but I'm _still_ lying to everyone. That's not who I want to be."

"They'll crucify us. You know that, right?" He finally relents.

As I give his words a moment to sink in, and I take in the fear in his eyes, my own eyes begin to sting with the tears I've been holding back so hard. He's right. We did a terrible thing to someone who didn't deserve it in the least. No one will care that I was never in love with her, in fact it'll probably only make them hate me more. They won't want to hear about how trapped I felt, or how in love with Tommy I was, how the only time I ever felt like I could be myself was when I was with him. They won't hear it, all they'll hear is that I betrayed my loyal, loving wife, the mother of my five children, who died in child birth. Something that probably never would've happened to her if it wasn't for me and the choices I made.

But despite that fact, and the fact that this is what I've been running from and fighting to avoid my whole life... I think I _want_ it now. Not in the self-destructive way I may have in the past, not as some form of punishment for all the hurt I've caused. But because I'll never truly be free of these lies until I stop telling them.

I can never be me until I step out from behind the facade I've been hiding behind since I was a child.

"Do you think they'll at least put our crucifixes next to each other?" I ask, my voice thick with unshed tears even as I attempt to smile for him. And it works; he smiles back.

For a second or two, at least. "Are we _really_ gonna do this?"

"Only if _you_ want to." I assure him whole-heartedly. "I'm not gonna drag you down with me against your will. We do this together or not at all."

He's quiet for a long moment, or what _feels_ like a long moment to me. This isn't a small decision, and even though it probably seems to him as though I made it over the course of the last few minutes, it's something I've been struggling with for years. What happened today simply tipped the scales a lot further to one side than they'd ever been before. And if he hasn't reached that tipping point in his own mind yet, I'm not going to force my messed up sense of right and wrong onto him.

"Fuck it." He eventually sighs, raising his right hand as my eyes follow his every move in confusion. "I, Tommy Joe Ratliff, swear to tell the truth, the whole fucking truth, and nothing but the truth. So help me Satan."

I don't know what to say. I can't tell him how grateful I am to him for standing by me through this, even though it has the potential to lose him a lot of respect and possibly even a few relationships. And I could never adequately apologize for what he's been through because of me, or what we're about to go through together.

So I don't say anything at all. I raise my hand to mirror his, pressing my open palm against his warm skin before slowly lacing our fingers. And he holds on so tightly it hurts.

We agree to leave our phones off for the rest of the night, because even though putting it off means there'll be more calls to answer in the morning, neither of us has the energy to so much as skim read all of the texts we've probably received tonight. We do talk a little more about how we plan to go about getting our side of the story out there before there are too many other versions of events floating around. But since we don't know for sure who is going to want to hear us out, there's not much we can do about it yet. Although, we both agree that we _need_ to make sure our families and friends know the truth before anyone in the media.

Neither of us want our moms finding out about our affair via Ryan Seacrest or the women of 'The View'.

But the next morning we're both so busy getting the kids up and fed and ready for school, we don't have chance to even begin going through the dozens of messages we can see waiting for us when we dare to turn our phones back on. We plan to spend the rest of the day doing it once we've dropped them off at school, but as I pull the minivan into the school parking lot, I notice the sign informing parents of the fact that the campus will be closed for Thanksgiving break at the end of the week.

I'd been so busy getting the movie room finished and preparing for Tommy's homecoming, I didn't have time to shop for Thanksgiving dinner. And then after everything that happened yesterday, I forgot that it even _was_ Thanksgiving. Now we're going to be stuck with the giant, mutant turkey no one else had any conceivable use for, and a bunch of questionable looking carrots and shriveled up cranberries.

I can't believe I screwed up our first Thanksgiving together before it even happened!

Tommy insists it's not ruined, and that we can go by the grocery store on our way home and scavenge whatever's left of the produce and poultry sections. But once I've actually parked the van at the Ralph's in West Hollywood, he seems reluctant to get out.

"Maybe I should just... hang out here."

"But I need you to carry Asta so I won't have to push the cart with one hand and inevitably crash into the stuffing mix pyramid." I smile sweetly, batting my eyelashes at him for good measure.

"Yeah but..." He glances out of the window at the store, biting his lip apprehensively. "What if someone takes more pictures of us?"

"Okay, first of all, the chances of there being paparazzi at Ralph's are slim to none."

"You don't know that. Adam gets stalked at Whole Foods all the damn time!"

Jeez, don't people have anything better to do with their lives? "Okay, but... that's Adam, and that's Whole Foods. This is _Ralph's_."

"Did you have a 'second of all'? 'Cause your 'first of all' just crashed and burned."

" _Second of all_ ," I begin, unable to keep myself from smirking as he pouts. "Who cares if those vultures _are_ here? Or if some bored little fame-whore twink tweets a photo of us picking out sweet potatoes! They already got a shot of us kissing, it's not like getting a picture of us buying a turkey is going to ruin our _unblemished_ reputations." It's blatantly obvious that he's trying _so_ hard not to smile, he even glares in an effort to disguise it, but he doesn't fool me. "I don't want to have to hide anymore. And I definitely don't want to pretend not to know you whenever we go out in public, do _you_?"

"Alright, fine, you win." He sighs, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the passenger side door. "But if there _is_ a paparazzi asshole in there, I'm can't promise I won't moon them."

"How you gonna moon them in the daytime?" Ask Viggo with a baffled frown, leaving us both fighting back hysterical laughter as I try to change the subject.

I have to admit, as I sit Viggo in the front of the shopping cart and we make our way into the store, I _am_ hyper aware of my surroundings. Every time someone so much as glances in our direction, my heart begins to pound a little harder. It's not like I think everyone saw the pictures of us at LAX, or that any of them recognize us, but I feel completely exposed. I hate it. I just want to buy groceries with my boyfriend and my kids _without_ wondering if anyone is judging us.

But then I realize that, even if I wasn't Taylor Hanson, I could still be judged for this. Maybe not at Ralph's in _West Hollywood_. But me going out and doing normal things with Tommy _isn't_ normal to everyone. It's a hell of a lot more acceptable than it used to be, but not everyone approves of the idea of two guys raising kids together. Not that bitch at Chuck E Cheese yesterday, not even my own family. It's a depressing thought... but at the same time, it's oddly liberating.

If they're going to judge me no matter what I do, I may as well do whatever I want.

By the time the cart is half full, I've pretty much forgotten about the possibility of someone recognizing us or taking a picture. And Tommy's so engrossed in reading his texts and trying to reply with only one hand that I'm surprised he hasn't walked into anything yet. Every so often he'll hand me his phone and tell me to read whatever's on the screen. Most of the time it's something amusing one of his friends has said about him, but a couple of the messages he's received haven't been quite as lenient. The one he got from Liz, declaring him a "lying asshole" and asking if he started screwing me before or after he dumped her, was particularly harsh.

Not that either of us blame her for being angry at us; he broke her heart, and I helped.

I'm pretty sure my text messages will include more "lying asshole" jabs and fewer light-hearted "I _knew_ you liked dick" jokes. Which is why I'm more than happy to delay reading them for as long as I can legitimately justify doing so.

Just as we pull into the driveway at home, another car pulls over at the side of the road nearby. It's not unusual for people to park there when they're visiting the neighbors, but they usually park a little closer to their house rather than mine. I tell myself I'm being paranoid, and Tommy and I begin unloading the kids and the groceries, but I can tell he's on edge, too. Neither of us can seem to stop looking over at the mysterious car every few seconds, and when the driver gets out and begins walking towards us, we both stop what we're doing entirely.

"Jordan Hanson?" He asks, looking back and forth between the two of us expectantly.

I'm immediately caught off guard, because _no one_ calls me by my first name, and it takes me a second to find my voice and reply. "Y-yeah... that's me."

He holds a large envelope out to me, and I hesitate before accepting it. "Sign here, please?"

"What is it?"

"I'm just the messenger, sir." He informs me, handing me a pen to sign the piece of paper attached to the envelope. And as soon as I do so, he tears it off and forces a small smile. "Have a nice day."

I mumble "you, too", but I'm too distracted with opening the envelope to put much effort into sounding sincere. Besides, something tells me I'm not going to be wishing him a nice day after I find out what's inside.

"What is it?" Tommy peers over my shoulder, trying to see the small pile of papers I've just extracted.

"It's a petition for custody..." I read back to him in a stunned daze. "Pam's suing me for custody of my kids."


	57. Chapter 57

  


 

 

 

I _think_ I might be in shock.

I can't really feel anything. I can barely hear anything. I'm vaguely aware of Tommy's presence, I can tell he's talking to Viggo, but I'm completely unaware of what's being said.

I can't stop staring at the forms in my hands, my fingers gripping them so tightly that they crumple at the edges. But I _need_ to hold onto something right now, and these worthless pieces of paper are better than nothing. Even if all I want to do is let them fall to the ground and blow away.

Disappear.

Is this _really_ happening?

"Taylor?"

_Petitioner. Respondent. Physical custody. Sole custody. Child support. Visitation..._

_How_ can this be happening?!

"Baby, come on..." I feel Tommy pry my grasp from the legal documents and slip his hand into mine, and I slowly lower my gaze to look at our entwined fingers.

It's like I'm drunk or high, only without any of the good feelings that accompany either state. Everything seems as though it's moving in slow motion, the world is a wavering blur around me, it's all spinning and churning. Except for him.

He's the _only_ stable thing, and I hold on to him for dear life as he tugs gently on my hand and leads me into the house. I wander numbly into the dining room, sinking down into the first chair I come to, dropping the custody papers onto the table in front of me. In the back of my mind, there's a voice telling me to snap out of it and help Tommy to get Asta and Viggo settled. But just as I'm about to force myself back out of my seat, he reappears beside me once again.

"I put Asta in her walker thingy, and Viggo's watching cartoons."

"Thanks."

"Sure..." He takes a seat next to me, placing his hand over mine and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Talk to me."

"I honestly don't know what to say."

"Well... what're you thinking?"

"I..." I don't know. Other than ' _this can't be happening_ ', I haven't done a whole lot of thinking in the past ten minutes. "I just... can't believe she did this."

"It can't have been because of those stupid fucking pictures, right? I mean... she couldn't have started this whole thing in a day."

I shake my head faintly, glancing back down at the papers. "No. She must've been planning this for a while."

"She's batshit." He asserts confidently. "She _can't_ take your kids away."

"Apparently that's not gonna stop her from trying to anyway."

"No one's gonna _give_ her custody just because she wants it. You're their dad, you have way more rights than she does. You're not neglecting them or abusing them... she's out of her fucking mind! She has _no_ case."

Rationally, I know he's right. And I nod in an attempt to show him that I've heard him, and that I believe him. Because nodding is pretty much all I feel capable of doing right now. But deep down, all of that logic isn't enough to stop me from being afraid that I could lose my children. Why would she bother going through with this if she has no chance of winning? She has to believe that there's a reason she can present to a judge that would convince them to award her full custody, and I dread to think what that reason is.

No, I've never neglected or abused my kids. But I haven't always been an ideal parent, either.

"Just... call a lawyer." He urges me gently. "Find out what we need to do next, and we'll do it, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'll go sit with the kids."

I'm vaguely aware of him getting out of his seat, and I catch myself just in time to reach out and stop him before he's too far away. At first he frowns at me worriedly, but it only takes him a second to understand why I kept him from leaving. He smiles faintly as he leans down and places a tender kiss to my motionless lips. A silent "you're welcome" in response to my unspoken " _thank you_ ".

For a while after he leaves the room, all I can do is read the first page of the custody papers over and over. But even though it all makes sense to me... _none_ of it makes sense. Yes, it's just names and addresses and marked check boxes, a bunch of basic legal jargon that's not hard to understand. But when I try to accept that this is real, that this is the first step in the process of somebody trying to _legally_ take my children away from me... I don't understand it anymore.

I'm not sure where I'm supposed to begin. I know an attorney in Los Angeles, but he specializes in entertainment  law, not family law. Maybe he knows someone who can help me, though. It's a better starting point than me picking some random lawyer off of google.

When I pull my phone out of my pocket, I see the increasing number of texts and missed calls that I still haven't found the time or the energy to deal with, and all I want to do is throw my phone at the wall and scream in frustration. I don't want to be dealing with any of this shit, I just want to be left alone! I want to be with the person I love, I want to take care of my kids, and I _don't_ want to know what everyone else in the world thinks about _any_ of it!

My fingers are shaking as I navigate to my contacts and try to force my eyes and my mind to focus long enough to find the name of the person I'm looking for. But instead, they zero in on another name as it flies by on the screen, and I immediately scroll back to it. I know I shouldn't call, not when I feel the way I do, not until I've talked to a legal professional and figured out how best to handle this...

But the part of my brain that controls my physical actions doesn't seem to be any match for my out of control emotions right now. I feel almost powerless to do anything but watch as my finger taps the phone number on the screen, and the call begins to go through.

"Hello, Taylor." Pam answers after far fewer rings than I expected to have to sit through.

"Why are you doing this?" I immediately ask her, sounding more desperate than demanding, not at all like I'd intended. "You _can't_ do this!"

"My lawyer has advised me not to discuss the case with you."

"I don't give a fuck!" I snap, my voice trembling with anger and fear. "You have _no_ right to do this to me, or to them!"

"I'm their grandmother! And my daughter is still their mother, whether she's here to fight for them or not." She argues obstinately. "If I believe that they aren't being adequately cared for, if I believe that choices are being made for them that she wouldn't agree with in the least, I have _every_ right to try to prevent it. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

"You don't know what you're talking about! Just because _you_ don't agree with me moving here, or me being with Tommy, that doesn't mean that my kids aren't being properly cared for!"

"You don't know what they need, Taylor. You've _never_ known because you were always too selfish to care. While you were off doing God knows what all those years, _I_ was helping Natalie raise those children. I've spent more of their lives with them than you have, I moved to another state for them, I practically gave up my career to be there whenever Natalie needed me to be because _you_ weren't, Taylor. You weren't there for her _or_ for them."

"Maybe not before, but I'm here now. I'm here _every_ damn day."

"But you're _all_ they have, and you can't be everything they need! They need a family-"

"They have a family!"

"A _proper_ family." Counters Pam harshly. "Do you honestly think that you can provide them with the same amount of love and support as I can? You have _no one_ , it's just you and that... _guitarist_." She says the word as though it disgusts her. "You're so consumed by your own selfish motives, you haven't even stopped to consider _why_ someone like him would want to be with a man who has five children."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"You've invited him into your home, into your children's lives, and for all you know he could be some kind of predator!"

Oh. My. _God_.

"If any of you had taken the time to get to know him, you'd know he would _never_ do something like that; the thought would never even enter his mind! The accusation is _completely_ insane! He's a good man, and I trust him. He's not going to hurt my kids. He loves them, and whether you like it or not, he's part of their family now-"

"I can give them a _real_ family, the kind they deserve."

"What? You and Matty and a bunch of relatives in Georgia that they _barely_ know?"

"No. Me and your parents, and their aunts and uncles here in Tulsa."

I think I'm going to be sick.

Is she _serious_?

My whole fucking _family_ is in on this?! "They wouldn't help you do this."

"We've already discussed it." Oh God. I can't _breathe_. "If your whole family supports me in this, what makes you think a judge is going to side with you and your boyfriend? I'm sorry, Taylor, but you left me no choice. I _won't_ stand idly by and watch you raise my grandchildren with that man. They deserve better; Natalie would have wanted better for them, and you _know_ it."

I can't hear anymore of this. I can't handle it.

Without saying another word to her, I end the call and immediately go to my 'Favorites' and select my mom from the list. If she's honestly going to support Pam in taking my kids away from me, I need to hear it from her.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise!" She greets me, and unless I'm mistaken, she actually _does_ sound pleasantly surprised that I'm calling.

But I just can't find it in me to wade through our usual, awkward small talk before I get to the point. "Did you know?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you know Pam was suing me for full custody of my kids?"

"Oh no..." She sighs sadly, which both does and doesn't answer my question. "I knew she was _considering_ it-"

" _Why_ didn't you tell me?!"

"Your father and I thought we'd talked her out of it." She apologizes sincerely. "She told us she was thinking of consulting with an attorney to see what her options were, but we told her it was a waste of time and that it would only cause everyone more pain. She seemed to agree, and she never mentioned it again, so we thought she'd dismissed the idea. We didn't want to worry you over nothing."

"Well now it's not nothing; I got served this morning."

"I'm sorry, Taylor. We tried to stop her-"

"Really? Because she says you _supported_ her."

"That's not true!" She protests, and despite how betrayed I feel, and how difficult I'm finding it to believe anything anyone says anymore, I _want_ to believe her. "We wouldn't do that to you. It doesn't matter what might be going on between us, or whether or not we agree with your decision to leave Tulsa to be with Tommy. We would never try to take your children from you."

"So _why_ does Pam seem to think that she's going to be raising them _with_ you?"

"I..." Please, mom, tell me she's crazy. _Tell_ me she's lying. "I don't support her suing you for custody. But..." I should've known there'd be a 'but'. "If she _is_ somehow granted custody, there's no way this family is going to turn our backs on those children. It doesn't matter if they're with you or with her, we will always be there if they need us, in whatever capacity we can."

"But you're not here, you're _there_. Which makes it look like they have a bigger support system in Tulsa than they do in L.A."

"What would you like me to do about that, Taylor? This is our _home_! The whole family can't up and move to another state just to help you look like a more suitable parent! And if we're asked whether or not we'll help Pam if the children are in her care, we're not going to lie and say that we won't do whatever she needs us to do to make sure that they are happy and healthy and loved."

"They're happy and healthy and loved _here_ , mom! They have a family, they have me and Tommy, and soon Jenna will be here to help out, too. And just because you guys live out of state, that doesn't mean you can't play a part in raising them."

"I know. And if necessary, I'll tell a judge that I support you and I believe you can take care of them."

"But...?" I ask dejectedly.

Because there's always, _always_ a 'but' these days.

"If I was an outsider, looking at this objectively... five children being raised by two men, one of whom they've only known for a few months, doesn't sound nearly as compelling as five children being raised by an entire family that they've spent their whole lives with."

"Are you going to tell that to a judge, too?"

She takes a breath, and I squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I wait for her to reply. I feel as though I'm already in the midst of this battle, and it's her I need to win over, not some random judge in family court.

It's her ruling that matters, not theirs.

"No."

I guess I should be grateful that my mom would be willing to lie and say that she doesn't believe my kids are better off in Tulsa with their extended family than they are here with me. But it doesn't really leave me with the warmest and fuzziest of feelings.

After giving myself a couple of minutes to let the revelations of my last two phone calls settle and sink in, I get back to making the call I originally set out to make. My contact in entertainment lawyer doesn't really know anyone he can recommend that practices in the field I need legal assistance in, but he does know someone who might. What follows is a ridiculous chain of phone calls to various lawyers all over L.A., until I'm finally put in contact with the "best" family law attorney in the city. Best probably translates to "most expensive", but I'd be willing to sell this house and everything I own if he can promise me he'll stop this insanity from going any further.

Unfortunately for me, being the "best" means he's also the busiest, and his secretary apologetically informs me that he can't even speak to me over the phone today, let alone see me in person. In fact, he won't be able to meet with me until _Monday_. That's almost a _week_.

Fuck Thanksgiving!

I'm tempted to let my impatience get the better of me and keep searching for a lawyer who will see me this afternoon. But I don't _want_ any lawyer, I want the best. And if this guy is the best, then I can wait until after Thanksgiving to meet with him.

I _probably_ won't go crazy between now and then.

Tommy and I do our best not to discuss any of it in front of Viggo and Asta, not that I think either of them will really understand. I _know_ Asta won't, and I'm pretty sure Viggo has no idea what the word "custody" even means. But he knows when I'm upset or afraid, he can see it on my face, hear it in my voice, and _feel_ it in that way all kids seem to be able to. I don't want to expose him to that if I can help it.

I make us grilled cheese for lunch and join them all in the family room for some 'Little Einsteins'. But between thinking about this morning's events, and watching Tommy and Asta playing with her Boppin' Bugs toy on the floor, I barely take a bite of my food before it goes cold.

It's not like I have much of an appetite anyway.

Once his cartoons have finished, I take Viggo up to his room to put him down for his nap, and Tommy does the same for Asta. It still blows me away sometimes just how good he is with her. He's good with all of them, and they all love having him around, but watching my baby girl grow up with him in her life is something priceless to me. I never imagined that it would happen.

I don't want it to be over before it's even really begun.

"What did the lawyer say?" Tommy asks when he meets me back in the kitchen.

I shake my head sadly, rinsing off the last of the lunch plates before loading them into the dishwasher. "I didn't get to talk to a lawyer."

"What?"

"The guy everyone referred me to is too busy to see me until next week."

"Fuck that!" He exclaims incredulously. "Let's find someone else."

"I thought about it, but... he's the best, Tommy."

I can tell he doesn't like the idea of living with this uncertainty for another six days anymore than I do, but he also knows that we're better off waiting than settling for someone else. "So we just... forget about it until then?"

"I wish." I chuckle quietly, wearily. "I don't even know how I'm supposed to sleep until this goes away."

"It _will_ go away." He insists , even though we both know he can't be as sure of that as he sounds. Nothing is certain here, not anymore. I try to smile, to at least pretend that I feel positive about this... but I don't think my lips actually move. "I..."

"What?" I frown as he looks away from me, his eyes glued to the counter top beside us.

"If it helps... I can go."

"I don't want you to go. You only _just_ got back yesterday, and I feel like we've barely-"

"No, I don't mean...." He sighs heavily, struggling with whatever it is he's trying to say.

But before he can decide out how to word it, I figure it out for myself. " _No_."

"I don't _want_ to-"

"And you're _not_." I tell him defiantly. "You're not going anywhere, okay? I don't care what happens, I'm not going to pretend not to be with you just to convince some judge to let me keep my kids. I'm gonna win this thing, and I'm gonna win it with you right here. Because you belong here; you're my family. And that's a _good_ thing. It's good for me, and it's good for my kids, and people are gonna _see_ that. But only if you stay."

He holds my stare for a moment, looking for doubt or hesitation that he's never going to find. This is _my_ life. He's part of my life, and he will be part of my kids lives, and I'm not going to let _anyone_ take that away from us. Not now.

When he's satisfied that I'm completely sincere, that no part of me thinks it would improve my chances of winning this custody case if he wasn't around, he relents. He takes a step closer, his arms loosely encircling my waist as he rests his head on my shoulder and takes a long, tired breath.

"I'll stay." He promises, placing a lightly kiss to the side of my neck. "I just can't wait for all this bullshit to be _over_ , you know?"

"I know."

"I just want us to like... live. I wanna have a normal week, where it's just us and everything is okay."

I don't remember the last time I had one of those. A day, maybe two, but not an entire week. I'm not even sure it's possible, and I'm not sure whether or not that's the way life works for everyone... or if it's me. I know I over-complicate things, usually without even trying to (or by trying to _un_ complicate them), but I don't want to do that to him.

I don't want his life to be that way just because mine always is.

"Maybe we should run away." He proposes, and despite his light tone, I can tell that some part of him is entirely serious.

"Where do you wanna run to?" I ask him as we lazily wander out onto the kitchen terrace, one arm still draped around each other's waists.

"I dunno... Europe, maybe? We could hide out in a little cabin in the mountains. No one can sue you for custody if we don't even have a real address."

I snort softly, simultaneously amused and intrigued by the idea. "But it's cold in the mountains. You hate the cold."

"I'll just stay indoors a lot." He shrugs as we gaze out at the treetops around us. Everything is so quiet up here, Hollywood looks so far away and so deceptively still. "I don't really like people, anyway."

"You're not as cranky and anti-social as you pretend to be."

"I am." He grumbles, and I can't help but smile. "I'm a grumpy old man."

"You don't _look_ like one."

"'Cause I feed on the souls of innocent young children."

"So you're saying you're only with me because my kid's souls are an all you can eat buffet?"

"And 'cause you're good in bed." He teases playfully.

There's still a lingering sadness, despite our attempts at playful banter. No matter how hard we try to pretend things are fine, we know they're not. And we're powerless to make them fine, which is an even harder fact to face. We're being swept along against our will, things are happening to us without our consent, and all we can do is hold on to each other and hope like hell that we come through it all in one piece.

I'd love nothing more than to stay out here with Tommy all afternoon, to enjoy to sunshine and the cool breeze, and the overwhelming _peace_ of it all. It's almost as if we already have run away into the mountains, even if the Hollywood Hills aren't nearly as far removed from civilization and all of those pesky people as a little cabin in the Swiss Alps would be.

I wonder if they have cell phone reception there?

When I hand Tommy my phone and tell him to throw it as far away as he can, he rolls his eyes at me and pushes me down into one of chairs at the patio table behind us. But rather than giving my phone back to me and offering me moral support while I delve into the fifty something texts I now have, and listen to the dozen or so voicemails I've received, he starts to do it for me. He doesn't read them out loud, but I can tell from his expression whether or not the messages are supportive or spiteful. And judging by the frown on his face the majority of the time, I was correct in assuming that I wouldn't get nearly as much friendly encouragement as he did.

"So?" I ask after several moments of silence. "What's the verdict?"

"Well... since I don't know who the hell half of these people are, I don't know how much their opinions actually matter to you. _I_ think they're all ignorant bible-beaters, but they're probably your cousins and shit, so... sorry." He replies, his eyes still fixed on my phone as his finger lightly strokes the screen to scroll up and down. "But Alex wants you to call him if you need anything, and your sister says she's on your side."

"Which sister?" I ask, surprised that any of them would actually say something like that.

"Avery." I guess that makes sense; she's always been more liberal than the other two. Probably because she spends more time away from Tulsa than they do. "She said she's sorry she hasn't called, and that she misses you and she wishes you were coming home for Thanksgiving."

I don't know whether to laugh or cry right now. And if I cried, I'm not sure whether they'd be tears of relief or remorse. Everything is _so_ fucked up.

"You got a couple of texts from Bex, too."

"What did she say?"

"Just that she's handling it, and to let her know if you change your mind and wanna make any kind of official statement about the pictures. She said she's had a few interview requests, and she'll send you details if you're interested."

"I don't even know how to deal with all that right now. It was bad enough before, but after this morning... it's like it's the least of my problems."

"Do you still think telling everyone the truth is a good idea?" He questions worriedly. "I mean... it's not gonna make either of us look like decent human beings."

"No. But... it could still come out anyway, and it'll still look better coming from us than someone else."

"True."

"It's done now. I can't go back and undo it, and even if I could... I wouldn't. I just have to prove that I'm the best person to be raising my kids _now_ , regardless of what I may or may not have done in the past. They're gonna drag me through the mud, and bring up every awful thing they can think of that I've done, and I'm just going to have to look that judge in the eyes and tell them I'm _not_ that person anymore. I'm not a cheater, I'm not an irresponsible, absentee father, and I'm _not_ a liar."

"No, you're not." He smiles softly, reaching across the glass table top and curling his slender fingers around mine. "So... when do you wanna 'come out'? _Again_."

I can't help but exhale a quiet chuckle at the question. It really does feel like coming out is becoming a never-ending process. And just when I think I'm done, I realize I left something important in the closet that I need to go back and retrieve.

"We should probably get it over with soon, just to make sure we beat everyone else to it." And by everyone else, I mean Kate. "But I don't wanna do it right before Thanksgiving. I don't wanna ruin the holiday for our families."

"Good point." He sighs, his fingers distractedly playing with mine as he gives the situation more thought. "Maybe this weekend?"

"Yeah... maybe."

'Never' sounds better than this weekend, but unfortunately it's not an option.

The quiet out on the terrace is rudely interrupted by the sound of my phone clattering against the table as it vibrates with an incoming call. Since it's right beside his hand, Tommy automatically picks it up and looks at the screen to check who's calling. And when I see his expression noticeably darken, I feel dread begin to swell in the pit of my stomach.

But when he hands the phone to me and I see Zac's face smiling back at me, that feeling evaporates entirely. Tommy doesn't say a word as he gets out of his chair and walks back into the kitchen, and I can't tell if he's leaving to give me privacy or because he's pissed off. As much as I love the fact that he knows everything about me that I can think of to tell him, sometimes I wish he'd never found out about me and Zac. He says he's over it, that he doesn't care, but _clearly_ that's not the case.

"Hello?"

"Hey." I can already tell from his tone that he's aware of what's going on with Pam. "I just wanted to call and make sure you're okay."

"Not really, but I'll survive."

"I _swear_ I had _no_ idea about any of this."

"I know."

"If I had, I would've told you. You know that, right?" He asks anxiously, as though he's actually worried that I might believe he'd conspire against me.

"I know you would."

"I just... God, I'm _so_ angry."

"You and me both." I commiserate with a cheerless attempt at a chuckle. "I seriously can't believe Pam is pulling this crap on me."

"Yeah, well I can't believe my own _wife_ has been in on it the whole time and I had no fucking idea! I feel like such an idiot."

So Kate was involved? Why am I not surprised. "It's not your fault. You didn't know because she didn't _want_ you to know. She knew you'd warn me."

"Damn right I would have! And now that I know what they've been doing, I'm gonna stop it, okay?"

"How?" I frown, wondering what kind of miracle my little brother thinks he's going to perform. "You can't do anything, Zac. And you don't need to do anything, it's not your problem-"

"Where do you think Pam was getting the money to pay her legal fees? And how did you think she was going to afford to pay a lawyer who was good enough to convince a judge to take your kids away from you for no goddamn reason?"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me?"

"I wish I was." He sighs regretfully. "But you know what? They can forget it. There's _no_ fucking way I'm gonna bankroll a custody case against my own brother!"

"So, what? You're gonna cut Kate off from all of your accounts?" I joke, but I don't hear him laughing with me. "Zac... I know you're on my side, and I appreciate you trying to make this go away, but I don't want you jeopardizing your marriage-"

"What marriage? It's not a marriage, it's a joke. I don't even _know_ her anymore, Taylor."

"Zac-"

"I just wanted you to know that, even if Pam goes through with the case after this, she's gonna be doing it with a hell of a lot less money. And hopefully that means she'll have a shitty lawyer and she won't stand a chance of taking _anything_ from you, let alone your kids."

"You don't have to do this."

"No, you know what? I _really_ do."

I wish he'd stop hanging up on me! I barely get to talk to him as it is, and lately it feels like all of our phone conversations have ended very abruptly. Usually when I'm in the middle of trying to get him to calm down and _talk_ to me.

In spite of the way the call ended, I feel as though I should be relieved by what he told me. If Pam can't afford a good lawyer, she (hopefully) won't be able to build a strong enough case against me. But I'm still too worried about everything Zac's going through right now to be able to feel much relief at all. In the last few days his emotions when I've talked to him have ranged from anguish to anger, with a brief layover in apathetic. I know my little brother well enough to know that this _isn't_ normal for him, and that it definitely isn't a sign of anything good. I just don't know how I'm supposed to do anything about it from here.

Especially when he refuses to let me.


	58. Chapter 58

  


 

I'm determined to have a happy Thanksgiving.

I know a couple of days ago I was all "fuck Thanksgiving", but I changed my mind. Our family _needs_ this day. We need a break, a reason to put everything else that's happening aside and just focus on the fact that at least we're here. We're together. Despite all of the terrible things we've been through this year, and all of the reasons we have _not_ to be thankful, at least we still have each other. That's _everything_ to me.

As soon as I decided that I was going to celebrate Thanksgiving rather than cursing its existence, I went all out. I have this problem where I can't ever do anything half-way. I can't _just_ make Thanksgiving dinner, I have to make enough food to open my own soup kitchen. I couldn't decide between the stuffing recipe my mom has been using since I was a kid, or the one I saw on the Food Network on Tuesday night that left me practically drooling... so I made both. I wanted cherry pie, and River wanted apple, and Penny wanted pecan. So I made all three. Mashed potatoes or roast potatoes? Both!

And don't even get me started on the size of this freakin' turkey.

I was honestly tempted to tell Tommy to invite his family over, but there'd be nowhere for us all to sit! So I guess that means we're going to be eating turkey sandwiches, and turkey pot pie, and turkey Alfredo until Christmas. Although my inner humanitarian kind of likes the idea of boxing it all up and driving around L.A., handing it out to homeless people...

I guess we'll see how the day goes.

It would definitely be a nice change of pace to get out of the damn house. After receiving the custody papers on Tuesday morning, we kind of went into hiding. It wasn't really intentional, I just had no desire to deal with anyone else in the world besides Tommy and my kids unless I absolutely had to. Other than taking them to and from school yesterday, we haven't ventured outside. It was nice at first, I felt safer here. But now it's starting to feel like I'm a prisoner in my own home, even though it's barely been two days and my seclusion has been entirely self-inflicted. Tommy doesn't seem to mind, but he _enjoys_ hibernating. He's been happily watching movies and playing video games with the kids in his own private movie theater while I've been busy with Thanksgiving dinner prep. I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't delivered food to them periodically, none of them would have bothered to come out of there and eat at all these past twenty-four hours. It reminds me of that episode of 'Friends' where Joey and Chandler first got their recliners and would _not_ get out of them for days. It's as though time stands still in that room; hunger, thirst, fatigue, and even the need to pee cease to exist.

I wanted it to be special, I didn't realize it would be _magical_!

But I don't care if they stay in there for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend. Hell, we can eat Thanksgiving dinner off of our laps while watching an 'I Love Lucy' marathon if they want. The only thing that matters is that they're happy, and for once it seems as though they all are.

Well, all of them except one. But that kind of goes without saying at this point, sadly.

I honestly am at the end of my rope with Ezra. I won't admit defeat, I can't, but I _will_ admit that I have no idea what else to do to get through to him. I stupidly got my hopes up the other day that things were about to change for the better for him. When I caught him in Asta's room trying to comfort her, I was _so_ sure it had to mean something. But he hasn't done it again since. I even _forced_ myself not to go to her when she cried yesterday. I forced Tommy to stay seated, too, which was actually even more of a challenge. I just wanted to see if Ezra would do it if no one else did. But after letting her cry her heart out for a good five minutes, I couldn't leave her alone any longer.

Tommy still believes it's a good sign that Ezra showed an interest in her, even if it was only once and only for a moment, and Ezra's therapist agrees. But they both think I need to lower my expectations to a reasonable level. Tommy said he understands that I want Ezra back to his old self _now_ , but to want him to do a complete one-eighty in just one week is setting myself up for even more heartache. I'm _not_ expecting a total turn around, though.

I just need... something.

Some small sign that things are on an up-swing, even if that up-swing goes in slow motion for the next year. I'm not expecting to see a marked improvement in his attitude or behavior _every_ day, I just don't want his brief interaction with Asta to be _it_.

There _has_ to be more.

"What're you doing?" The sound of Tommy's voice shocks me so much that I swear I jump at least half a foot in the air before I spin around to face him, and he looks almost as surprised by my reaction as I am by his presence. "Whoa, down boy!"

"I thought you were watching movies with the kids."

"I was, but I realized I hadn't seen you for like two hours, and I wanted to make sure you were okay." He explains, looking from me to the door that I've been standing in front of for God knows how long now. "Did you go in?"

"No." I sigh, gesturing with a nod of my head for him to follow me down the hall. "I want to, but I keep thinking I shouldn't. I feel like if I say or do the wrong thing, then any progress he _might_ have been making is gonna be shot to hell."

"Well, what were you gonna say to him?"

"I don't know." I shrug hopelessly, gazing back down the quiet hallway at the door I'm always so afraid of knocking on. Mostly because I know I won't be invited in. "I seriously don't even know. I just... sometimes I think about how long it's been since I've been in a room with him, or said something to him, _anything_ , and it feels _wrong._ You came to find me because it'd been a couple of hours since you last saw me and you wanted to check on me? Well I haven't seen Ezra in _five_ hours, and I want to check on him, but I can't make myself actually do it because I'm afraid he's gonna resent me for it."

He doesn't respond, probably because he has no idea what he's supposed to say. I don't have the words to talk to my own son, and Tommy doesn't have the words to console me over it.

"I don't think he'd resent you for it..." He begins hesitantly, and when I tear my gaze away from that intimidating doorway, I find that Tommy is now staring at it instead. "I know it feels like he does, but I think it'd be worse if you didn't go in there, you know? He's probably gonna make you feel like you're intruding, and like he wants you to leave, but at least he'll know you bothered to try."

"I don't know if he even cares anymore."

"He cares." As soon as his eyes meet mine, I see something in them that I didn't expect. It's certainty, or something pretty damn close to it. But just as suddenly as it appeared, it's gone, and he shrugs and looks away again. "I mean, he's still human, right? It's not like he just _stopped_ having feelings and emotions. He just... stopped showing them."

"That's not entirely true; he has no problem showing me how he feels about me. He doesn't want anything to do with me." I shake my head sadly, dejectedly. "He probably won't even come out of there to eat with us."

"Taylor-"

"I have to go check on the turkey." I lie, pulling out of the gentle grip he has on my wrist and retreating back to the kitchen.

I don't want to pout and mope over this, but sometimes I don't know how not to. So if I can't avoid doing it, I at least want to do it in private. I know Tommy understands, and it's not that I'm trying to hide anything from him. But I don't want him to have to listen to me whining about my shitty relationship with my son all the time, I must sound like a broken record to him at this point. There's nothing he or I can do to change things, but I _can_ spare him from having to hear more of my "woe is me" bullshit.

It's only a couple of hours until I descend into the chaotic spiral I generally find myself in whenever I come to the end of preparing any large meal. I'm like a ping pong ball, bouncing back and forth across the kitchen, sticking a fork in this, trying a bite of that, ransacking drawers in search of a meat thermometer, and emptying cupboards trying to find the gravy boat that Natalie and I got as part of a way-too-expensive (and mostly unused) wedding gift. One of these days I'll actually plan ahead enough to find this stuff in the hours of semi-free time I have while everything is cooking, rather than leaving it until those precious last minutes when everything runs the risk of _over_ -cooking!

Everyone drags themselves out of the "movie room" and into the dining room without any real protest, so I'm not forced to serve Thanksgiving dinner to them on trays like I thought I might be. I call to Ezra that dinner is ready, but I'm not surprised when all I receive is silence in return. I force a smile for the sake of my other kids, because I know this is one of those days where they're missing their mom's presence more than usual, and I don't want them worrying about me on top of everything they're already feeling. Tommy takes his seat at the opposite end of the table from me, and a genuine smile replaces my feigned one as it briefly crosses my mind that this our first real family holiday together (Halloween didn't count, even if he's adamant that it _is_ a holiday).

Hopefully it's the first of many.

"Jeez, did you kidnap Martha Stewart and force her to make dinner?" Tommy asks as his eyes settle on the turkey in the center of the table. "That thing looks like it came out of a freaking magazine!"

And I'm blushing. "Shut up."

"It's _gimongous_!" Declares River, peering at it from all angles. "It's bigger than Asta!"

"I bet she could fit inside!" Viggo agrees, eyeing the bird like it's challenging him to remove the stuffing and replace it with his baby sister.

I chuckle softly as I get out of my seat and make my way over to begin carving it. "Let's _not_ find out."

"Can we do the thing where we say what we're thankful for?" River asks hopefully. "I know mine already!"

"Oh yeah?" I smile at him, taking Tommy's plate from him and serving him some turkey. "What is it?"

"I'm thankful for superheroes." Shoulda seen that one coming. "And for the beach, and our pool."

"Me too!" Chimes in Viggo excitedly. "And my new bedroom!"

" _And_ my friend Jackoby, 'cause he has LEGO Arkham Asylum and he said I come over to his house and play with it whenever I want!"

"That's awesome, buddy. I'm glad you're thankful for so many things." And to think I was worried that none of them would be able to come up with anything this year. I guess six -year-olds don't over think things as much as I do. Hell, most twenty-nine-year-olds probably don't, either. "What about you, Pen?"

She ponders the question for a moment, apparently giving it more serious consideration than her brothers did. "Um... I'm thankful that I have a sister. And that I made new friends at school."

"I'm thankful for that, too." I smile at her across the table as I pass her plate back to her.

"What about Tommy?" Questions River curiously.

"Well, _duh._ " I tease him. "Of course I'm thankful for Tommy."

" _Duh_." He replies, matching his tone to mine so effortlessly that it's impossible not to grin. "I mean what's he thankful for?"

"I'm thankful that I get to spend Thanksgiving with you guys." He tells them immediately. "And I'm thankful for my family, and that I get to make music for a living, and..." He looks across the table at me, and his smile conveys everything he wants to say without him having to finish the sentence the way he really wants to. "My movie room."

"Ooh! Me too! I'm thankful for the movie room, too!" Viggo agrees immediately.

"Now it's your turn." Penny informs me expectantly. "What're you thankful for, daddy?"

"Wow... well, let's see..."

Just as I'm trying to sort through the many losses and gains I've experienced this year, and try to narrow the list down to a handful of things that I'm grateful for, my train of thought if completely derailed by Ezra's presence in the room. No one was even talking, but it feels as though the room becomes even quieter as he wordlessly makes his way over to the empty chair beside Penny and somewhat grudgingly drops down into it.

Just like that.

When I finally force myself to look away from him, I find Tommy watching me carefully. It's as though I'm silently pleading with him, begging him with nothing but a look, searching for some clue as to how I should proceed.

I'm afraid to _speak_!

All he can do is offer me a reassuring smile, and a nod of encouragement. And somehow, that's enough.

"I-I'm thankful for our family. I'm thankful that we're all here, together, and I'm thankful for the chance to try to do... better."

"Do better at what?" Viggo frowns in bewilderment.

If only I was the infallible hero he believes me to be. "Everything, kiddo."

I can't decide whether or not to ask Ezra to name something he's thankful for. On the one hand, I want to include him in this little tradition that he always used to enjoy. But I honestly can't think of a single thing he would say. Maybe his 3DS? But it's more likely that he'll shrug or ignore me entirely. Or worse, he'll get up and leave the table without so much as nibbling on a carrot. In the end, I spend so long deliberating how to handle the situation that the moment passes before I can decide one way or the other. You can't put a full plate full of food down in front of any of my kids and expect them _not_ to eat it. The only thing that ever came between them and a mouthful of food before was saying grace. But ever since Natalie died, I've kind of let that little formality fall by the wayside.

As always tends to be the case at Thanksgiving, the conversation inevitably turns to Christmas. I think Thanksgiving is the last hurdle standing between my kids and the holiday season, and eating dinner is like leaping over it. Then it's just a straight shot to the most wonderful time of the year. Only this year, the excitement it a little more subdued. They're still eager to discuss what toys they want most, but there's an undeniable sadness lingering beneath the surface. I expected it; it's the same sadness that's haunted each of their birthdays and every other family occasion that has passed so far this year. I'm honestly not even sure how to go about celebrating Christmas, or if it's even appropriate to celebrate it. I don't want to pretend everything is normal, because it's not. But I don't want to do anything differently and draw even more attention to the fact that something (or rather, some _one_ ) is missing.

And don't even get me started on Asta's birthday; I have _no_ idea how to approach that one.

Ezra only eats about half of his dinner, but  having him here with us and having him leave some food on his plate is definitely better than not having him here at all. I was hoping that he might be tempted by a slice of pecan pie, since it's his favorite, but apparently he's done all of the socializing he can stand to for one meal, and he declines all of the desserts on offer. It's difficult to let him leave the table, it feels like he only just sat down. But I take deep a breath and repeat the words "baby steps" to myself, over and over and over. It doesn't help much, but what else can I really do?

After everyone has had one too many bites of pie and ice cream, I ditch the dishes in the kitchen and drag myself back to the movie room with them to finish whichever film or TV show marathon is was they had to abandon in order to eat dinner. But as soon as it's over, I force them to turn the projector off for the first time in days and put their shoes and jackets _on_ so that we can take a much needed walk.

It's funny how much fresher the air seems to be as we stroll around the quiet neighborhood compared to how it feels to breathe it in from our backyard. Not that I don't love our backyard, but in my mind it's all part of the house, and getting _out_ of the house, even just for half an hour, feels really refreshing. We don't have to worry about photographers or fans, the only people we see are other families out enjoying a sunset stroll with their kids and dogs. It's peaceful. _Normal_. I know our problems haven't gone away, we still have to deal with them no matter how long we put off doing so, but for today everything feels good.

Better than it has in a long while, actually.

The kids (minus Ezra) gracelessly pass out in various stages of food comas all over the family room almost as soon as we get home, and Tommy and I rearrange them just enough to make room for us to collapse on the couch together. He tells me he doesn't care what we watch on TV, but as soon as I land us on The Food Network and show no signs of changing the channel, he whines and tells me that he's too full to look at food.

But it's a 'Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives' marathon, and I _love_ this show, so he's just gonna have to suck it up!

"You know, some day, I'm gonna go through _every_ episode of this show and make a list of every place he goes to, and then organize them by state."

"Because you have nothing better to do with your time?" He smirks up at me from the pillow his head is resting on in my lap.

"No, so we can road trip around the country and go to _all_ of them!"

With a slightly nervous chuckle, he turns his head back towards the screen. "I dunno... that guy eats _a lot_ of burgers. I don't think I'd survive the trip."

"Who said anything about surviving it?" I tease. "Death by diner food! Sounds like a good way to go, if you ask me."

He cringes and shakes his head at the thought. "I couldn't do it. I mean, before you moved out here, I was basically like... an unintentional vegetarian. Or what's the word for someone who only eats fish but not other animals?"

"Pescetarian."

"Right. I was one of those, and then you come along with your stupid good food, and I can't _not_ eat it! I mean, that thing you made the other week with the lamb and the herbs? _Fuck._ "

I instinctively glance around the room to make sure that everyone below the age of eighteen is unconscious. But even if they weren't, I think I'd be too flattered by his enthusiastic praise of my cooking skills to care if they heard him cuss.

"I'm glad you liked it."

"I loved it! I can't think of anything you've ever made me that I didn't love. Your lasagna is one of my favorite foods _ever_. And I actually _crave_ your grilled cheese sandwiches. Like, I'll just be sitting around, doing nothing, and suddenly I'll be able to _taste_ them. And how do you get potatoes to taste the way they did at dinner today? What the hell do you do to them? 'Cause they don't taste like other people's potatoes!" I want to thank him, but I'm too busy laughing at the awed look on his face to be able to form words. "You know what? _You_ should do this."

"Do what?" I force myself to stop laughing long enough to ask him as he waves his arm in the general direction of the TV.

" _This_!" He repeats insistently, with a more purposeful gesture towards the screen.

"Drive around America eating awesome food? I plan to!"

"No, not that."

"Have a Food Network show? I don't think they'd-"

"You should open a restaurant." I burst out laugh again, so loudly that River actually stirs in his sleep and squirms around in the chair he's napping in. But other than an amused smile, Tommy remains entirely serious. "What? It's not _that_ crazy."

"Yes it is!" I finally manage to tell him. "Just because I make a grilled cheese sandwich that doesn't taste like crap, it doesn't mean I'm a chef!"

"So? You don't have to be a trained chef to be able to cook good food. And you cook _really_ fucking good food!"

"Not good enough to open a restaurant."

"Says who? Honestly, even if you were just some guy I'd never met who opened up a restaurant in L.A., I'd eat there at least once a week!" He declares sincerely. "Probably twice, 'cause I'd have to go once for the lasagna and once to actually try other things on the menu. And check out your ass."

"You're nuts. You're sweet, but you're _nuts_. Even if I do make semi-decent food, and even if I did kinda like the idea of owning a restaurant... I can't-"

The word has barely left my mouth and he's already sitting up, giving me a look that tells me not to say anything else unless I want to suffer bodily harm. "Don't you fucking _dare_ use that word."

"Which word?" I ask innocently.

"You were the CEO of your own record label before you were old enough to drink. You were a Grammy nominee for a song you wrote before you even hit puberty! Your first major label release broke records, and your first indie release was the highest selling independent album _ever_."

"At that time." I correct him with a smirk. Apparently _someone_ did their homework. "But back then there weren't _nearly_ as many indie artists for us to compete with, and we had a _much_ larger and more established fanbase than the other indie bands already out there."

"Whatever. That's not the point."

"What _is_ the point? Other than the fact that you've obviously spent a lot of time reading up on me." I taunt him, earning myself a scathing glare.

"The point is that you have succeeded at everything you've ever set out to do professionally. You've more than succeeded, you've fucking _excelled_. So you have _no_ right to use the word can't. Like _ever_."

I'm still not convinced that his opinion is unbiased; I think it's more than a little skewed by his feelings for me. I could sit here for hours and list off my professional failures for him, but I doubt even that would change his mind. He thinks I can do anything. And whether I agree with him or not, I know how _incredibly_ lucky I am to have someone in my life who sees me that way, and who refuses to let me doubt myself or my ability to achieve anything I set out to.

My lips have barely grazed his when my phone starts to ring. I really, _really_ want to ignore it, but it's my mother's ringtone, and it's Thanksgiving. And considering the fact that they're two hours ahead of us, and it's almost seven pm here, this will probably be my last chance to talk to her before the day is over. So, like the good son I always try (and often fail) to be, I offer Tommy an apologetic half-smile and retrieve my buzzing iPhone from my pocket.

"Hey, mom."

"Hi, sweetheart." She sighs wearily. I don't know if I'm more surprised by her affectionate greeting, or by the lack of cheer in her tone. She loves Thanksgiving, possibly even more than any other family holiday. I was expecting her to sound a hell of a lot happier. "How was your day?"

"It was really good, actually. Pretty relaxing, after I got all of the cooking and stuff out of the way. How about yours? Did everyone come over for dinner?"

"No, not this year. Your sisters and Mac were here, but Ike and Zac stayed home. Well, I say that..." She pauses, leaving the sentence and the uncertainty hanging for a moment, and leaving me frowning in confusion as I wait for her to continue. "Have you heard from Zac?"

"Today? No, why?"

"Kate just called. Apparently they had one of their little spats this afternoon, and he left the house without telling her where he was going. She wasn't worried at first, but it's been several hours now and he's not answering his phone. We've all tried calling him, but no one's heard anything. Ike went by the studio and the office, but there's no sign of him."

"I can try calling him. I doubt he'll pick up, but I'll give it a shot."

"I know it's silly, he's a grown man and he can take care of himself. But it's not like him to just disappear without a word and ignore everyone's calls. Especially not on Thanksgiving."

No, it's not. "Okay, well let me try calling a few times, and if I get a hold of him I'll let you know."

"Thank you."

"Sure."

"We'll call tomorrow to talk to the kids, if that's okay?" She asks hopefully, and I feel that familiar twinge of guilt and heartache over the fact that she even has to pose the question.

"Yeah, of course."

"Okay. Have a good night."

"You, too."

Here it comes. That long, awkward silence where an effortless "love you" should be.

"Love you."

"G..." Wait... did she just... for the first time in... "I... love you, too."

I can feel Tommy's eyes on me, staring at me as I, in turn, stare at my phone. He gives me a moment to figure out what it is I'm thinking or feeling before asking me to let him in on it, but I know the curiosity is killing him. He knows who the call was from, he heard me say it, and he knows that talking to her hasn't been the easiest thing for me to do over the past couple of months. I hadn't told him how much I hated the way that all of our calls ended, though. I hadn't mentioned the lack of affection or how much it had hurt, because there was nothing he could do about it, and I didn't want him to feel guilty in any way.

"Everything okay?" He finally asks, his hopeful tone tinged with a distinct note of concern.

"Um... I don't know." I reply honestly, pushing my problems with my parents to the back of my mind as I turn my now dark phone screen back on and navigate my way to my list of favorite contacts. "Zac's MIA and everyone's freaking out."

"Why? He's not a kid, he can do whatever he wants."

"Yeah, but when a guy walks out on his family on Thanksgiving, and then refuses to answer his phone and can't be found for hours, people start to worry." I explain to him as I listen to the phone ring and wait for my little brother to answer.

I'm honestly not expecting him to pick up, so I'm left momentarily speechless when he actually does. "What?"

"Happy Thanksgiving." I reply sarcastically. "Or not, in your case, from what I've heard."

"So mom called you? Great. I'm sure the search party is already gearing up to scour the city."

"They're worried about you." The only response I get is a derisive snort of disagreement. "Zac-"

"Is this why you called? To talk me into going home like an obedient little lap dog _again_?"

"I-"

"Fuck that! I'm done."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm _done_. I'm done blindly following orders like an idiot, I'm done pretending that I'm fine with how things are around here. They're _not_ fine, Taylor, they're fucked up. I'm angry, and I'm sick of pretending that I'm not just to keep everyone else happy."

I open my mouth to tell him to calm down, but I immediately close it again. Telling him that is tantamount to asking him to bottle up his emotions, and apparently that's all he's been doing lately. I'm the last person who should be asking anyone to pretend to feel something they don't. I know how destructive that is; it's like acid, burning you up from the inside out.

"So what're you gonna do?" I finally ask him, bracing myself for whatever his response might be.

Whatever it is, whether it makes sense to me or not, I _have_ to support him. That's what he did for me, after all. And after everything else he's done for me this year, for our whole lives, I'd be the worst big brother in the world if I didn't do _everything_ in my power to help him now, when he needs me more than he possibly ever has before.

"I don't know." He replies glumly, his voice much less harsh than it was before. Now he just sounds hopeless. "I _can't_ go back to that house, Tay. Don't ask me to, because-"

"I won't." I promise him wholeheartedly. "I'm not asking you to do anything. It's your choice, and whatever you decide to do is fine by me. Okay?"

"Okay." Hearing how much relief that one statement brought him brings me a small sense of the same. But the next words out of his mouth eradicate it entirely. "I don't wanna be here right now. I don't have anyone I can go to, everyone's gonna be on my case to go home and apologize to Kate. But I don't want to."

"Apologize or go home?" I ask apprehensively.

"Either." He replies honestly, maybe even ashamedly. "I just..."

"What?"

"I know it's a lot to ask, and you've got your own stuff going on, but... can I come out there? Just for a few days? I _need_ to get the hell out of here, I'm going crazy. I just need a break. And besides... I miss you."

I can't help but instinctively glance at Tommy as I prepare to answer my little brother's plea. I don't want to do anything to upset him, or to put strain on our relationship. But Zac is my _brother_. He needs me, and I won't turn my back on him. I can't.

"You're welcome here any time, you know that."

Tommy's inquisitive expression instantly morphs into one of disappointment, and he turns his face away from me so that I can no longer look him in the eyes. I was expecting him to be angry with me, but anger isn't the feeling I'm getting from him right now. It's something else. Something worse.

I think I would've preferred it if he'd been pissed off.


	59. Chapter 59

  


 

 

Tommy got up and left the room shortly after I told Zac that he was welcome to come out and stay with me whenever he wanted. I wasn't sure where he'd gone, but I assumed that he was probably getting his jacket and waiting for me to finish up on the phone so that he could tell me he was leaving.

There wasn't much more to my conversation with Zac. He told me he was going to go home just long enough to grab some clothes and tell his kids that he loved them and he had to go out of town for a few days, and then he'd catch the first flight out here in the morning. I told him to text me his flight information and I'd meet him at LAX when he landed. He sounded _so_ much better as we said our goodbyes. Less frazzled and frustrated, much stronger and more optimistic than he has during any conversation we've had since I left Tulsa. And while I was definitely glad to hear that hint of typical Zac exuberance return to his tone, I couldn't stop worrying about what Tommy was thinking long enough to really enjoy it.

I feel as though I've made someone I love happy at the expense of someone else I love, and I don't know how to make it okay.

When I put my phone away and go looking for Tommy, I find him sitting out on the kitchen terrace alone, staring out at the lights of Hollywood shimmering beneath a thick blanket of indigo. I'm willing to bet good money that he's fantasizing about that secluded little cabin in the Alps again. I notice his body tense a little as I step outside with him, even though I didn't make a sound. My first instinct, as always, is to be closer to him. But judging by the way he reacted to my presence, I think it's fair to assume the feeling isn't mutual right now.

"Hey." I begin quietly, taking a seat beside him at the small table. He doesn't reply, he merely lowers his gaze from the view to his hands as he scrapes at the black polish on one thumb nail with the other. "Listen... I'm sorry I didn't ask you before telling Zac he could stay here."

He shrugs, but I know he cares more than he's pretending to. "Your house. None of my business."

"Don't be like that."

"Like what? It's true. Just 'cause I have a few pairs of jeans in your dresser, that doesn't mean I have the right to tell you who can and can't stay here."

I get the distinct impression that he's trying to pick a fight so that he can feel justified walking out on me. But unfortunately for him, I'm becoming more and more aware of how this cycle of insanity we seem to repeatedly fall into starts. And this time, I'm staying the hell away from it.

"Can we not do the thing where you get all passive-aggressive, and then I get defensive, and then you make a few sarcastic comments, and I get impatient and say something I don't mean, and then you walk out on me, and we're both miserable all night? Because we're inevitably gonna end up arguing it out until we realize we're both being idiots, and then we'll have amazing make-up sex, and everything will somehow be even better than it was before." He has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep a smile off of his face, it's obvious, and I breathe a quiet sigh of relief before pushing my luck one step further. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather just skip to the last part and _not_ spend tonight lying in bed alone, wondering how everything got so screwed up."

He nods faintly, still keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he mumbles. "I don't wanna fight."

"Me either."

"But I don't wanna pretend I'm okay with this when I'm not. Maybe I should be, but I'm _not_."

"It's just for a few days." I assure him gently. "He's been going through a really rough time since I left, and he needs to get out of Tulsa and take a break."

"I get that. And I get that he's your brother, and you feel responsible, and you wanna help, but..."

"But... it's Zac." I finish for him, and he sighs deeply before nodding in defeat. "He's _just_ my brother."

"He wasn't always."

"Tommy-"

"Look, don't bother telling me it's over, or that you don't think about him that way anymore, or that I should trust you. I _know_ all that, but it doesn't make a damn bit of difference to how I _feel_ , okay? I can tell myself that it's not a big deal over and over, but it doesn't change the fact that it still feels like one."

"Can I ask you something?" He finally chances a look at me, and I can see in his eyes that he's more than a little nervous about what this question of mine might be. But he doesn't tell me not to ask it, so I take the leap. "I understand the whole... jealous of the ex thing, I _really_ do. But... you don't act like this when Alex is around. I know you wanna punch him in the face whenever he flirts with me, but this is different." After considering the statement for a second or two, he nods in agreement. "Why?"

"Because what you had with Zac was different." He explains simply. "You and Alex were fuck buddies for a couple of months like... eleven years ago. And yeah, he needs to learn to back the fuck off and stop touching your ass, but I know he'd never seriously try to mess with what we have. You and Zac were _in_ _love_ for most of your life, he was your first _everything_. He _did_ try to fuck things up between us, more than once. And now when I see you together, all I can think about is the day I walked in on the two of you kissing..."

Seeing the brief flash of pain that crosses his delicate features is like a knife in the chest. I _hate_ that he still thinks about that. I hate that he felt so hurt and betrayed, and that I almost lost him completely because of it. But mostly I hate the fact that I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to make him hate Zac any less, or how to make it okay for me and Zac to be in a room together without Tommy being reminded that I lied to him.

"There _has_ to be a way we can get past this."

He shrugs, apparently out of ideas. "I think I'll just... stay at my place until he leaves."

"That's not a solution, that's avoiding the problem."

"Yeah, well, I guess I'm not ready to sit down and make nice with your ex yet. Seriously, asking me to spend time with him is like asking me to spend time with Natalie. Worse, even, 'cause you never loved her like you loved him... like you love me."

"I never loved _him_ like I love you, either. I've never loved anyone this way, Tommy." I swear to him sincerely. "Maybe if you stopped thinking of him as my ex and thought of him as my brother, you might be able to let it go? Because that's how _I_ think of him."

"I've _tried_ , Taylor. Ever since we got back together after the whole Fool's Banquet mess, I've been trying to tell myself that I'm fine with it. But when I saw him at River's birthday party this summer, it hit me all over again just how _not_ okay with it I am. And I know it's stupid, and petty, and I'm not saying I'll _never_ get over it. But right now... I seriously don't think I can be in the same room as him."

I want to argue with him, to try to talk him out of this, but at the same time I don't. It's not fair of me to pester him into doing something that makes him feel uncomfortable or causes him any pain. If he's not ready to be civil towards Zac, I have to accept that. I can't force him to feel something he doesn't, and I can't reason away the things he does feel.

I know from experience how little difference reason makes when the right side of the brain is involved.

"So I'm not gonna see you all weekend?" I ask glumly, well aware of the petulant pout on my lips.

But I only _just_ got him back! He was gone for twelve days, and he was _finally_ home, and now he's leaving again.

"Is that how long he's staying?"

"I don't know. He said 'a few days', but that could be three days or a week..."

"Or more."

"I doubt it." I argue, trying to put my mind at ease as much as his. Not that I don't want Zac here for a as long as he wants to stay, but if I barely get to see Tommy for the entire duration of his trip... "Jenna's gonna be back on Monday, we're gonna run out of places for people to sleep. Besides, he has to get back to his kids."

"Right." A solemn silence follows that one, meaningless word, and I watch him as he inhales a tired breath and stares back out at the city lights for a moment.

And then he slowly gets out of his chair.

"Where're you going?"

"Home."

"This _is_ home." I remind him despondently, reaching for his hand and wrapping my fingers loosely around it. "He won't be here until tomorrow."

"I know. I just... think it's better to get it over with now."

I don't agree. But I can't say that. I can't ask him to stay here tonight if he doesn't want to, because it's no fairer than me asking him to stay here while Zac's in town. That doesn't keep my grip on his hand from tightening when I feel his fingers begin to slip through mine. It wasn't intentional, not even a little bit. It was automatic; I didn't need to give it a millisecond of thought.

His eyes lock with mine, and without a word he steps back towards me, his legs curling around my thighs as he straddles my lap on the wrought-iron patio chair. The tip of his nose grazes the bridge of mine, his fingers threading into my hair and his breath warming my skin in the chilly evening. I slip my arms around him, pulling him against me as his mouth seeks mine and my fingers creep beneath the hem of his t-shirt, stroking the smooth skin of his back. And _all_ I can think as his soft gasps and whimpers fill the air around us is: stay.

_Stay. **Stay**. God, **please** stay._

I don't know if he read my mind, or if his mind was already changed before he climbed into my lap. But by the time our kiss gradually comes to an end, I know he's not going anywhere. Not tonight, at least.

We head back into the house to wake the kids up enough for them to brush their teeth and put on PJs. And though their semi-conscious states make that process much slower than usual, it also makes it much easier than usual to get them into bed and back to sleep afterwards. Of course, the fact that they're going to bed this early probably means they'll be bouncing off the walls at the butt-crack of dawn. But depending on what time Zac's flight gets in, that might actually work in my favor.

I fall asleep with my body wrapped around Tommy's, his limbs tangled with mine and his head tucked perfectly beneath my chin. But when Viggo and River wake me up the next morning with their re-enactment of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader's epic duel from 'Return of the Jedi', Tommy's nowhere to be seen. I guess some part of me knew he wouldn't be here, but that doesn't make it any less disappointing.

After giving myself a few seconds to wake up properly, I reach for my phone and check my messages. The last few messages I received from Zac inform me that he's getting a six am flight with a forty-minute layover in Denver, which gets him to Los Angeles just after nine. And that gives _me_ just enough time to get up, and get myself and my kids dressed and into the car so that we can be there in time to meet him. There's a good amount of whining about not being able to have breakfast first, but once I assure them all that we'll go to Griddle Cafe on the way home, they seem to view it as a fair deal.

It's not until we're halfway to LAX that I start to get nervous about the idea of actually going _into_ the airport. Last time I was there, I managed to get myself outted to the entire world by a total stranger. And even though there are no secrets for anyone to discover this time, I still feel like I'm walking into an ambush of some kind. I almost want to text Zac and tell him we'll meet him outside of arrivals. But the kids haven't seen him in almost a month, they're going to want to jump all over him the second they see him. And I don't want to take that moment away from them, or him, _or_ myself.

So screw the damn paparazzi. If they happen to be there, and they notice us in amongst all of the other people coming and going, so be it. All they'll get is a couple of pictures of my kids hugging their uncle and me hugging my brother.

Hardly headline material.

It was a hell of a lot easier getting Viggo and Asta into the airport in their stroller earlier this week when we came to pick Tommy up than it is to navigate the stroller and their three older siblings through the crowds, and suitcases, and baggage carts. But I know it'll be worth it to see the looks on their faces when they realize who we're here to pick up. Zac texts me just after his flight lands to tell me he's on his way, and since he told me in a previous text that he wasn't checking any bags, we bypass baggage claim and head straight for arrivals so that we can meet him as close to the gate as airport security will allow us to get.

When he first comes into view, he looks exhausted. His shoulders are slumped, his long hair is falling out of the ponytail that once held it back, and that trademark smile of his is nowhere to be seen. But when River spots him, he _screeches,_ causing Zac (and everyone else within earshot) to look over at us. And as soon as Zac sees us waiting for him, waving and jumping up and down (in River and Viggo's case, at least), he starts _beaming._ He picks up his pace until he's almost jogging towards us, and the second he crosses the invisible line that we weren't allowed to set foot over, my kids are all over him. They climb him until he completely loses his balance and dramatically crumbles to the floor under a heap of ecstatic children. Even _Ezra_ gives him a hug.

I'll admit, it's a little hard to stop myself from simply pouncing on top of them all, they look like they're having the time of their lives rolling around on the floor. Not a single passerby can help but smile as they cast a glance their way and maneuver around them, even if some of those smiles are accompanied by a head shake. I notice a guy in a uniform lurking nearby, hovering like a vulture and gradually getting close and closer. I can practically hear the "I'm going to have to ask you to move", it's written all over his face. So before he can interrupt their reunion and ruin the moment, I reach down and offer Zac a hand to pull him out of the pile of giggling kids holding him hostage.

And then I pull him into my arms and hug him so tightly that he makes a sound of genuine discomfort amidst his amused chuckles. But he hugs me back just as keenly, and it's such a relief to have him here that I feel like I might start blubbering how much I've missed him into the shoulder of his jacket if I don't get a grip on my emotions!

It's only been twenty eight days since I last saw him. Four short weeks. But it's the longest I've ever spent away from him, and it has honestly felt like _years_.

"I'm _so_ glad you're here."

"Me too." He tells me, somehow finding a way to squeeze me even tighter before reluctantly letting go. "I didn't even realize how much I needed to get the hell out of Tulsa until about thirty minutes ago. I can literally breathe easier now than I've been able to in _months_. As soon as they told us we were descending into LAX, it was like..."

"Invisible hands let go of your throat?" I fill in for him sympathetically. "Yeah, that's pretty much how I've felt every time I've _ever_ come out here."

He nods in understanding, _true_ understanding for the first time in our lives. He's always tried to empathize with me, but he never really got it until now. I both love and hate the fact that we have one more thing in common.

"Come on, Uncle Zac! We're gonna go to Griddle Cafe!" River tells him, tugging on his arm insistently.

"Damn, I _love_ this city." Sighs Zac wistfully, and I find myself smiling over just how easy it is to make him happy sometimes.

Barring extenuating circumstances, his mood is generally directly related to how hungry or tired he is. Make sure he gets enough sleep, and keep him well fed, and you're pretty much guaranteed to have a happy Zac on your hands.

Unless, of course, you're a controlling, pious _bitch_. Then no amount of food or sleep will help.

Just as we're exiting arrivals on our way to the car, some camera-wielding low-life practically jumps out from behind the garbage can he probably lives in. He starts snapping away at us as I try to quicken my pace while shielding my kids from every shot he takes. Unfortunately those two things don't go hand-in-hand, and one is more important than the other.

"Hey, Taylor, where's Tommy?" He asks, never lowering his camera as he backs across the road between us and the parking garage. I can't decide if I feel bad for wishing a shuttle bus would hit him. "Zac, what do you think about your brother being gay?"

"I think it's none of your damn business." He snaps, stepping in front of me in an attempt to block the stalkerazzi's shot. "Back off! He's with his _kids_ , for God's sake."

"Where's Isaac? Is it true the band broke up?" He continues to harass us without shame. "What do you wanna tell your fans, Taylor?"

I want to tell them I'm sorry for betraying their trust. I want to tell them that I'm sorry for breaking up a band that means so much to so many of them. I want to tell them that I'm happy, and in love, and that I honestly believe everything is going to be okay eventually.

But I _don't_ want to tell them any of that via this asshole.

We make it to the car without saying another word to him, and eventually he gets bored of talking to himself and taking pictures of nothing exciting, and he goes back to arrivals in search of someone more interesting to bug. My kids are a little shaken up, they're not used to being accosted by photographers. Unless you count our fans, but at least they generally tend to keep their distance and not shove their cameras in my children's faces.

Luckily, a trip to Griddle Cafe perks them all back up in an instant, as always. And, as always, I eat _way_ more than I should. But I don't regret a single bite. I barely get a word in the entire time, my kids are all so busy filling Zac in on everything they've been up to since they moved here. They've spoken to him on the phone a couple of times, and briefly skyped with him the day after Ezra's birthday, but they're too excited to remember what they have and haven't told him. And he's more than content to sit and listen to it all over again. He'd probably let them tell the same story a thousand times if it made them happy; he'd do _anything_ for them.

Once the exorbitant amount of food we've consumed has settled enough for us to be able to get out of our seats, we head back to the house. The kids have practically given Zac a verbal guided tour of the entire place before we even get there, and there's no doubt in my mind that he'll be shown every last inch of the building as soon as I unlock the front door.

It's not until hours later, after I've put Asta and Viggo down for their nap and  Penny, River, and Ezra are absorbed in their various books, video games, and movies, that _I_ finally get a chance to have a real conversation with my brother.

"You know, I'm starting to think you might be on to something with the whole 'ditching your entire life to move to another state' thing." He tells me as he steps into the kitchen, and I roll my eyes as I close the refrigerator and scribble a couple more things onto my grocery list for next week.

"Yeah, it's been a real walk in the park. Everyone was _very_ supportive." I reply sarcastically. "Besides, I doubt Kate wants to live in _Hell-_ A. This city is full of anything but angels."

His smile disappears as soon as I mention her name, and he shrugs as he folds his arms across his chest and slumps against the counter. "Maybe she should live somewhere else, then."

"You don't mean that."

"I don't?"

"You love her." I remind him, trying my hardest not to let my own less-than-pleasant feelings for Kate seep into my tone. "Do you need me to play ' _Need You Now_ '? It'll make me gag, but I'll do it."

"Shut up." He mumbles, a flicker of a smirk appearing on his lips. Just for a second. "That was a _long_ time ago."

"Yeah, it was. You wrote it before you guys even got engaged, and ever since then things have gotten better and better between you."

"Yeah, well, lately they've been worse than ever."

"It'll work itself out."

He shakes his head slowly, staring across the room at something that I'm pretty sure isn't actually there. "I dunno, Tay... I've been trying _so_ hard. But I keep thinking... love shouldn't feel like this. I know it's not all sunshine and rainbows all the time, but it shouldn't be about making yourself miserable just to keep the other person happy, you know?"

"Yeah... I know." I sigh sadly, leaning against the counter at his side. "Have you guys tried counseling or something?"

"She doesn't think that we need it. She said..." He draws in a long, weary breath, and I wait for him to find whatever strength he needs to finish the sentence. "She said that if I would just stop dwelling on the fact that you're gone, and start appreciating the people who _haven't_ 'abandoned' me, I'd be happier and things would go back to the way they were before."

I have to fight _really_ hard not to say out loud the infuriated "bitch" I just yelled in the confines of my own head. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her it was more than that. It was more than you being gone, and more than her not wanting me to talk to you. It's been going on for longer than any of this, since before she even knew you were leaving Tulsa."

"I'm guessing she found something else to blame it on, besides herself?"

"She thinks I'm just unhappy because things with the band basically came to a standstill this year. Which, by the way, is also your fault."

"Of course." Isn't everything? "Do you think she might be right?"

He gives a half-hearted shrug, his gaze meeting mine briefly before returning to the other side of the room. "I mean... yeah, I miss us being the band, and being out on the road and everything. But I still don't think that's why I'm so fucking _discontent_ all the time."

"But do you really think your marriage is the problem?" I ask uncertainly. Because as much as I dislike his wife, I don't want to encourage him to throw away a relationship that, up until this year, meant so much to him. "And if it is, are you sure it can't be fixed?"

"Honestly? The only thing I'm sure of right now is that I feel like I live with a total stranger. She looks like Kate, and sounds like Kate... but she's _not_ Kate. She's not the woman I fell in love with. Not anymore " He tells me miserably, his voice faltering more with each word out of his mouth. "I don't know if it was what happened to Nat, or something else, but she's become so... cold. I look at her, and all I can think is 'who _are_ you?'. But she says she's the same person she's always been. She blames it on me, and you, and everyone else, but she won't admit that she's done anything wrong. It's like she _can't_. And I don't know how to live with someone like that, Tay."

I'm at a loss for anything to say to him. I don't want to tell him it'll be okay, because I have no idea whether or not it will. I knew he was unhappy, but I had no idea to what extent. And I knew that Kate had become more and more unbearable to _me_ this year, but I didn't realize that the immunity I'd always assumed he had to her behavior had apparently worn off.

Being his big brother, I have an overwhelming instinct to protect him from pain. But I don't know _how_ to protect him from this. The only thing I can think of to do is wrap him in a hug and tell him that I'm right here. Because, as unsure as he might be of everything else in his life right now, that's one thing I _can_ promise him will never change.

 

 


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I didn't get chapter 68 written this weekend. I barely had chance to write at all. But I wanted to update anyway, partly because I have no self-control, and partly because this chapter only has a little Tommy in it. :p 
> 
> Don't worry, the next one will have more. ;)

  


 

 

I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to keep Zac distracted and cheer him up. I know I can't erase his problems completely, and I have no idea how to help him solve them, but I figure he's been living with them long enough that he's more than earned a break. Everything he is struggling with will still be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day... there's plenty of time for him to deal with reality. I want to take that weight from him for at least a few hours.

When Viggo and Asta wake up from their nap just before two pm, I herd everyone out to the car and drive us over to Family Arcade (also known as Zac's idea of Heaven). I'm honestly not sure who is more giddy as we step into the building and take in all of the flashing, neon lights and familiar arcade game sounds mingling in the air. River and Viggo are pretty damn excited, but I think Zac still has them beat. Sometimes it seems as though he has the ability to completely revert to his ten-year-old self and simply shed _everything_ that's happened in his life since that time. He has no worries, no stress, he's entirely free.

Which was exactly what I was aiming for when I brought him here.

Even Ezra can't resist the lure of the SEGA games and pinball machines. For what feels like the first time in months, he puts his 3DS away and engages with his surroundings! Mostly, he sticks to playing against Zac, because Uncle Zac has been his gaming buddy since he was old enough to hold an Xbox controller (I'm not even kidding). But after kicking Zac's ass at several rounds of 'Double Dragon', he actually agrees to play against River, too.

Since watching a bunch of boys playing video games where people beat each other up isn't exactly Penny's idea of fun, I leave Zac in charge of his nephews and take Penny and Asta off in search of something more appealing. And I end up spending close to fifty bucks on those dumbass, giant claw machines, trying to win Penny a giant, stuffed Piglet that's bigger than her baby sister and probably doesn't even cost fifty bucks in a store! But she's happy to bounce around at my side, cheering me on as I'm cheated out of win after win because those stupid machines are all rigged, and the claw doesn't even _grab_ anything!

But whatever. I win her the toy she wants in the end, so ha!

By the time they're all sick of playing air hockey and 'Need For Speed' (for today, at least), it's almost dark out. I grant Zac power over where we go for dinner, and I should've known he'd choose Fat Burger. He never goes to Fat Burger in any other city or state, he's convinced that the _best_ restaurant in the _entire_ chain is in L.A. It's not exactly gourmet food, but I'm not going to pretend I'm above eating it. Everyone has guilty pleasures, one of mine happens to be crappy, greasy, artery-clogging cheeseburgers.

Don't judge.

All things considered, it's been one of the better days I've had in a while. My little brother is here, my kids are happy, and Ezra has only spent half as much time scowling as he usually does. But even though I've enjoyed spending time with them, I've missed having Tommy around. I feel bad, like I should focus on Zac since I've barely seen him in months. I can't _stop_ my mind from drifting to Tommy every five minutes, though. I don't get a say in the matter; _all_ of me is acutely aware ofthe lack of him.

I write out a text to him that simply says " _I miss you_ ", but then I delete it without sending it because I don't want to make him feel bad for not being here. I understand why he feels like he can't do this; it'd be weird for me to hang out with Liz, and what he had with her doesn't come close to my history with Zac. Instead, I send him a run-of-the-mill " _How's it going_?" text, and after a few minutes I get a run-of-the-mill " _Okay. Just finishing up dinner at moms. You_?" in response. I probably shouldn't be texting him while he's at a family dinner, or while _I'm_ at a family dinner (even if that family dinner is taking place at Fat Burger). But I haven't spoken to him since last night, and I can't remember the last time we went a whole day without saying _anything_ to each other at all. At first I think that I'm being pretty inconspicuous about it, holding my phone under the table and making sure to look up and nod or smile every few seconds.

But Zac isn't fooled.

"Are you texting your _boyfriend_?" He asks in his best mocking little brother tone.

I glare playfully back, grabbing one of my now cold onion rings and tossing it at him. "None of your business."

"Where is he, anyway? Shouldn't you guys be gazing into each other's eyes, sharing a milkshake and making me wanna throw up my Fat Fries?"

"Nice." He shrugs unconcernedly and winks at River, who is giggling away beside him. "He had dinner with us yesterday, so he's spending today with his mom and some of his family."

I can tell Zac doesn't believe me, even though it's not _technically_ a lie. But I also know he's not going to push the subject further in front of the kids. "Right. Because Thanksgiving is for families."

"That's why you came to see us!" Grins Penny, leaning against his arm until he slips it around her shoulders and gives her an exaggeratedly tight squeeze.

"Smart girl."

"Are you gonna stay till Christmas?" Asks Viggo hopefully.

"I wish I could, dude, but that's a long time for me to sleep on your couch!"

"You can sleep in my bed and I'll sleep on the couch!" He volunteers hopefully. "I've falled asleep on the couch _lots_ sometimes."

"That's a really nice offer." Zac smiles sincerely across the table at him. "I think Shep and Junia might miss me, though."

"They can come stay with us, too!" River quickly suggests. "I wanna play with Shep!"

"Yeah, and I wanna see Junia!" Chimes in Penny, gazing up at me with big, pleading puppy eyes. "Can they _please_ come for Christmas?"

A chorus of "please" erupts from River, Viggo, and Penny. Ezra doesn't seem bothered either way, and Asta is too busy shredding my napkin to care, but their siblings more than make up for their lack of input. And all Zac and I can do is exchange looks of sympathy and remorse across the table. Because it's just _not_ going to happen. There's no way Kate will let her kids spend Christmas with me.

I'm not even sure at this point if she's going to let them spend Christmas with Zac.

"I dunno, guys." He tells them regretfully. "I don't know what your Auntie Kate has planned for Christmas yet."

"Well can you just stay for my birthday then?" Viggo begs sweetly, holding up one hand and staring at his fingers for a moment before folding down his pinky. Then he changes his mind, raises it again, and folds down his thumb instead. "I'm gonna be _this_ many!"

Zac gives me an entirely helpless look. He hates saying no to his nieces and nephews, but right now it's all he can do. And I can't change that. Nothing they're asking him is all that unreasonable, and yet for very valid reasons, he can't agree to any of it. He can't stay for another month, and he can't stay for another two weeks. He has children of his own to get home to, and a mess of a marriage to clean up.

Or give up.

Either way, he can't do it from here.

"We'll see." He assures Viggo, doing his best not to lie but also to avoid flat-out saying "no" again.

Unfortunately, anything other than "no" means "yes" to an almost four-year-old, and I instantly see Viggo's eyes light up with hope and excitement. Great. That gives me two weeks to come up with something for us to do on his birthday that's _so_ awesome, he won't be too heartbroken when Zac doesn't put in an appearance.

After dinner we head home, and Zac watches 'The Amazing Spider-Man' with River and Ezra in the family room while Penny scribbles away in her sketch book, and I try to get Viggo and Asta to sleep. Viggo puts up more of a fight than usual, because Zac is here and he's over-excited and wants to stay up late with his brothers. And while I totally understand that desire, and I agree with his argument that it's unfair, he's still technically only three-years-old.

I really hate how often it's necessary to be the bad guy for the good of your kids.

By ten o'clock, everyone aged ten and under is in bed and asleep. I wander through the quiet house in search of my little brother, and eventually find him standing in the middle of the movie room. I don't say anything as I come to a slow stop just inside the doorway, but somehow I can tell that he's aware of my presence, even with his back to me. He stares silently at the blank projector screen in front of him for moment or two longer, and then finally turns to face me.

"River said this was 'Tommy's movie room'?" He asks with a small smile.

"Yeah."

"You seriously gave him a _room_ for his birthday?"

"Seemed like the thing to do." I shrug, stepping further into the room with him. "He likes movies."

"A normal person would just get him some DVDs or something." He chuckles, shaking his head at me as he walks over to the recliners to sit down. But then he hesitates. "Am I allowed?"

If it was anyone else asking the question, I'd laugh it off and tell them to go right ahead. But knowing how Tommy feels about him, I find myself feeling almost guilty as I nod for him to take a seat. He settles himself down into one of the black leather chairs, letting his body relax a little before fully reclining it and giving a loud sigh of contentment and comfort.

"I need to get one of these."

"They're pretty addictive." I agree, taking a seat beside him and reclining. "Tommy and the kids spent half of this week down here. I'm surprised they didn't leave imprints."

He turns his head against the chair to look at me, that small smile still lingering on his lips. It strikes me as sad, and accepting at the same time. Like someone who has lost something they loved, but understands that they were never meant to keep it forever.

"You're happy, huh?" He finally asks. "I mean, aside from the stupid gossip column crap, and the custody bullshit... you're happy."

"Yeah... yeah, I am." I smile back at him. "It hasn't exactly been the easiest few months of my life, and I know it's not going to get better anytime soon, but... it's _so_ worth it."

"Do you miss the band?"

I never would've thought I'd need to give that question a moment of thought, but when I open my mouth to answer him, I find myself pausing to do exactly that. It's not as simple as saying "yes" or "no". Once upon a time, it would have been that black and white. If the band had been pulled out from under me five or ten years ago, I wouldn't have known what the fuck to do with myself. It would have been like someone stealing a deep sea diver's oxygen supply.

I honestly don't know if I could have survived without the band back then.

But now...

"I miss making music with you." I tell him honestly. "And I miss the rush of playing shows for people."

"But?"

"I don't know..." I shrug, trying to find the words to explain it to him. "I gave up the band because I felt like I had to for my kids. But now that it's done... it's almost a relief. I love music, I will always, _always_ love music. It's in my blood, it's in my _soul_ , I could never stop making it or playing it _completely_. And I know we always said that if we weren't the band we'd go crazy... but sometimes I think that I was starting to go crazy _because_ of it."

He smirks at me, but that melancholy is still right beneath the surface. "Starting to?"

"Shut up."

"I know what you mean, though. You've been two different people for as long as I can remember. Maybe more than two."

"You make it sound like I had some kind of split personality disorder." I laugh softly, trying to disguise the discomfort I feel as I admit to myself that it's probably not a completely unfair assessment of my mental health.

"Well, you kinda did. I mean, deep down you were you. The _real_ Taylor. And then you felt like you had to be this other Taylor for our family, and another Taylor for our fans... you were always under some kind of pressure to be someone you weren't. You put on a show even when you weren't on stage. Your whole life was basically a performance, and you didn't know how to make it stop. That's enough to drive _anyone_ insane."

"I did it to myself."

"Only because you thought you _had_ to."

"I was wrong, though." I acknowledge, wishing it hadn't taken me almost thirty years to figure it out. "Obviously I was wrong, because I stopped being all those things I thought I had to be. I stopped pretending, and now I'm just _me_ , and... I'm okay. I'm better than okay."

"But what're you gonna do now?" He asks curiously. "Not that you necessarily need to do anything-"

"Oh, no, I _need_ to do _something_." I quickly correct him. "Sitting on my ass all day doing nothing would _definitely_ drive me insane!"

"So what's the plan?"

"Honestly? I've been asking myself that question ever since I got here, and I still have no fucking idea." I confess uneasily, staring up into the recessed lights above us and sighing deeply at the thought of it all."I feel like I could do pretty much whatever I want, there's nothing stopping me. I could... try to get into photography more seriously, or look into taking some creative writing classes or something. Or maybe I could write or produce music for other bands. Alex keeps saying we should do something together, even if it's just a little side project that never makes any money. But then there's this voice in my head that's all 'You have five kids and you're almost thirty! You need to be a responsible adult!'"

"What does being a responsible adult even _mean_ , though?" He chuckles softly. "It's not like you have to pinch pennies and work two jobs to keep your kids fed."

"I know, but I don't wanna get complacent and just... stop, you know? Maybe I don't _desperately_ need the money right now, but I might one day. Besides, you know me; I'm not someone who can just say 'I'm done. I achieved my goals. I'm gonna do nothing for the next sixty years!'"

"You're not likely to live that long anyway."

"Thanks."

He finally grins, one of those _real_ Zac grins that I've missed so much. "I'm just sayin'."

"Whatever. I don't wanna waste the rest of my life just because I've been working my ass off since I was a kid. I don't know _how_ to stop, it feels wrong to not have a plan. I've _never_ not had a plan, or a goal, or something I was working towards."

"Well, for right now maybe you should just work towards getting Pam off of your back and getting Perez Hilton to stop writing articles about you full of shitty 'MMMBop' puns."

If only that last one was a possibility. "I'll get right on that."

"Have you talked to Tommy about all of this?"

"Not really. I mean... he knows I'm still figuring out my next move, but mostly we're just kinda taking things one day at a time, as much as possible."

"Is he gonna keep playing with Adam?"

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't he?"

He shrugs simply, turning his face away from mine. "Because he'll probably have to travel _a lot_. Sometimes to the other side of the world for weeks, maybe even months at a time."

Ouch, ouch, _ouch_. "So?"

"So... if he's gone all the time, where does that leave you?"

"Here." I reply, because it's the only honest answer to his question there is.

"Are you okay with that?" He asks concernedly, looking me in the eyes once again. "Being a stay-at-home dad while he's off being a rock star? It's a _big_ change of pace."

"I know, but... I'm actually really fine with it." He seems a little skeptical. Maybe more than a little. And while I understand where he's coming from, and why he might think I'd have a problem with sitting back and letting Tommy jet off around the world without me, that's not the way it is at all. "I'm not saying I don't miss him like crazy when he's gone, because nothing could be further from the truth. It hurts like hell, and most days I'd do _anything_ just to see him for a few seconds. But... it's his dream job. And I want that for him more than I want him for myself. I had my turn in the spotlight, I've been on one stage or another since I was eight-years-old, I've traveled the world. I've done the sold-out concert thing, and the nationally televised performance thing, and the autograph signing, and picture taking, and living off of a tour bus. And I _loved_ it... but I'm okay letting it go. At least for now. I _need_ to be with my kids right now just as much as they need to be with me. And Tommy's only _just_ getting started. He's not like us, Zac, his dreams didn't come true when he was a kid. He's been working for this his _whole_ life and now he _finally_ has it. There's no way in hell I'd ever ask him to give it up."

"You've really got it _bad_." He snorts, shaking his head at me in amazement. "It's completely sickening."

"Good."

"I'm really glad you found someone, Tay." He tells me with complete sincerity as his hand settles over mine on the arm rest and he laces our fingers. "You had to wait long enough."

I squeeze his hand tightly, my eyes locked with his as I murmur a heartfelt "thank you". Not only for what he's just said to me, but for everything else he's done that helped to lead me here, knowingly or not. If it wasn't for him, for everything we've been though, both good and bad, none of this would have happened.

I wouldn't have even met Tommy if Zac hadn't refused to go to Adam's concert with me. If he hadn't kicked up such a stink about the whole thing, I wouldn't have gone to SNAFU after the show rather than going straight back to our hotel. I still believe that eventually, someday, my path would have crossed with Tommy's; I can't imagine never knowing him _at all_. But I don't know when or how it would have happened. It might have taken _years_. I could still be living in Tulsa, not sitting in my dream house in Los Angeles. And Tommy could be anywhere, doing anything. I wouldn't even know to look for him, let alone how to find him...

I know exactly where he is right now, though. The only thing I _don't_ know is why I'm not there with him.

"Zac?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you do me _huge_ a favor?"

I can tell by the look on his face that he knows exactly what I'm about to say. It's that mocking and yet affectionate 'Jeez, you're pathetic' look that I've been getting from him all my life. "I was wondering how long that'd take."

"I'm sorry-"

" _Go_." He rolls his eyes, waving me towards the door. "Just remember, you owe me!"

If only he had _any_ idea how much.

On my way out of the house, I grab a spare comforter and pillow from one of the hall closets and set them up on the couch for Zac. But that's all I stop to do before jumping in my car and driving straight out to Burbank. Every mile I travel closer to Tommy, the smile on my face spreads a little wider and my body begins to practically _pulse_ with increasing anticipation. It's stupid, I saw him yesterday. But it doesn't matter how much or how little sense it makes for me to be this excited to see him again. The fact is, I still _am_.

Mike answers the apartment door when I knock, and he opens it further to invite me in without a word. I ask him how it's going, because I want to at least acknowledge his existence before making a beeline for his roommates bed, and we exchange brief pleasantries as I inch my way across the living room. It's obvious that there are other places I'd rather be, and Mike doesn't seem the least bit offended when he tells me to "go on in" and then returns to the TV show he was watching before I arrived. Even though I have his blessing to enter Tommy's room, I still knock before doing so. I receive a disinterested "yeah?" from the other side of the door, and I take _that_ as my invitation to enter.

Tommy doesn't even look over as I step into the room. He probably assumes I'm Mike, and he doesn't see any reason to tear his gaze away from the movie he's watching on the small TV at the foot of his bed. It makes me stop, just for a second, just long enough to feel a pang of sadness. Because he should be at _home_ , watching whatever this is on the one-hundred-and-six inch projector screen in _his_ movie room.

I make it all the way across the room without so much as a glance from him, and it's not until I begin to climb onto the bed with him that he moves. And when I say "moves", I mean he jumps across the mattress in surprise and almost falls off of the other side of the bed.

"It's just me!" I chuckle softly, grabbing his arm to help him regain his balance. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Little tip: next time, try fucking saying 'hi' or something before you get into bed with someone!"

"Hi." I offer sheepishly, and he glares back at me. "How's it going?"

"Fuck you." He snorts as I lay down on the mattress beside him and drape an arm across his stomach. "What the hell are you even _doing_ here?"

 "Snuggling."

"Loser." Even as he says the word, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and holds me closer.

I don't think I could possibly feel any _less_ like a loser right now.

 


	61. Chapter 61

  


 

 

I wake up before Tommy the next morning, which tends to be the case more often than not. He usually falls asleep just before I do, and he sleeps at least a few minutes longer than me, too. I chalk it up to his body recovering from the lack of sleep it apparently gets whenever we're apart.

I kinda love these moments.

It gives me the chance to simply look at him without him stuffing his head under a pillow (or hitting me in the face with one). For all of that 'fuck what everyone else thinks' attitude, he's still insanely self-conscious sometimes, even with me. Especially first thing in the morning when his hair is a mess, and his face is bare, and he has no idea what he looks like.

But the bed hair, and stubble, and morning breath don't make him any less beautiful to me.

My eyes are drawn to his lips, at first. _Always_ his lips. They're slightly parted, and they look a _little_ drier than they do when he's awake, but still incredibly soft. I want to lean in and run the tip of my tongue across them, but I don't want to risk waking him up. Not yet. My gaze travels slowly higher, to that pretty little nose which makes me smile for reasons I can't even explain, and then higher still, to his peacefully closed eyes. His lashes are ridiculously long. The night I met him, I thought that maybe they were fake, or maybe the makeup made them look longer than they actually were. And when he's wearing makeup they _do_ look longer, but even without a shred of liner or shadow or _anything_ , they still kind of blow my mind.

My silent inspection of every last little (im)perfection on his face is interrupted by the sound of my phone vibrating on his nightstand. The noise causes him to stir in his sleep, and I pick the phone up quickly, even though it's too late to make it stop. The text I received is from Zac, and before I even read the message my eyes dart to the top of the screen to see what time it is. Nine-twenty isn't _so_ bad, but it's still later than I'd hoped it would be. And his text makes me feel like I need to get home sooner rather than later.

_Viggo is demanding to know where you are and when you'll be back._

I guess that's better than "Viggo is throwing a hysterical fit and I don't know what to do with him". But if I'm gone too much longer, that might be what it turns into.

There are still one or two things I _need_ to do before I go home, though.

_Can you hang in there until lunch? I need to do some shopping._

By the time he replies, Tommy is wriggling around beneath the sheets as he slowly regains consciousness, stretching and yawning and rubbing at his eyes. It's so fucking adorable that I can only bring myself to glance at Zac's text long enough to make sure he's okay with me staying out a little longer. And as soon as I know that he is, I put my phone down again and give Tommy my full attention.

"You're so cute when you're just waking up." I smirk smugly down at him, and he makes a noise of dissent before pulling the comforter over his head. "Come back!"

"Get lost!"

No chance.

I tug on the sheets, but he tugs back just as hard. So eventually I stop trying to get him to come out from under them, and instead I burrow my way beneath the comforter with him. He clearly didn't see that change of tactic coming, because as soon as he realizes what I'm doing, he cries out in protest and amusement. I try to pull him closer, but he continues putting up a fight. His giggles are muffled by the fabric surrounding us, but somehow they still ring in my ears loud and clear, and it's one of the _best_ sounds in the whole fucking world. I finally manage to pin his kicking legs and flailing arms to the bed and climb on top of him, but before I can attempt to steal a kiss, he's using all of his strength to push me off of him and onto my back. And then he's on top of me.

The cycle repeats itself a couple more times, until I find myself on top of him once again. I thrust my hips against his and find that he's as hard as I am. That one (mostly) unintentional move on my part leaves our erections pressed together and his mouth hanging open from a gasp of surprise and satisfaction. I grind into him again, slowly, precisely, until his fingers are digging into the skin at my waist and he's groaning into my mouth. The air in the confines of the comforter quickly begins to overheat with every breath we inhale and every moan we exhale, until our skin is suddenly damp with sweat and it's difficult to even breathe at all.

Impatient hands, both his and mine, bat at the sheets until we successfully push them over our heads. And then I force myself to stop kissing him just long enough to sit up and shrug the fabric off of my back and down to our legs. We take a second, not even that long, to catch our breaths and enjoy the feel of cool air on our skin, and then my lips are on his again, his tongue eagerly seeking mine as we resume the perfect rhythm we'd found.

Sometimes, in moments like this, I can't imagine anything feeling any better than my body moving against his. I know I could come from doing this, and only this, and the thought of stopping, of doing _anything_ else seems absurd. It feels _so_ good, I just want to keep going. But we both know that there's more, that we can feel even better, no matter how unfathomable that may seem. So this is _never_ all we do, rubbing up against each other like a couple of horny fifteen-year-olds who aren't quite ready to go any further.

We're always _more_ than ready.

He slips his hands around the backs of my thighs, pulling me closer. At least, that's what I assume he's doing at first. It doesn't take me long to realize that he's not trying to control the amount of pressure or force in each roll of my lower body against his, he's trying to coax me forwards. Gently coaxing becomes wordlessly _demanding_ , and I obediently shift myself higher, until I'm straddling his chest rather than his hips. As soon as I'm where he wants me, his lips are wrapped around me, and I'm so deep inside his mouth _so_ suddenly, I almost double over from the shock of the sensation.

My palm lands against the wall above his bed with a loud thud, and I use it to hold myself up and keep myself steady as he greedily explores every inch of me. His thumbs settle over my hipbones and his fingers curl into my flesh, both feeling me move as I mindlessly buck against his lips, and _urging_ me to do so at the same time. As I regain some semblance of control over my own body, he relinquishes a little of his, allowing his hands to roam up my sides, over my chest, down across my stomach, and then back the way they just came. He keeps his touch feather light, and the contrast between his gentle fingertips and his persistent mouth is overwhelming in all the right ways.

His right hand begins to creep higher, splaying out over my chest, molding perfectly around my throat as it passes over it, searching for something...

His index finger pushes against my lips, and I willingly take it into my mouth and suck _hard_. I can't help it. He moans around me, sending a shock of pleasure through me. It feels so fucking incredible that I immediately suck even harder, causing him to do the same. I can hardly think to _breathe_ as his middle finger forces it's way past my lips, my whole body is shaking, and I'm running on pure instinct. And when he abruptly pulls his hand away from my mouth and moves it to my ass instead, my first instinct is to gasp his name and push back against his fingers as he begins to press and stroke them against me.

Every move either of us makes results in me whimpering, or groaning, or making a sound that I'm not even sure there's a word for in the English language. I thrust forward into his hot, wet mouth, and back against his slick, hard fingers, over and over and _over_ , his name spilling from my mouth again and again and _again_.

It's too much!

My hand is practically clawing at the wall, and I'm afraid that my other hand is grabbing at his hair so desperately that I might be hurting him. But I don't hear a single sound of pain coming from him. I look down at him in breathless awe just as those big, sultry eyes of his happen to flicker up to meet my gaze, and I can _feel_ him willing me to come. As though it's his own release I'm withholding, not mine.

So I let go.

It feels like my orgasm lasts ten times longer than usual, even though there's no way it possibly could. It just seems to go on and on, and he doesn't miss a second of it. Even once those powerful waves of ecstasy begin to subside, he continues to stroke my softening erection, bringing me back to the here and now slowly rather than letting me come crashing down from this high too fast. My mind is so hazy, and I'm so blissed out, that I'm not really aware of anything he's doing unless he's doing it _to_ me. It barely registers that he reaches into his nightstand with his free hand and retrieves his lube, and I don't even give it a second of thought when I hear him flip the cap open with his thumb, or when I see him coat his erection before casting the bottle aside. And when his hands begin guiding me back down over his torso, I oblige without hesitation, gladly letting him do whatever he wants with me.

The fog lifts in an instant when I feel him start to push into me, and I inhale sharply in surprise. I hear myself say his name, and it sounds like a question, consent, and a plea all at once.

My body is still entirely spent from the incredible things he just did to it. I _wish_ I had the energy left to do the same for him, but all I can do is simply be here for him to do whatever the hell he wants with. Something tells me that's fine by him, though. He thrusts into me mercilessly, and even though there's no way I can possibly come again, it still feels as amazing as it always does. It makes me want to get off again so badly, to the point where it borders on being painful to know that I can't. That familiar pressure is building up inside of me, but I have no way to release it, so it continues building and building and building, until I feel as though I can't take it, I can't handle it!

He grunts with every push deep inside me, until I just about go limp over him, boneless and barely able to hold myself up. As soon as my mouth is close enough to kiss, he grasps a handful off my hair and crushes his lips to mine in a sloppy, breathless embrace. And somewhere in between each kiss, he tells me how good I taste, how amazing I feel, how badly he wants me. He demands that I tell him I'm his, and even though it feels impossible to get a single, intelligible word out, _those_ words roll off of my tongue without any trouble at all, as naturally as breathing.

His hands fall to my hips, tightening their controlling grasp. He keeps me right where he wants me, right where he _needs_ me as he carelessly thrusts into me one last time, with so much intensity that it feels as though he literally forces a choked " _fuck_ " out of me as he comes.

Even while _he's_ struggling to catch his breath, he gently strokes _my_ back and scatters kisses across my shoulder as I bury my face in the crook of his neck. All I can focus on is how hard his heart is beating against my chest, and how _my_ body is still reacting to every tiny after-shock of _his_ orgasm. But after a moment or two, his body is shaking for an entirely different reason, so I summon the small amount of strength I've regained and push myself up on unsteady arms to look at his flushed face.

"What's so funny?" I smile as he runs a hand through his unruly hair and continues laughing to himself. "What?"

"You were so _loud_."

"Nuh-uh!"

"I think I heard Mike _leave_ at one point, you were making _that_ much noise." He tells me smugly. "It was really fucking hot."

Great. Now I'm blushing. "Shut up."

"If you're gonna pout, you're gonna pay for it." He reaches up and pulls me down into a lazy, shudder-inducing kiss. The way his tongue teases mine and grazes over my lips is so erotic, I actually feel another twinge of arousal. "I guess there are still a few perks to me having my own place."

I hate to admit it, but he kinda has a point there. "We could always just sound proof my bedroom."

"Isn't the movie room pretty much sound proof?" He inquires with a playful gleam in his eyes. "And those recliners are nice and big..."

"That's true..."

"We could watch porn on the big screen while we're fucking."

Now _I'm_ the one who's laughing. "I don't know... I enjoy the male form as much as the next gay guy, but I don't really find the idea of seeing a nut sack the size of a Volkswagen all that appealing."

"Good point." He cringes. "Besides, you make better porn noises than the pros."

"Thank you."

"And you're _way_ louder than that sound system, too."

"Fuck off!" I demand as I struggle to suppress a smile, grabbing the pillow from beside his head and holding it over his face. "I'm _not_ that loud!"

Whatever he's saying is obscured by the pillow, but I don't need to hear every word to know that he's mocking me. He's imitating my sex noises, and doing it boisterously enough that it's obvious even with the pillow over his face. And damn it, even though he's making fun of me, he still sounds hot doing it!

There goes another jolt of excitement...

All I really want to do is pull the pillow off of his head and kiss him. We could spend what little time we have left together before I have to get home rolling around under his sheets, attempting to get each other off again even though it feels completely hopeless right now. But if we do that, we won't get to do what I originally had in mind for us this morning.

So, I put on my responsible adult pants and carefully climb off of him and off of the bed. By the time he's swatted the pillow away, I'm completely (and intentionally) out of his reach, and he looks incredibly unhappy about it.

"Where are you going?" He whines as I quickly pull on my underwear and jeans, just in case Mike _didn't_ leave. "Stop putting clothes on!"

"I'm gonna take a shower so we can go out."

"Where?"

"Shopping."

A frown crinkles his brow as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. " _Why_? We just went grocery shopping, and you have enough Thanksgiving leftovers to feed your kids till Christmas!"

"Not that kind of shopping." I smirk at him, throwing a discarded pair of black jeans and a slightly crumpled t-shirt onto the bed. "Get up!"

"Make me." He replies with a devilish grin.

Don't tempt me, Tommy.

I'm half expecting to find him still lounging in bed when I get out of the shower and come back to his room. But instead I find him in the kitchen, fully dressed and devouring a slice of toast. Without a word he walks over to me and holds the last half of his breakfast out for me to take a bite, and as soon as I sink my teeth into it he lets go and walks off towards the bathroom. I smile as I lick the melted butter from my top lip and watch him go, enjoying the sheer simplicity of this moment. How effortless we are together.

Once he's done brushing his teeth and taming his hair a little, he grabs his jacket and a pair of shades to hide his unlined eyes (and to shield them from that pesky sun he hates so much), and we head out to my car. He pesters me about where we're going and what we're shopping for as I take the route my iPhone GPS suggested to me while he was in the bathroom, but I shrug his questions off and tell him to "wait and see".

Which gets me cussed out more than a couple of times.

When I pull up outside the furniture store, he gives me one hell of a strange look. Apparently he's forgotten about my promise to take him bed shopping, and I don't bother reminding him as we get out of the car and he badgers me with questions about what new furniture I could possibly need. He's so busy making cracks about me building him his own guitar showroom or his own sauna that he follows me into the store without bothering to take in his surroundings. If he'd stop being a smart ass for two seconds, he'd notice that we're adrift in a sea mattresses and headboards.

"Tommy?"

"What?" I gesture to our surroundings, and he pauses for a moment to take it all in. And _then_ he gets it. "I thought you were kidding about us trying out mattresses."

"Nope."

He looks around us again, this time a little self-consciously. "You really think we should be bouncing around on beds in full view of everyone right now?"

"I think we're at a random furniture warehouse in Burbank. The only ones here who might take a picture of us are the sales people, and even if they do... so what?" I shrug unconcernedly. "Let them take as many pictures as they want. Let everyone. I don't care, it's done, we're out. I want to buy a bed with my boyfriend, and if someone thinks that's fascinating enough to share with Perez Hilton or TM-fucking-Z, so be it."

 The smile on his face strikes me as proud, maybe even a little excited. I don't know if it's what I've just said, or the fact that I said it and meant it, but something definitely struck a chord in him. I can't feel a trace of worry coming from him anymore.

He pushes his shades up into his hair, using them to hold his bangs away from his face as he glances around us and tries to decide where to start. "Do you wanna pick the bed or the mattress first?"

"Hmm... bed?"

I lace my fingers with his as we begin to browse the selection of frames and headboards the store has to offer. Some of them, like the ones with overly ornate metalwork that strike me as something "princessy" my daughter might choose, are out of the question. And I think it's safe to assume that he prefers the darker woods and fabrics to the lighter ones.

We stop to admire some of the sleeker leather styles,  with clean lines and no frills. But then he notices one nearby that has an espresso stained wood surround with silver, horizontal cross bars. He gives me one of those seductive little looks he's so expert at as he remarks that it'd be "good to have something to hold on to". And as much as I'm enjoying where this train of thought is taking him, when a store clerk approaches us while he's busy asking me how I feel about handcuffs, I clear my throat loudly to silence him.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" She asks with a polite smile.

"No, thanks. We're just looking for now."

"Well let me know if you see anything you like. We have a holiday weekend sale on, and delivery is free within thirty miles!"

This day just keeps getting better and better! "Thanks."

"Cassie." She informs me, holding her hand out for me to shake.

It's kinda weird, but I do it anyway. "Uh... thanks, Cassie. We'll give you a shout if we find something."

"Take your time."

"She _likes_ you." Tommy taunts as soon as she's out of earshot again. "I bet she'd fucking _love_ to ass-ist you in try out some of those mattresses."

"Pity she's not my type." I sigh in feigned disappointment, snaking my arms around his waist and pulling him up against me. "She'll just have to settle for watching you ass-ist me instead."

"I can only 'ist' you. I don't have an ass."

"Could've fooled me." I murmur against his lips as I playfully grab his "non-existent" butt. "Size doesn't matter."

"Maybe not back there..."

"You have nothing to complain about up front, either." I remind him, nudging him with my hips before pecking his lips and letting him go. "So are you serious about the one with the bars?"

"Mmm... semi-serious." He muses, running his fingers over the smooth metal. "What do you think?"

"I'm kinda between this one and that faux leather one we liked before."

"Yeah... that one was pretty nice." After looking back and forth between them for a few seconds, he sighs in defeat and pulls a quarter out of the pocket of his jeans. "Heads is leather."

"Do it."

He flips the coin into the air and catches it, holding it against the back of his left hand as he waits for me to move closer and see which headboard we're going to be getting. I find myself biting my lip as he _slowly_ lifts his right hand, and just before the coin is revealed, a voice in my head starts chanting 'leather, leather, leather'...

"Heads." He smiles genuinely as I exhale a satisfied (and relieved) breath. "Ain't _nothing_ wrong with a little leather in the bedroom."

"No, sir."

With our new headboard and bed frame selected, we make our way over to the mattresses. I have a feeling this decision won't be quite as simple, partly because there are about three times as many options, and partly because of all of the different factors to consider. Do we want a regular mattress, or memory foam? Plush or firm? Pillow top, _super_ pillow top, or no pillow top at all?

Sensing how overwhelmed we are, the sales clerk swoops right in and starts throwing around phrases like "body-aligning", "allergen resistant", and "motion transfer". I have no clue what she's talking about half the time, but she seems very enthusiastic about it all as she encourages us to test out bed after bed after bed. Eventually I tune her out and focus on how the beds feel instead of the impressive list of features she's apparently memorized about every last one of them. After lying on about two dozen mattresses, Tommy and I happen to look at each other as we're trying out something called a TEMPUR-Cloud Supreme. I can't tell whether we agree on the mattress or on the fact that we're both sick of hearing the word "comfort", but we definitely agree on _something_ , and that's good enough for me!

"We'll take it!"

She tries to get us to go for a couple of TEMPUR-Neck Pillows as well, but I'm more than happy with my regular pillows, so I respectfully decline the opportunity to throw more of my money at her. I do end up paying for 'expedited delivery', though, because their free delivery wouldn't get us our new bed until next week. And thanks to my impressive lack of planning, I need it this weekend so that Jenna can have my old bed when she gets here on Monday!

"How're you gonna get your bed down to the guest house?" Tommy asks as I drive him back to his apartment. "Will it even fit through the bedroom door?"

"Not as-is, but I'll just do what the movers did when I moved in. I'll take it apart in my room, move it piece by piece, and set it up out there."

"The mattress is still fucking heavy." He points out. "I guess Zac can help you, though."

I don't think he _meant_ to sound bitter, but I also don't think he can do much to control it, either. "Yeah. And I can always try to rope Alex into helping if we run into any problems. His rates are pretty reasonable."

"Won't _that_ be fun." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes the way his real smiles always do.

"You know... you _could_ come and lend a hand?" I suggest, hoping like hell that he doesn't get pissy with me for bringing it up.

But he merely shakes his head. "Actually, I can't. I already have plans."

"Oh?"

"I'm hanging out with some friends this afternoon." He informs me, this time with a more genuine smile. "I figured I should make the most of the free time. My social life has been totally fucking non-existent since you moved into town."

I'm not entirely sure how to take that comment. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I didn't mean it as a bad thing." He assures me, and he makes it sound so simple and sincere that I can't possibly question whether or not he means it. "If I didn't wanna spend all my time at your place, I wouldn't. But I don't wanna be one of those people who's like so completely wrapped up in their relationship that they never see their friends anymore. I _hate_ those people."

"I _am_ those people." I tease.

"You are not. You were just talking about having Alex come over."

"Does that _really_ count as a social life, though?"

"It beats the social life _I've_ had this month. I mean, other than hanging out with the band in South Africa, which doesn't count because it wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for my job, I haven't really spent time with anyone besides you and the kids."

"Well... if you need a break-"

"That's not what I'm saying." He insists. "I don't need or want a break, I _want_ to be with you. I just wanna make sure we find some kind of balance or whatever, you know? For both our sakes."

"I know. And I totally agree."

"Good. It makes my life a hell of a lot easier when you just smile and look pretty."

"Shut up!" I try to sound offended, but I have a feeling that my laughter totally negated my outraged expression.

"And hey, while we're on the subject of social lives, make sure you don't forget about the party."

"Party?" I frown, because apparently I already _have_ forgotten. "There's a party?"

He rolls his eyes at me before giving me his ' _really_ , Taylor?' look. I kinda love that he actually has looks specifically related to me now, even if they're not always pleasant. "Penny's friend's birthday party. It's today, remember? She brought the invitation home earlier this week..."

"Oh." Shit. I guess I'll have to find time this afternoon to take her out gift shopping. I _really_ need to invest in a calendar or something, I don't even know what day of the week it is half the time! "Yeah... I've got it covered."

"Liar."

"You're right, I _totally_ forgot. But that's why you can't leave me by myself!" I tease him (but really, it's not far from the truth). "I'm likely to lose a kid and burn the house down. I'm a really _bad_ parent!"

"You're so full of shit." He shakes his head at me, staring straight ahead out of the windshield as we pull onto his street. "And you're _not_ 'by yourself'."

Ugh. I wish we wouldn't keep coming back to that. "It's just for a couple more days."

"Okay."

I don't even know what to say in response to that, so I don't say anything at all. We've had an amazing morning together, and I don't want to ruin it by pushing this and possibly starting a fight. I just have to accept the fact that he hates my brother, and that nothing I say or do is going to change that. Maybe nothing ever will, and honestly... that's a pretty scary thought. Because I don't want him disappearing every time Zac pays a visit, and I don't want Zac feeling unwelcome here. I love them both, and maybe it's selfish, but I want to have them _both_ in my life. I want to be able to spend time with both of them, in the same place, at the _same_ time! I want to be able to invite Alex over this afternoon and hang out with all three of them, and have it not be completely weird.

But that's clearly not on the agenda for today.

"So I guess... I'll talk to you later." He says once the car comes to a stop in front of his apartment building.

"Okay."

"Good luck with moving the bed and everything."

"Thanks."

He leans across the gear shift to kiss me gently, but just as he starts to pull away and open the passenger side door, I hold him back. Maybe this is a mistake, but I'd rather risk it than simply let him get out of the car and walk away.

"They said they'd deliver the new bed before six."

He frowns faintly, unsure of why I felt the need to remind him of that. "So?"

"So... we were supposed to break it in together." I point out, hoping I don't sound as manipulative as I feel. I don't _want_ to guilt him into coming over tonight, but... "I don't want to sleep in it for the first time without you."

"Taylor-"

"You don't have to talk to Zac. You don't even have to _see_ him. I'll text you once he's asleep, you can come over, stay the night, and leave before everyone wakes up." I can tell from the look in his eyes that I've got his attention. He wants to be with me tonight as badly as _I_ want him to be. He just needs that one, last nudge. "Come on... don't you wanna see if that TEMPUR-material really 'springs back' as fast as Cassie said it would?" He bites his lips together, fighting back a smirk. "We could conduct all kinds of research on just how well the 'non-skid bottom' keeps the mattress in place."

 He snickers as he elbows me playfully in the ribs and dodges my attempts to kiss him. "You suck."

"I do! And that's yet another reason you _know_ you wanna stop by..."

After giving it another moment of consideration, which I'm pretty sure has more to do with him not wanting to seem like a push over than him actually needing more time to weigh his options, he heaves a grudging sigh.

And I grin as I lean into him and peck his pouting lips. 


	62. Chapter 62

  


 

 

I don't believe that children need a mother _and_ a father.

I don't believe that they are necessarily better off with both. There are amazing single moms and dads out there, and I think same sex couples are just as capable of raising a child as heterosexual couples. Sometimes even more so, depending on the parents in question. What children need is love. There are plenty of other opportunities out there for them to learn "gender roles", if that's what people are worried about. Having two moms won't make a boy "sissy", and having two dads won't make a girl "butch", just like having heterosexual parents doesn't automatically mean a child will grow up straight, and having gay parents won't "turn" them gay.

That is my _sincere_ belief.

Having said that...

I suck at buying gifts for eight-year-old girls!

Natalie was so much better at this stuff than I am. She didn't even need to take Penny to the store with her to pick out the gift, she'd just get the perfect thing! She knew what was and wasn't "in", and what was and wasn't age appropriate. I have _no_ fucking clue! I suggested we get Penny's friend a My Little Pony, but as soon as the words left my mouth Penny gave me this look that clearly said, "what are we, _five_?!"

I could almost _hear_ her tell me how embarrassing I was being.

We ended up getting a sixteen piece, light-up makeup station (much to my dismay). I don't think eight-year-olds should own makeup, aside from some sparkly nail polish, maybe, so buying a _sixteen_ piece set felt incredibly wrong. But Penny was _adamant_ that it was what her friend would want, that she liked makeup more than _anything_ (again, _so_ wrong). And since none of my suggestions had been met with anything besides eye-rolling and those deeply ashamed looks, and we were running out of time, I caved and bought the damn makeup kit.

Honestly, I don't particularly care what this girl does to her face, she's not my kid. What got to me was the idea that, sooner rather than later, Penny is going to start wanting sixteen piece make-up kits for Christmas and her birthday. She's going to be putting on eye shadow, and lipstick, and blush. I thought I had another five years until I'd have to seriously start worrying about this stuff, but it's happening _now_. She's already a different person when it comes to her friends. When she's at home, when it's just us, she's my little girl. She wants me to win her stuffed 'Winnie The Pooh' characters and watch 'Beauty and the Beast' with her, and she'll happily play in her room with her My Little Ponies and princess dolls for _hours_. But today I realized that she's not going to want those things for much longer; she's already shunning them for fear of what her friends might think.

She's _seven_.

Since when did seven-year-olds have reputations to worry about?!

At least one thing I don't have to worry about is who will teach her about makeup when she starts wanting to wear it. I'm sure most single or widowed fathers have that concern, but since the guy I'm dating knows how to expertly wield an eyeliner pencil, and is good friends with a professional makeup artist, I'm not too worried about that aspect of her adolescence. And with Jenna staying in our guest house, she'll have someone close by who can help her with any other "female issues" that she might not feel comfortable coming to me or Tommy about.

In the end, I didn't really have too much time to dwell on how quickly my daughter is growing up, or how disturbing it is that eight-year-old girls prefer to get makeup for their birthday rather than dolls or plastic tea sets. I had to get home and dismantle my bed, and at least move the pieces out into the hallway before the new bed was delivered. Zac helped as much as he could, but it wasn't easy for us to move a king-size mattress _and_ keep an eye on five kids between the two of us. So I ended up texting Alex and asking him to come over and help with the heavy lifting.

Or maybe I texted him that Zac was in town and asked if he wanted to come over for dinner. And bring beer. And _maybe_ I didn't mention the king-size mattress that I wanted his help moving to another building...

I know, I'm a terrible person.

But Alex being Alex, he simply made some cracks about how he would add it to the list of "favors" I owed him, and I promised him that someday I would find a way to repay him. He never seems to mind how vague of a time-frame "someday" is. Probably because he doesn't seriously expect me to repay him, and he knows that "someday" is never actually going to come. But even though I'm never going to perform those "favors" he pretends to want from me, I _will_ find a way to make this up to him.

This and everything else he's done for me.

It's more than a little weird to hang out with Alex and Zac as though everything is and always has been normal between the three of us. As if Zac never cared that Alex and I slept together. As if Alex has no idea that Zac and I were ever in love. It feels fake, but it's _not_. I know them both well enough to tell when they're lying or putting on an act of some kind, and I can tell that neither of them are as we sit down to dinner in the dining room, while River and Viggo play at being Avengers in the adjoining family room. Our past is our past, and our present is something separate. None of us are ex-lovers, or ex-rivals, or ex-anything. We're just friends.

I only wish Tommy could be here, too. I understand why it's too hard for him right now, but I hope that it doesn't take him another ten years to get to this place of peace that the three of us have found ourselves in.

"I thought I heard that Phantom Planet was getting back together?" Asks Zac as he polishes off his hard-earned cheese burger. "Are you guys already on hiatus again?"

"No. Well..." Alex considers the question for a moment, apparently unsure of the answer himself. "Not officially. I guess technically, since we're all busy with other stuff. But we get together and jam whenever we're all in town and can find a day to spare. It's just been a busy summer."

"I really liked ' _Suicide Pact_ ', though."

"Thanks, man. I was a little surprised by how many people were into it, honestly."

"You had like five pre-built-in fandoms working for you." Zac points out with a soft chuckle while Alex shrugs and sips his beer.

"It can go either way. Just 'cause someone's a fan of the band you were in before, doesn't mean they'll like the music you're making with your new band, you know? I mean, not all your guy's fans like Tinted Windows, right? And JJAMZ isn't Phantom Planet, or Maroon 5, so there's no guarantee that fans of those bands are gonna be into it."

"Your fans follow you everywhere." I nudge him playfully. "They think you're a musical genius."

"I am!" He declares, sitting up a little straighter in his chair as Zac pretends to throw up in his mouth. "Don't act like you don't love me."

"Love is a strong word..."

"Okay, how about worship?"

Zac snorts, covering his mouth to prevent any of the Dr Pepper he just drank from escaping. "How about respect as a fellow musician?"

"Whatever. I'm the shit and you know it."

"Yes, you are a shit."

I don't want to laugh, but I can't help it as I watch Alex scowl across the table at my smug little brother. " _The_ shit."

"You are king of _all_ the shit."

"Make it stop!" Alex commands me.

"I'm his _brother_ , not his mother." I remind him, holding my hands up to show my ineffectuality in this little squabble they're having. "Leave me out of it."

"Yeah, _brother_ fucker." Zac goads him.

"Look who's talking!" Remarks Alex thoughtlessly. But it takes less than a second for him to realize what he's just inadvertently done. "And look who shouldn't talk again _ever_..."

I'm honestly not sure I've ever seen my little brother look as pale as he does right now, _or_ as stunned. Maybe the day I told him that Natalie was pregnant and that I was planning to marry her, but definitely not since then. And I feel awful, because if I'd just told him that Alex knew about us he wouldn't be on the verge of puking right now.

"It's okay." I insist, trying to rectify the situation as quickly as possible. "He's not gonna tell anyone."

" _You_ told _him_ , though!" He accuses, his voice barely above a whisper for fear that someone else might overhear this conversation. "That's bad enough!"

"I _didn't_ tell him, I _swear_."

"It's true." Adds Alex quickly. "No one told me, I just... knew."

"Right."

"I did!"

"Since when?" Zac questions anxiously, still clearly disturbed by this turn of events. And I can't say I blame him. I'm a lot closer to Alex than he is, and even I had trouble dealing with the fact that he knew about our relationship.

"Since... I dunno." Alex shrugs, like it's not important. Because to him, it's not. To Zac, on the other hand, it's vital information. "Since right after I first met you guys, I guess."

" _Shit_ , are you _serious_?!"

"No one else knows." I try to reassure him again, pleading with him to stay calm and let this whole thing go. "He never told anyone-"

"How do you know?"

"Because Perez Hilton never wrote an article about us titled 'Hanson Brothers Like to MMMBop Each Other'!"

Alex immediately covers his mouth to keep himself from laughing out loud, and it's a struggle to keep a smile off of my face as he mutters "MMMBop each other" to himself and starts snickering away quietly beside me. And when I notice Zac's lips twitching in mild amusement, I feel an immense sense of relief wash over me.

"If you _ever_ tell _anyone_ , I will kill you _slowly_ with a drumstick. And they'll _never_ find your body."

"I believe you."

"Good." Zac mutters, taking a long, deep breath in an effort to compose himself.

"You know what, Tay?" Begins Alex, and I can already tell from his tone that he's about to say something completely inappropriate. And judging by the smirk he just cast my way, I'm betting it's going to make me want to crawl under the table and die. "If Tommy was here, you'd be having dinner with _all_ of the guys you've ever slept with."

"Thanks for pointing that out."

"How slutty do you feel right now?"

"Not very." I shrug, fixing him with a triumphant look as I inform him that, "Compared to you, I'm practically virginal."

"Touché."

"We should start a band." Zac chimes in helpfully, his smile growing wider by the second as Alex beams with pride over having initiated this humiliating topic of conversation. "We could call it Taylor Hanson and the Brotherfuckers."

"I hate you both." I mumble, though I'm actually finding it funnier than I'd like to admit.

I'm saved from further degradation by my phone ringing. But I'm sure they're both coming up with cringe-worthy album titles and song lyrics in their heads as I dig my iPhone out of my pocket, and I'll no doubt be hearing every last horrifying one them as soon as I hang up.

"Hello?"

"Hello..." Comes the unfamiliar and uncertain female voice on the other end of the line. "Is this Taylor Hanson?  
  
I don't know.

Last time a stranger came looking for me, it was to serve me with legal papers. I don't trust strangers anymore. "Uh... who's calling?"

"This is Janette Clemens... Rachel's mother?"

"Right." I knew that. What I don't know if why she's calling me when her daughter's birthday party wasn't supposed to end for another hour. "Is everything okay?"

"I think you should come and pick your daughter up."

Gee, way to put a father's mind at ease. "Why? What's wrong?"

"The girls seem to have had a little... falling out. Penny is taking it very hard, and she says she wants to go home."

"I'll be right there."

I don't even bother with a civilized goodbye, because it's obvious from this woman's tone that she doesn't think much of me _or_ Penny. I don't want to waste time being polite to her when I could be getting ready to go and get my kid.

Zac frowns as I get out of my seat and put my phone back in my pocket. "What's going on?"

"I have to go and pick Penny up. Can you watch the boys and check on Asta?"

"Yeah, sure. Is she okay?"

"I have no idea." I sigh anxiously, not even bothering to grab a jacket before making my way towards the front door with him hot on my heels. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

I've never had one of Penny's friend's parents call me to come and pick her up because she was upset before, and it was the last thing I was expecting to happen tonight. I spend the entire drive over to Rachel's house trying to keep myself calm and convince myself that it's nothing. Because, really, what the hell kind of drama could a bunch of seven and eight-year-old girls cook up? It's unlikely anything that will leave any permanent emotional scarring.

Unless it has something to do with Natalie...

The second I lay eyes on Penny, the only thing I want to do is gather her into my arms and carry her out of that house. Her face is pale, which makes the puffy redness around her eyes seem even more pronounced. She'll barely even look at me when I crouch down in front of her and ask her if she's alright, it's like she's ashamed or feels guilty for something. I thank Rachel's mom for calling me, and all I get in return is a tight smile before she basically shuts the front door on us.

"What happened, baby?" I murmur into her hair as she buries her face against my shoulder and clings to me. "Were they mean to you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Penny-"

"I just wanna go home." She sniffles, her already frail voice faltering as I feel tears soaking through my shirt. "Can we _please_ go home?"

"Yeah." I hold her a little tighter, stroking her back soothingly and wishing I could read her mind so that I could figure out what the hell those girls said or did to her. But I can't. "Let's go home."

She's silent for the entire car ride, and every time I open my mouth to ask her if she's okay, I stop myself from speaking. It's clear that she's _not_ okay, and it's just as clear that she doesn't want to tell me why. I can't help but think that if it was Natalie picking her up from the party, she'd have found out the whole story by now. She'd know just what to say, and Penny would have poured her heart out to her before she'd even started the car.

As soon as we get home, Penny goes straight to her bedroom without a word. I want to follow her, to find out what happened to her and find a way to fix it and make her feel better. I don't, though. The harder I try to make it right, the more likely I am to make it worse.

"Tay?" I tear my gaze away from the stairs and turn to face Zac as he approaches me. His concerned, sympathetic expression immediately makes me want to spill my guts to him... but I have nothing to say. I don't know any more now than I did the last time I saw him. "What's going on?"

I shrug helplessly. "She won't talk to me."

"Why? Is she mad at you or something?"

"No. I mean... I don't think so. She's just really, _really_ sad." He stares off in the same direction I was looking when he found me, and after a moment or two he begins walking. "She doesn't wanna talk about it."

"Maybe not with her dad. But she tells Uncle Zac _everything_." He informs me so confidently that it's almost enough to bring a smile to my lips.

With "Uncle Zac" on the case, I turn my attention from my heartbroken daughter to my hyper sons. Apparently Alex's way of keeping them entertained involved letting them jump all over him on the family room floor yelling "Hulk _smash_!" at the top of their lungs. The picture frames are rattling against the walls so much that anyone would think we're having an earthquake! But they're happy, and apparently he kept them so preoccupied that Viggo didn't even realize I left the house, so it's hard for me to be even a little upset about it.

Even if it _is_ going to make it ten times harder to get them to bed now that he's got them so wired.

He offers to help tag team them, but as much as I appreciate the offer, I wouldn't be surprised if his idea of reading them a bedtime story involved acting it out for them. And while I'm sure he'd give an Oscar-worthy performance, and they'd love every second of it, it would more than likely tire _him_ out before they even began to get drowsy.

Thankfully, by the time I've got Viggo settled and tucked in, River is much calmer and much more willing to cooperate. I only get halfway through their chosen storybook before Viggo is sound asleep and River is dozing off beside me on the bed. As I sneak out of their room and quietly close the door behind me, I can hear the muffled sounds of talking coming from inside Penny's bedroom, but I can't make out a single word that's being said. It takes every last shred of self-control I have to stop myself from pressing my ear to the door like a total jackass and eavesdropping on their conversation. But as much as I want to know what went on at that party, I don't want to find out like _that_. So I distract myself with looking in on Asta and giving Ezra his nightly "lights out in thirty minutes" warning.

Usually he either rolls his eyes at me or ignores me entirely. Tonight I get a disgruntled "I _know_ ". Don't ask me how that's better, it just is. Words are better than silence. Being acknowledged by my son, even if he seems less than thrilled by my presence in his bedroom (and his life), is better than being given the silent treatment day in and day out.

Zac is exiting Penny's room right as I'm closing Ezra's bedroom door behind me, and I'm not entirely sure how I keep myself from grabbing him and shaking every last detail out of him. He gestures for me to follow him away from any prying ears, and we head back towards the family room where Alex has made himself very comfortable on the couch. As soon as we enter the room he mutes the TV and sits up, waiting to hear about whatever it was that brought our friendly dinner to a screeching halt.

"So?" I ask impatiently. "What did she tell you?"

Zac gives me a look. A look I've seen too many times from him over the course of our lives, and one that always fills me with dread. "You might wanna sit down..."

Fuck.

After Zac has divulged the details of what happened at Rachel's party, and he and Alex have successfully managed to talk me out of phoning Rachel's mother and calling her (and her daughter) some incredibly unpleasant things, I down one or two (or four) shots of tequila to try and calm myself down a little. Alex stays until I've convinced him that I'm not going to do anything homicidal, and then he gives me a tight hug, makes me promise to call him tomorrow, and leaves. It takes me another half an hour to get Zac to quit reminding me that I couldn't have known what would happen, that it's not my fault, and that people are stupid.

I know all of that, but it doesn't undo what happened to my daughter tonight, so it doesn't make me feel any less shitty about it. And despite the fact that I know he and Alex are trying to make me feel better, it's kind of having the exact opposite effect.

I don't need sympathy. I need to smoke.

I'm on my fourth cigarette when Tommy steps out onto the balcony of my bedroom and cheerfully informs me that we've been invited to dinner at his sister's tomorrow night, and do I think Zac could maybe make himself useful and babysit. But he stops in his tracks when I exhale a long trail of smoke, and then he sighs in obvious disappointment at the sight (and smell) of what I'm doing.

Under normal circumstances, I'd stub it out to appease him. But if circumstances were normal, I wouldn't even be smoking it to begin with.

"I thought you quit."

"I did."

"Your interpretation of quitting isn't the same as mine, I guess." He chides, his tone making his revulsion blatantly clear.

I'm _this_ close to snapping at him, but I refuse to let myself. He doesn't know what happened tonight, and if he did I think he'd cut me some slack. "I quit, okay? I haven't smoked even _once_ since we got back together. But this week has _sucked_ , and on top of all of the other shit that's happened this month, and last month, and the month before that... I just... needed one."

For a moment, he's silent. And out of the corner of my eye, I notice him glance down at the floor beneath us, at the discarded cigarette butts at my feet. "One?"

"Tommy-"

"What's going on with you? You were totally fine this morning, and now you're all... tense and pissy."

"You remember that party Penny was going to?"

"Remember it? I'm the one who reminded _you_." He teases gently, almost hesitantly, as though he's worried it'll upset me more. I'm just not sure it's possible for me to get any more upset than I've already been tonight. "What about it?"

"I had to go and pick her up early. Her friend's mom called and said that the girls had a fight and Penny was upset."

"What did they fight about?"

I take a breath. And then I raise the cigarette to my lips and take a long drag, giving myself a moment to rein in my emotions as I replay Zac's words in my mind for the thousandth time. "Us."

"Us?" He asks in confusion. "What d'you mean?"

"I guess... this kid's mom is something of a gossip column connoisseur. She saw all the stuff about us earlier this week, and she didn't bother keeping her opinion about it to herself when her kid was around to hear it. And it turns out her opinion of us isn't all that high."

"So... what? Her kid told Penny that her mom thinks we're evil sinners or something?"

"I wish." I sigh sadly, crushing my cigarette out on the iron railing in front of me as it begins to burn my fingers. Then I pull the rest of the pack and my lighter out of my pocket, but he grabs them from me before I can take another one out. " _Please_ , just-"

"Tell me what the fuck happened, then we'll _talk_ about the cancer sticks."

I have to grit my teeth and grasp the railing for a few seconds, but I somehow manage not to completely go off on him. He's not the one I'm mad at. "This girl is like their little ring leader or something, they all do whatever she says and agree with whatever she says. So it wasn't just her, it was _all_ of them. All of Penny's _friends_ were talking about how 'gross' it is that her dad kisses other men, and how she's not going to be 'normal' because she doesn't have a mom to teach her how to be a 'proper girl'. They said she's going to grow up 'wrong' because she'll have two dads and no mom, Tommy."

"That's bullshit."

"Tell that to my seven-year-old kid, who just lost _every_ friend she'd made since she moved here. Because of me-"

"No, _not_ because of you." He argues before I can even finish speaking. " _Don't_ fucking blame yourself for this."

"I don't know how not to! You didn't see her, she was _crushed_."

"Because of _them_ , not because of you. They're just bullies, okay? Bullies she barely knew, and she's better off without them. I know it sucks right now, but she doesn't need 'friends' like that."

"I just..." I shake my head despondently, the immense anger I've been feeling for the past couple of hours unexpectedly giving way to overwhelming sorrow. "I thought things were _finally_ starting to get better for her. She was actually excited about this party, about having new friends, and now..." The memory of Penny's tear-stained face when I picked her up this evening flashes through my mind again, and it's enough to leave me sounding as weak as I feel. "She's been through so much already. _Too_ much. I couldn't protect her from any of it, and I couldn't protect her from this, either. I can't protect her from ignorant people who are gonna tell her that our family is weird, and wrong, and sick... and I don't know how to deal with that. I'm her dad, I'm _supposed_ to protect her, it's my job. She's my little girl..."

I turn away from him, away from the glittering city in front of us, leaning back against the balcony railing and holding onto it as tightly as I can without the metal cutting into my skin. I don't want to be this helpless, I want to be strong. I want to have the answers, I want to know how to make things right for once. But the truth is, I just _don't_. I don't even know how to start.

And neither does he.

I look up in surprise when I hear the faint sound of my lighter sparking to life, and I watch as Tommy raises the cigarette to mouth just long enough to ignite the tip. Then he passes it to me, the grimace on his face as he exhales making it obvious that he still doesn't approve of me smoking it. But whether he approves or not, he's not going to fight me on it.

As I gratefully accept the cigarette from him, he slips an arm around my waist and leans into me, resting his head against my shoulder while I take a drag. And when I breathe out, I finally feel a fraction of the stress that I've been struggling with all evening leave my body. I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with the nicotine I just inhaled, though, and everything to do with the person standing beside me. So I stub the cigarette out and drop it to the ground, wrapping both of my arms tightly around him and holding on for dear life.

Because the closer he is, the stronger I feel. 


	63. Chapter 63

  


 

 

Despite our original plans to "break in" the new bed in, neither of us are particularly in the mood to actually do it. And though Tommy somehow manages to fall asleep halfway through the movie we were semi-watching on the TV in my room, I can't seem to do the same. The bed _is_ insanely comfortable, and I am insanely tired, but I have way too much on my mind. From everything that happened tonight, to everything that's going on with Zac, the paparazzi pictures, the custody case, Ezra, my fractured relationship with most of my family... it's overwhelming and exhausting. And I feel as though I'm not doing enough to fix _any_ of it. Things just keep piling up on us, and I keep hiding from it all and hoping it'll go away eventually.

But it doesn't. If anything, it seems to be multiplying.

I talk about how I'm going to make it right and deal with it all, but I either do a completely inadequate job of it, or I never make it past the planning stages. I need to take charge. If I want things to be the way _I_ want them to be, I need to be an active participant in my own life rather than a passive, helpless bystander. I said I was done lying, done pretending, but then I just... let it go. I put it off, like everything else.

No more.

Sometime around two am, after hours of staring at the almost muted TV but never actually _seeing_ any of the TV shows or commercials that come and go, I carefully climb out of bed. I'm too preoccupied with the task I've set myself to properly appreciate that fact that the sales girl at the mattress store was telling the truth about how movement on my side of the mattress won't disturb the person sleeping on the other side. Tommy remains oblivious to anything I'm doing as I fetch my laptop from the small console table beside my dresser and bring it back over to the bed. I settle myself beneath the comforter again, open the lid, and hit the power button to bring it out of sleep mode. And once the desktop has loaded, I start a new document.

As I sit here, staring at the glowing, white page before me, the cursor blinking expectantly in the top left corner, it takes me a moment to even figure out where to begin.

The night I met Tommy?

The day I got married?

The moment I found out that I was going to be a father?

The first time I ever looked at another boy and wondered what it would be like to kiss him?

It seems as though that's going back too far, but that _is_ the beginning. The realization that I was attracted to boys and not girls was what sent my life spiraling out of control. If I want to make it stop, maybe I have to start there.

So I place my fingers over the keys, and I begin to type.

And type, and type, and type, and _type_.

I honestly don't think I've ever written for so long in my whole life, nothing has ever flowed from me this way before. No music, no lyrics, no letter has ever been so difficult to write and yet so effortless. It _hurts_ to put everything into words, to admit to things I've felt and done, things I never wanted anyone to know about. But at the same time, it's freeing. It feels right to get it all out of me, like I'm cutting out a cancerous growth that's been slowly destroying me for almost two decades, twisting itself around every part of me and suffocating me bit by bit, day by day.

The hardest part to write turns out to be those last few lines. I want to apologize to the people I've hurt and betrayed with my misguided attempts to do the right thing and my selfish quest to be happy. But I'm aware that all of the mistakes I've made have brought me to this moment. And as I glance down at Tommy's sleeping form, his peaceful face gently illuminated by the glow of the laptop screen, I'm _not_ sorry to be here. Not in the least. For the first time in my life, I feel as though I'm right where I'm supposed to be.

And if taking back any of the things I've done or any of the lies I've told would change this, if erasing a single mistake would erase this moment, I wouldn't do it.

It takes me almost an entire hour of writing and deleting and rephrasing, but eventually I manage to find a way to say _exactly_ that without sounding completely unapologetic. Every time I realize that I'm trying to smooth a rough edge to make it easier for people to swallow, I hit the backspace button. I've been smoothing rough edges for too long, trying to please everyone else and make who I am and how I feel more acceptable.

The whole point of this was to _stop_.

By the time Tommy starts to stir, I'm in the process of wrapping up a text message conversation with a friend of mine at The Huffington Post. I considered posting this on our band website, or Facebook, or even in a "twitlonger". But it's not about the band, it's about me. I could have sent it to People Magazine or AOL, or VH1; we have long-standing relationships with all of them, and have done plenty of exclusives for their sites... but it just didn't feel right. It's not the kind of thing that any of them would probably know how to handle properly. I didn't want it chopped into pieces to make for a short and scandalous read. I'm not trying to entertain, I'm trying to explain, and I _need_ it printed in full. The Huffington Post has left every blog I've ever written for them intact, which makes me think I can trust them to leave this little (or ridiculously lengthy) confession exactly as it is.

"Jeez, what're you doing on your computer this early?" Tommy groans as he stretches beside me and rolls closer to rest his head against my arm.

"I never slept."

He looks up at me in surprise and concern. "Why not?"

"I couldn't." I tell him, sighing tiredly as my exhaustion truly begins to hit me. "I couldn't stop thinking, and then I had this idea and I just... I couldn't sleep until I wrote it all down."

"Wrote _what_ all down?"

How do I explain this to him without completely freaking him out? "Well... you know how we talked about telling everyone how we really got together?"

"Yeah..." He replies warily, his still-sleepy eyes shifting to the laptop screen.

"I couldn't figure out how the hell we were supposed to do it. I mean, telling our families is one thing, but telling everyone else? I can't really see us sitting down with Oprah or whatever, and pouring our hearts out in front of a camera."

" _No_ fucking thank you."

"Right, so... I was thinking about it, and I just... I started writing about it. I wrote _all_ night. I wrote about how I knew I was gay when I was a kid, and how it felt to grow up in the spotlight, afraid of anyone finding out. I wrote about Natalie getting pregnant, and marrying her because I thought it was the right thing to do... and how I'd accepted that being 'straight', and feeling empty, and living a lie was how my life was always going to be. Until I met you."

He takes a breath, trying to process everything I'm telling him when he's still not even fully awake yet. I want to stop and give him time to take it all in, but just like when this idea came to me, and when I was writing it all down, I _can't_ stop.

"I wrote about how fast I fell for you, and how much strength you gave me, and all the things I learned about myself just from being around you. And how badly I wanted to spend my life with you, and how you let me go because you didn't want me to lose everything. How I gave up on us ever being together, even after Natalie died, because I felt like you wouldn't want to deal with all of my baggage, but you did, and now my kids love you, and _I_ love you. And even though we're sorry for lying, and cheating, and letting people down... we can't change any of it now. All we can do, all we _want_ to do, is be a family and help my kids to heal and be happy."

"Wow..." He exhales a soft, nervous chuckle, looking completely stupefied and overwhelmed. "Sounds like you covered just about... everything."

"Well... I left out details of my relationships with Zac and Alex. I said I was with a guy before I met Natalie, and I had a brief relationship with another guy after she and I broke up, but I ended it when I found out she was pregnant. So... technically, I was honest. I just figured there was no point dragging their names into it and making things even worse for everyone."

"Yeah, _definitely_."

"So... if you wanna read it and let me know if you're okay with it, or if there's anything you don't want me to say, then I can send it to a guy I know at The Huffington Post. He said he'd run it by his editor, but he's ninety-nine percent sure they'll want to publish it on the site, and it could go up as early as Tuesday if I get it to him today."

Tommy nods slowly, still entirely dazed, and he takes another deep breath as he pushes himself up against the pillows behind us. "Okay."

"I didn't mean you have to do it right now-"

"No, I _want_ to." He insists, reaching for the computer and lifting it onto his own lap.

"Okay, well... I'm gonna go make some coffee."

The only response I get is another nod as he scrolls to the top of the screen and begins to read.

And read, and read, and read, and _read_.

He's still completely engrossed when I return to the bedroom with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. I doubt he'll actually drink his, he's not the biggest coffee fan on the planet (weirdo), but I figured it couldn't hurt to bring him one just in case. I sit beside him on the mattress, slowly sipping my drink as I watch the sun continue rising through the french doors at the foot of the bed. The longer he reads, the more nervous I become. His expression gives nothing away, but it's by no means blank. I can't tell if he's sad, disturbed, hurt, or merely focused.

I try not to watch him as his eyes scan back and forth across the screen, but I'm so curious to know which part he's on, and what he's thinking... I can't help staring!

Just as I set my empty mug down on the nightstand, he heaves a _deep_ sigh, almost as though he hasn't taken a proper breath since he started reading. My body immediately tenses, and Ifind myself holding _my_ breath as I turn to him and wait for the verdict. He continues to gaze at the screen for a moment longer, and I bite my lip in anticipation, my fingers instinctively curling in the bed sheets at my sides while I wait for him to face me.

And when he finally does, he's smiling. It's not a broad smile of happiness, but a subdued smile of understanding.

Of _pride_.

He leans over and brushes his lips softly against mine, and I immediately breathe a sigh of relief as my fingers slide into his messy hair and hold him closer.

"I love you." He murmurs through our lazy, lingering kiss. "Don't change a thing."

I'm not sure if he's talking about me or my long-winded letter. Either way, it doesn't matter. Either way, it makes me want to pull him nearer than he already is, nearer than he can ever possibly get.

I should probably care that my laptop is still resting across his thighs, and that if it topples to the ground and smashes into a gazillion pieces, that lengthy confession I spent all night writing will be lost right along with it. But I'm finding it hard to care about anything besides him right now. I push the computer off of him and onto the mattress. As long as I keep him as close to me as I can (and I plan to), the laptop _probably_ won't suffer any catastrophic damage.

The bed gets broken in a lot more gently than I'd expected, but I have absolutely no complaints. In fact, it's pretty perfect. As hot as it is when we're desperately grabbing at each other, driving each other crazy, leaving each other's heads spinning, I actually think I prefer these slow, unhurried encounters even more. We're not chasing after a moment of bliss, we're existing inside an endless one. It's hard to describe... it feels like floating, drifting. We're weightless. Peaceful.

Complete.

Even though we both tend to be unreservedly clingy after this kind of sex, I'm expecting him to be less so this time because of his eagerness to get out of the house before Zac wakes up and he's forced to say "hello" to him. But instead, he actually offers to cancel the plans he has with his friends today and be with me when I call my parents and dump yet _another_ bomb on them. I'm tempted to take him up on the offer, but I don't want him to be uncomfortable and stressed all day when he could be out having a social life instead. Besides, we're having dinner at his sister's house tonight, so at least I have that to look forward to...

Or, you know, _dread_.

It's a shame to make his family hate me when they've only just gotten to know and like me. The "bright side" of my family not being all that fond of Tommy is that we don't really have anything to lose by revealing to them that he and I had an affair while I was married. Yes, I've made some progress with my parents recently, but things are still by no means perfect. Things with Tommy's family, on the other hand, were going well. They support us, they want to spend time with me.

I'm not sure if that will still be the case after they hear what we have to tell them.

Something else I'm not sure about is how I'm going to explain everything to my kids. I'd stupidly always thought that maybe I'd never have to. But if we're going to be honest, if we're telling the world the whole story, my kids _are_ going to find out. Last night was a rude awakening to the fact that even random eight-year-olds hear celebrity gossip sometimes, and they're not shy about sharing what the hear with my kids. I don't want Penny learning that I cheated on her mom from some mean-spirited little brat in her class.

It has to come from me, and it has to be soon.

And unlike when I broke the news of my relationship with Tommy to her, I want to handle it right this time. I need to _know_ exactly what I'm going to say to her, to all of them. I need to have a plan.

After taking a quick shower to wake me up a little more, I head downstairs to make a start on breakfast. But apparently Zac beat me to it. He's already serving up food to the kids as I step into the dining room, and I gratefully breathe in the scent of fluffy buttermilk pancakes and sticky maple syrup.

"So this whole thing where you're going back to Tulsa tomorrow..." I begin, taking a seat beside River at the table and pouring myself some orange juice. "Maybe we should rethink that?"

He smiles faintly, sadly, and I know he's already rethought it enough for both of us. "Don't tempt me."

"I don't want you to go." Pouts Viggo. "You just got here like yesterday!"

"I got here two days ago, bud." He reminds him, spooning some more sliced strawberries onto his plate. "And I'll still be here all day today and tomorrow. I'm not leaving _yet_."

His words don't seem to make Viggo feel much better, and they don't make me feel any better, either. I know he can't stay, he has a life to get back to, this was never more than a weekend break. But even though I'm looking forward to returning to my "normal" routine with Tommy, having Zac here has been good for me and the kids. I'm not looking forward to having to say goodbye _again_.

"Cheer up, kiddo." I nudge River gently while he prods at his pancakes with a fork. "We'll see him again soon."

"I miss Tommy." He mumbles, leaving me momentarily speechless because it wasn't what I expected him to say at all. "Why hasn't he come over all weekend?"

"Doesn't he like us anymore?" Viggo asks miserably.

"Of course he likes you!" I assure them both quickly. "He loves you guys, and he wants to spend time with you. He'll come over again in a couple of days, okay? He just needed to spend some time with his own family and friends this weekend. They miss him, too."

"I guess..." River concedes grudgingly. "I'm just tired of people leaving all the time."

I feel like that pancake he's stabbing with his fork is some kind of voodoo doll of my heart! I know he doesn't mean for me to feel bad, neither does his little brother. They're not being mean or manipulative, they're being honest. They're kids, barely more than babies, and they want to be with the people they love. But the people they love keep disappearing. Sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks, months...

Sometimes forever.

And I can't promise them that it will stop happening. All I can do is put my arms around them, and hug them, and hope that they feel confident that _I'm_ not going anywhere. Not anymore.

Once the breakfast plates have all been cleared away, Zac takes them all for a walk up to Bronson Canyon Park. He says they're going to hike all the way up to the Hollywood Sign, but unless he plans to carry Viggo on his back for the last mile of that trek, they're _never_ going to make it that far.

As soon as I'm sure they're actually gone and won't be coming back anytime soon for forgotten jackets or unnecessary action figures, I call my mom.

"Hi! We weren't expecting to hear from you today."

"Yeah, I know. Uh... is dad there?"

"You want to talk to your father?" She asks, clearly confused about why I didn't just call him instead of her. "Is he not answering his phone?"

"No, actually, I wanted to talk to both of you."

"Oh..."

"Can you guys get on Skype or something, or...?" I ask hopefully, which only serves to surprise her even more.

"Um... okay. We can do that." She replies with obvious hesitance. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine, I just... I don't wanna talk on the phone, and Skype is the closest thing to face-to-face, so..."

"Okay, well, gives us a few minutes to get set up, and we'll be right there."

"Thanks."

"See you soon!"

Crap. Now she sounds excited.

Maybe I should've told her something _is_ wrong. I don't want her thinking I have good news or that I'm just feeling particularly sociable today.

Too late now, though.

I head upstairs to find my laptop in amongst the bed sheets and open Skype. And then I decide to move off of the bed and relocate to somewhere a little more appropriate for telling my parents that I'm not only gay but an adulterer, also.

I not sure that an appropriate place exists, though.

It only takes them a few minutes to log on, just like she said it would, and it's so strange to _see_ them for the first time in a month. I mean, I've seen them for a second or two when the kids have had Skype dates with them, but it was just a glance here and there. I haven't sat down with them like this, "face-to-face", I haven't looked them in the eyes this way since the day I left Tulsa. And unlike the day I left Tulsa, they actually look glad to see me. They're smiling, and even though it's hard to tell via webcam, I'm pretty sure my mom has tears in her eyes as I finally settle in front of my laptop screen.

"Hey." I smile faintly, fidgeting like an awkward teenager.

"Hi!" Dad waves to the camera, like the dork he is, which makes my smile a little more genuine. "How's it going?"

"Um... pretty good."

"How's Zac?" Asks mom eagerly. "Is he still coming home tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow night, as far as I know."

"I still can't believe he up and left without a word like that." She shakes her head, and dad makes his patented, helpless "oh well" face. "I just hope he and Kate can work things out once he comes back."

"Yeah..." I guess we'll see about that. "I'm sure things will work out for the best."

"So... what was this thing you wanted to talk to us about?" He questions curiously. "You better tells us fast before your mother comes up with _another_ one hundred insane ideas of her own."

"Oh, be quiet!" She retorts, momentarily ignoring me in favor of bickering with him. "Is it _so_ insane to assume that he might be coming home for Christmas?"

Not insane, mom. But not happening, either. "That's not what it's about."

"Well, you've got us on the edge of our seats over here."

"Right... okay..." Here goes nothing... "You know how those pictures of me and Tommy got taken at the airport last week?" I begin hesitantly, and they both give brief, cautious nods, clearly more on edge now that Tommy has been brought up. "We got to talking about it, about how we wanted to handle it. 'Cause all these people want to know how we got together and everything, and we knew it wasn't just gonna go away if we ignored it. People will just make stuff up if we don't say something. So... we decided to say something. We decided to tell people how we got together... the _truth_ about how we got together."

"Oh?" I can hear in her tone, even from that one little word, that she's not sure she wants to know the truth.

But that's kind of become the norm between us these past few months.

"Look... I know that I've said and done a lot of things lately that have disappointed you-"

"Taylor-"

"No, please, just... let me get this out, okay?" I plead with them, not waiting for them to agree before continuing. Because I'm afraid that if I stop now, I won't be able to finish. "I know I've disappointed you, and I've hurt you, and I know things have been getting better lately... at least, _I_ feel like they have. And the last thing I want to do is disappoint you more, and hurt you more, and ruin whatever progress we might have made, but... you _have_ to know the truth."

"Which is?" Dad presses apprehensively.

"Tommy and I... we met in a bar in New York... two and a half years ago." They don't need a moment to do the math, they're completely aware that Natalie was alive at the time, and I can see from the look they share that they're probably aware of what I'm about to say next. At least some of it. "I kissed him. The night we met, I kissed him. I was married, and I cheated. But... that's not even the worst of it. I went out of my way to see him again and again, and vice-versa, and... we slept together." I hear my mother sigh deeply, sadly, but I can't even bring myself to look at her now. My eyes stay focused on the letters on the keyboard as I force myself to keep going. "We got together whenever we could, whenever we were in the same city for a day or two, whenever we could find the time to fly to each other... for over a year, we had an affair, and Natalie had no idea. I'm _sorry_. I know it was wrong, but I loved him so, _so_ much, and I'd never felt as much like myself, the _real_ me, as I did when I was with him. It was like I could _breathe_ , I could just _be._ I'd never had that before, and I just... I was _whole_.When I was with him, I was whole. So... I left her for him. I told her I was gay, and she told me to get out, and I left her. But... he was afraid that I'd lose my kids, and that I'd regret leaving them to be with him, so he lied to me and told me he didn't want to be with me. And when I found out that Natalie was pregnant, I came back." I admit ashamedly, my voice wavering with immeasurable remorse. "She asked me not to leave her again, and I promised I wouldn't. And even after I found out that Tommy lied to me, and that he loved me, I _kept_ that promise. I would have kept that promise and stayed for my kids for the rest of my life... but then... she..."

I can't bring myself to say another word. I don't need to, though; they already know the rest.

The silence that follows my babbled confession feels endless and _heavy_ , like a blanket of guilt is covering me, smothering me, and I can't find a way out from underneath it. But if finding a way out means having to look at them, I'd rather just stay beneath it and let it suffocate me. This whole face-to-face thing seemed like the grown-up, honorable thing to do. But I'm not all that honorable, and I'm not brave enough to look them in the eyes.

"We know." Dad finally tells me, so quietly that I'm not even sure if it was real.

The only way for me to know is to finally look up. And when I do, I'm dumbfounded by what I see. My mother is crying, that part isn't a surprise, but she doesn't seem shocked and dismayed. Disappointed, yes. Sad, definitely. But _not_ outraged.

Resigned.

"W-what do you mean?" I ask uncertainly.

"We knew that you and Tommy  were together before Natalie died." He affirms, his tone giving away very little about how he truly feels. "We didn't know for how long, but between what you told us about leaving Natalie last summer, and then how quickly everything happened between you and Tommy once he came into the picture a few months ago... we suspected that you left her to be with him, but then came back for Asta."

"You never said anything."

"We didn't want you to feel accused." Explains mom, wiping at her eyes. "We'd already done enough to push you away, we didn't want to make things worse."

"I'm sorry."

"We know." She nods, attempting a hint of a smile and failing completely. "And we know you never meant to hurt Natalie or your children. Or us."

"We won't pretend that what you did isn't..." Dad pauses as he tries to choose his words carefully, still as afraid as I am of making this rift between us any bigger. "We're not okay with it, and obviously we're not happy about it. But... it's done now. This family has been through enough, _you_ have been through enough. So we can either waste time and energy blaming each other, pointing fingers, and causing each other more pain... or we can accept that what's done is done. We have no control over it, we can only control what we do about it now."

"What do you want to do about it?" I ask, completely taken aback by his measured and reasonable response.

I'd been expecting to hear some tearful "how could you's" and horrified "we didn't raise you this way's", and instead I get a calm "we figured as much" and a rational "what's done is done".

"I think the best thing for us to do now is... to move on." He sighs, laying the plan out before me in a way that makes it plain they've put a lot of thought into this. "We can choose to dwell in the past, or we can put the past behind us, forgive each other, and try harder to be honest and to understand one another in the future."

"Does that mean... a-are you guys willing to give me and Tommy a chance? A _real_ chance?"

They share another look, silent reassurance that they _can_ do this. "If you're willing to give _us_ a chance."

"What do you mean?"

"We're still..." Mom pauses, struggling to find the words to explain her feelings. "It's not easy to let go of beliefs that you were raised with. They're not supposed to be disposable, people aren't supposed to simply abandon values they've lived their life by. But... they're not supposed to abandon their children, either." She explains slowly, thoughtfully. "What you said to me a few weeks ago, about how Tommy's mom puts his happiness before her beliefs... it stuck with me. I couldn't stop thinking about it... and you were right, I should be able to do the same. I _want_ to be able to do the same for you, sweetheart, I _do_. I just... need you to be patient. It's not as easy as simply _choosing_ to change how we feel."

"I know." I promise her unreservedly, my heart swelling with so much hope and emotion that it's a struggle to even breathe around it. "I don't expect you to have a complete change of heart over-night... all I ever wanted was for you to try to love me, no matter who I am or who _I_ love."

"Oh, honey... we don't need to _try_ to love you; we _always_ have."

I'm a blubbering mess before she's even finished speaking. I tried to hold it together, to be an adult, but there's only so much a guy can take. I hadn't prepared myself for any of this, and everything this conversation has left me feeling, paired with my utter lack of sleep last night, is just too much for me to handle with grace and composure.

My mother just told me that she still loves me as much as she always has, and after months of doubting that fact, it's reduced me to nothing more than a weeping little kid.


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I know Lisa's husband's name isn't David. Since I posted the first chapter where I had to pick a name out of thin air for him, I've randomly found out what his name actually is. But I decided against changing it in the fic. *shrug*

  


 

 

After my conversation with my parents, and a brief phone call with Tommy to let him know how it had gone, I had just enough time to pull myself together and splash some cold water onto my puffy, red eyes before Zac arrived home with the kids. I'd expected them to be exhausted, and to want to camp out in the movie room and do nothing for the rest of the day. But apparently Zac mentioned Santa Monica Pier to them at some point during their Hollywood Hills hike, and now it's _all_ any of them can talk about. Even Ezra, who would normally go straight to him room or simply stand around and pretend to be oblivious to his younger sibling's begging and pleading, is actually looking _at_ me. He's not saying anything, but he's... present. It's like he wouldn't pout and whine if I said we were going to the beach for the rest of the day.

And that's a good enough reason for me to do just that.

There's something quieter than usual about our little family outing. Not that the kids don't have fun, they're perfectly happy to gorge themselves on cotton candy and hotdogs. But I think they're still very aware of the fact that Tommy isn't here. And after tomorrow, Zac won't be here, either. It takes a little of the excitement out of everything, not just for them but for us as well. This isn't a normal Sunday afternoon in Santa Monica, this is a countdown to yet another goodbye.

On the way home, we pick up some take-out and a couple of movies for Zac to watch with them while he's babysitting tonight. Tommy is already waiting in his car in the driveway as we pull in, and River and Viggo practically start climbing out of the windows as soon as they notice him sitting there. And though Penny has been understandably much more withdrawn than usual today, even she has a small smile on her face.

Zac grabs the bags of take-out and the Redbox discs and makes a beeline for the house, only stopping long enough to wordlessly hold his hand out for my keys. I never even told him how uncomfortable Tommy is around him, he just seemed to assume it. Then again, maybe he's just as uncomfortable around Tommy. I remember River's party this summer, I remember how he avoided even looking at Tommy, and how he pretended to be busy helping with cake and presents so that he wouldn't have to so much as say hello.

"Tommy! Tommy! You're here! You're _here_!" Viggo chants gleefully, bouncing up and down beside Tommy's car door and making it nearly impossible for him to actually get out.

He like a cross between a hyper puppy and an over-excited fanboy. "Viggo, back up a little, dude! He can't open the door!"

I shake my head as he takes a half-step back, which is apparently all the room Tommy needs to squeeze himself out of the car. And the second he sets foot on the driveway, Viggo is practically latched onto his leg. Tommy laughs softly, lifting Viggo into his arms and returning River's side-hug when he wraps his arms around his waist.

"I missed you guys!"

"We missed you, too." River beams up at him. "Are you staying for dinner? We got burritos!"

"I want burritos." Tommy pouts at me as I shift Asta from one arm to the other and close the car door behind me. "Why don't I get burritos?"

"Because we're going to _your_ sister's house for dinner."

"We could cancel."

I have a feeling his desire to cancel has less to do with burritos and more to do with not wanting to tell his mom that he had an affair with a married man. "No, we can't."

"Your nails are all beat up again." Penny declares in disapproval, inspecting his hand closely, her small fingers linked with his. "You need a manicure."

"You offering?" He smiles, raising a hopeful eyebrow at her.

"I only have pink left."

"I just picked up some more black. I can bring it over."

"Can I get my nails painted?" Asks River.

"Me too?" Begs Viggo.

"Yeah, and me." I smirk, only semi-serious about the request. But hey, if everyone else is getting it done, I don't wanna be left out! "Maybe we can do it tomorrow night?"

They all enthusiastically agree, but the look Tommy and I share in spite of our smiles tells me that he's as aware as I am that it's probably not going to happen. Not tomorrow night, at least, and maybe not for a few nights after. Because tomorrow, I have to tell my kids that I lied to their mom, and I'm pretty sure that having a nail painting party with either of us isn't going to be at the top of Penny's to-do lists after that.

"Okay, guys, let's get inside before the burritos go cold." I tell them, and they grudgingly let go of Tommy before walking over to the front door. I'm about to follow them when he all but jumps in front of me to block my path, and then he quickly pecks Asta on the top of the head and me on the lips.

God, I love him.

"Hi." He smiles, kissing me again.

"Hi." I grin back, seeking out his lips one last time. "I'll be right back, I just have to get the kids settled."

"Take your time, I'll wait in the car."

"Okay... _one_ more kiss."

As soon as I lean in, he leans away with the most devilish gleam in his eyes. "Come and get it."

"You're asking for it, you know that?"

" _Hell yeah_ , I know that."

With a playful growl of frustration, I turn away from him and take Asta into the house. But even once he's out of sight, it's like I can still see him. And I can't stop smiling. It's stupid, because tonight and tomorrow are probably going to be unbelievably crappy. I'm not looking forward to telling his family or my kids the truth. But... for right now, in these last few minutes of calm before the storm, things are _good_.

 _We're_ good.

And I _cannot_. stop. smiling.

Asta is easy enough to get settled, she just needs some reheated, leftover Thanksgiving veggies and she's happy as a clam. Penny is eager to dig into her dinner, but she's not too distracted to make me swear up and down that I'll ask Tommy's sister to come over for brunch again next weekend so that she can play with Bridget. River, on the other hand, is more concerned with knowing _exactly_ when he can expect to see Tommy again for more than ten seconds. All I can tell him is "tomorrow", because that's all we've decided on at this point. I have no idea if he's going to spend the night when he brings me back here after dinner, or if he's going to skip out first thing in the morning and come back again later, and I don't want to make River any promises I can't keep.

I'm expecting Viggo to kick up a fuss when I try to leave. But other than jumping out of his chair as I edge out of the room, and rushing over to give me a hug and promise that he'll save me some chips and guacamole, he doesn't seem _too_ bothered by my exit. It's _such_ a relief to see him doing better. Some days are still harder than others, but for the most part he seems pretty calm about me leaving the house as long as he knows it's coming and he knows when he can expect me back. The fact that I can leave the house and have him be okay with it even _some_ of the time is a _huge_ improvement. I hated seeing him so distraught, it wasn't good for him and I felt awful every time I had to leave him. But ever since we moved out here, he's been handling things better and better.

They _all_ have, and I only hope that tomorrow doesn't undo any of the progress that any of them have made.

The first thing I do when I get into Tommy's car is lean across the gear shift and kiss him. Before closing the door behind me, before putting on my seat belt, before saying a single word to him. I can feel him smiling against my lips, and it makes me grin in response.

"You're happy." He notes, not a question but an observation.

"I am." I nod. "I had a good day."

"Good." He puts the car in reverse and carefully begins backing out of the driveway while I buckle my seat belt. "Shame it's about to go to shit."

"Don't say that."

"Well, it's true."

"You don't know that." I try to reassure him (and myself). "My parents took it a lot better than I expected, and they were barely okay with us being together to start with. Your mom has been supportive the whole time."

"Yeah, 'cause she thinks we hooked up _after_ your wife died, not while you were still married. Supporting me sleeping with another guy is one thing, but supporting me sleeping with someone else's husband is kind of a tall order."

"We're not asking her to _support_ it. It's not something you're doing or planning to do, it's something you did. It doesn't need supporting, just... accepting and forgiving."

"Still a pretty fucking tall order." He sighs glumly.

I reach my hand over and place it on his thigh, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze. "Even if she takes it badly tonight, she'll get over it. She might be upset at first, but she's not going to hold it against you forever."

"I know. I just hate disappointing her, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"It's not like I've ever been the _perfect_ son or anything, but I've never really done anything all that horrible. I didn't always do what she and my dad hoped I would, like going to college or whatever, but I don't think I ever did anything to really let them down or make them ashamed of me."

"And _believe_ me, I know how nerve-wracking it is to have to tell your parents you did something morally reprehensible. It's like it doesn't matter how old you get, the idea of admitting to the people who raised you that you've done something bad... it makes you feel like a naughty little kid." I empathize with him wholeheartedly. "But... everyone makes mistakes. Even them. And they know that, even if they like to act like they've never done anything wrong in their life."

He smiles faintly, nodding in acceptance as he glances over at me. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Being calm and rational."

"Eh..." I shrug, looking around us at the quickly darkening streets of North Hollywood. "It was my turn."

The remainder of the drive over to Burbank is spent listening to the radio, both of us too wrapped up in our own thoughts to really make much conversation. It's not until he pulls the car over in front of the small, ranch-style house (which I assume belongs to his sister) that he finally speaks again.

"Will you do something for me?" It's a stupid question, because I'd do _anything_ for him, and I think he knows that just from the look that I'm giving him. "I know it's a crappy thing for me to ask, but... if it looks like I'm gonna be a total chicken shit about this, I need you to push me."

"Push you?" I frown. "What do you mean?"

"I don't mean like actually _shove_ me or anything." He rolls his eyes, a flicker of a smile spreading across his lips. "Just... say something that makes it impossible for me _not_ to tell them."

"You mean like... 'we have to tell you something'?" I ask uncertainly.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Okay. I can do that."

He breathes a sigh of relief, offering me an apologetic smile as his seatbelt unfastens with a loud click. "Thanks."

"Any time."

Let's just hope I actually have the guts to do it if the need arises...

When Lisa answers the front door with Bridget in her arms, Tommy's anxious half-smile immediately becomes a genuine grin. He doesn't even ask or wait to be handed his niece, he just reaches right out and takes her. Judging by how easily Lisa passes her daughter over without a word, I'd say he does it pretty much every time he comes over.

"Don't get her all hyped up." Warns Lisa with a playful jab of her finger to his chest as she lets us in. "She's supposed to be going to bed before we eat."

"Your mom is _no_ fun." He tells Bridget, tickling her pajama covered tummy and making her giggle. "You don't need to go to bed this early, you're a big girl! I bet you could stay up _all_ night."

"Up!" Bridget repeats excitedly, snuggling against Tommy's chest.

Lisa shakes her head and rolls her eyes at his back as he carries Bridget further into the house, and I can't help but chuckle softly as I close the front door behind me and watch him disappear from view. She turns to me at the sound of the door closing, the warm smile returning to her face as she leans in and gives me a quick hug.

"How've you been?"

"Pretty good, thanks." I tell her, following her into the living room. "I think we're just about done moving in at this point, _finally_. The house actually feels more like a home and less like a thrift store."

"Moving is _so_ exhausting. I plan to avoid ever doing it again, if at all possible."

"Me too."

"Sorry it took us so long to invite you over. I blame Tommy for leaving the country."

"I blame him, too." I smile back at her as she gestures for me to make myself at home on the couch beside Dia. "Hey."

"Hi, Taylor. How are you?"

"Good.  You?"

"I'm wonderful, thank you. Any day I can get these two in the same place at the same time is a good day, in my book." She tells me, nodding towards Lisa and Tommy. But Tommy is the one her eyes settle on when she speaks again. "One of them is particularly hard to get a hold of sometimes."

"Mom..." He warns knowingly, without so much as glancing in her direction.

Probably because he's lying on his back in the middle of the floor, and Bridget is basically standing on his chest.

"It's fine. We understand." Dia sighs melodramatically. "You're a big rock star now, you can't be wasting your precious time on the likes of us."

"We're just 'the little people'." Adds Lisa.

"Jeez, would you _stop_? You just saw me on Friday!"

It's obvious from his tone that he knows they're both kidding (and that this isn't the first time they've teased him about his "rock star" lifestyle). And it's just as obvious from the conspiratorial wink Dia and Lisa share that the two of them enjoy taunting him about his globe-trotting whenever they get the chance.

"Where's David?" I ask curiously, noting the absence of Lisa's husband.

"He had to go out of town this afternoon. He has some kind of conference thing in San Francisco first thing in the morning."

"Oh yeah? Does he travel a lot for his job?"

Lisa shrugs unconcernedly, watching fondly as her daughter beats up her little brother. "Not _a lot_... not as much as _some_ people."

"Oh my _God_!" Tommy exclaims in exasperation. "I was gone for like a _week_!"

"And a half." I correct him without thinking.

"Who's side are you on?!"

"Yours."

"Coulda fooled me." He mutters petulantly. "Bridget's got my back, though. Right, Bridg?"

The small room is suddenly filled with an outburst of laughter as his niece kicks him mercilessly in the chin. I'm sure it looked harder than it was (her footie pajamas probably softened the blow), but he acts like he was just sucker punched by a body builder. Unfortunately for him, Bridget seems to find his reaction hilarious, so she kicks him again.

"Hey! Feet _off_ of the face, Taco Butt!"

Lisa smiles smugly, folding her arms across her chest and making herself comfortable in her chair. " _That's_ what you get for riling her up before bedtime."

The evening continues to go smoothly, probably because Tommy doesn't so much as hint at the fact that he has something to confess. But then, I didn't really expect him to break it to them in the middle of dinner and ruin everyone's appetites, so I'm not too worried. I chat with his mom about my kids and how they're doing in school, and after one bite of Lisa's vegetable curry I (politely) demand a copy of the recipe. Then she and I spend a good chunk of time talking about cooking and her favorite vegetarian dishes, while Tommy and his mom discuss... something. I don't know, I can't focus on two conversations at once, but whatever it is doesn't appear to be all that serious.

However, by the time we're halfway through dessert, the chatter has come to a standstill and there's a definite note of tension in the air. At least, _I_ think there is. But maybe that's just because I know what's coming. Maybe Dia and Lisa have no idea that anything is wrong at all.

Tommy's foot gently nudges mine under the table, and I glance up at him to check if it was an accident or if he was trying to get my attention. I can tell right away that it was _definitely_ intentional, and I can also tell that he needs my help. This is it, this is the favor he asked me for earlier. And I told him I would do this for him, this one thing.

"Uh..." I clear my throat quietly, setting down the spoon I'm holding and wiping quickly at my mouth with my napkin. "We... um... we have something we need to tell you guys."

"Oh my God." Lisa gasps immediately, dropping her own spoon into the bowl with a clatter. "Seriously?"

"What?" Asks Dia in uncertain confusion, a feeling that both Tommy and I can relate to. "Seriously what?"

"Are you guys getting married?" She questions hopefully as she glances back and forth between our anxious faces.

" _What_? No!" Tommy sighs deeply. "What the hell, Lisa?"

"Well, I'm sorry! You say you have something you need to tell us, and I'm assuming neither of you is pregnant."

"Are those the _only_ two things couples can talk about?"

"Are you moving in together?" Dia suggests with a shrug, because apparently there are three things couples can talk about.

I _wish_ we had some good news for them instead of this secret we're about to share. "No... we're not. Not right now, anyway."

"So what's going on?" Frowns his mom, her eyes now trained entirely on him even though his gaze is focused on his dessert bowl. "Is everything okay?"

"We... um... we've just kinda been thinking about the whole thing with the pictures of us at the airport, and everyone finding out, you know? And we figured we should like... tell people the truth about us."

"The truth?" Lisa asks in confusion.

"We lied to you." He admits quietly, taking a long, unsteady breath before forcing himself to meet his mom's stare. "When we told you guys that we were just friends until this summer, we lied."

"Why?"

"Because... "He shakes his head sadly, regretfully, and my hand instinctively and protectively wraps itself around his on the table top between us. "We didn't want you to know the truth. But... we realized that it's gonna come out sooner or later, and it's better if it comes from us."

"If _what_ comes from you?" Lisa prods warily.

"Taylor was still married when we started... seeing each other." He admits guiltily, and when Dia's eyes automatically shift to my face in shock, I find myself unable to look at her, either. "I knew he was married from the first time we met, but... I didn't care."

"That's _not_ true." I counter. "You cared."

"Not enough to stop myself."

" _I_ didn't stop myself, either."

"So... wait a minute. You're saying..." Dia swallows hard, as though she's quite possibly on the verge of throwing up her vegetable curry. "You've been together this whole time? For more than two _years_? Even when you were with Liz-"

" _No_." Tommy insists quickly. "No, we really _did_ get together this summer, and we really hadn't seen each other for a long time before that. But... we weren't just 'acquaintances' for that first year after we met in New York."

"You slept with someone's husband." Lisa clarifies, her expression hard and her tone unforgiving.

"I fell for a guy who was married-"

"You _slept_ with someone's _husband_."

He sighs in defeat, knowing there's nothing he can say to make this sound any better than it is. And really, he shouldn't even try to. "Yes."

"I can't believe this..." Dia murmurs quietly, more to herself than to any of us. "What were you _thinking_?"

"I..." He shrugs helplessly, and my grip on his hand tightens in an unconscious effort to offer him some kind of support. "I _wasn't_ thinking. I just... I met him, and... I felt something for him that I'd _never_ felt before. I couldn't stop thinking about him, I couldn't _not_ be with him-"

"Did you even _try_?" Snaps Lisa. "Did _either_ of you?"

"Lis, come on-"

"No, _you_ 'come on', Tommy! What if David did the same thing to me, huh? What if he met someone in a bar and had a _year long_ affair because neither of them cared enough about me _or_ Bridget to stop themselves? You'd want to kill them both, and you _know_ it!"

There's no argument for that; she's right. If anyone did that to someone I loved, I'd want to kill them, too, regardless of my own transgressions. There is no good excuse for what we did to Natalie and my kids. I shouldn't have flirted with him in that bar, and I shouldn't have kissed him. He shouldn't have pursued me further, and I shouldn't have responded. If I'd wanted him so badly that I couldn't help myself, I should have just left Natalie. I should have been honest with her from the start. There was a right thing to do every step of the way. And every step of the way we chose to do the opposite.

To anyone looking at this from the outside, it's _that_ simple.

But it didn't _feel_ that simple at the time. It wasn't as simple as being honest with my wife about my feelings for another person. It was coming out to everyone I loved, it was giving up my career, it was potentially losing my children. I was _terrified_ , and so was Tommy.

That doesn't make what we did to Natalie okay, though. Nothing ever will.

"Look... I'm _sorry_ , okay?" He pleads with them earnestly. "I did a really shitty thing, and I _know_ that. I'm not asking you to be happy about it, I just... wanted you to hear it from me."

Neither of them appears to know how to respond to that. Lisa still looks justifiably irritated, and Dia... I'm honestly not sure I could adequately label her emotions right now. But I can tell that Tommy is more concerned by her prolonged silence than by Lisa's anger. I think it's safe to assume that dinner is pretty much over, at this point. No one has any desire to finish whatever remains of the berry crumble in their bowl, and there's no appropriate topic of conversation to follow up the bomb we just dropped on them.

Lisa eventually pushes her chair out from under the table and begins gathering up the dishes without a word. The less than gentle way in which she stacks them on top of one another in her hand makes it clear how upset she is, though. Dia continues to sit and stare at the spot where her dessert bowl was only a moment ago, and Tommy watches her sadly, waiting for her to speak.

Even if it's just to tell him how disappointed in him she is.

But she doesn't.

"Let's go." He tells me in an almost inaudible mumble, slowly rising from his seat and leaving the table.

I'm halfway across the room when I'm struck by the need to say... something. I'm not even really sure what, or if it's my place to say anything at all, but I _can't_   just walk out of here with things the way they are. I helped to cause this damage, and I want to help fix it. Or at least attempt to.

"He's a good person." I hear myself say as I turn back to Dia once again, and she finally looks up from the table to give me her full attention. "Tommy... you _know_ he's a good person, the same person he was two hours ago. He made a mistake, we both did. Neither of us ever _wanted_ to hurt anyone... we just didn't know what else to do."

She nods faintly in an effort to show me that I've been heard, that she understands what I've just said. And even though I know it doesn't make any difference to how she's feeling in this moment, I hope that once this initial shock has worn off, she'll realize that we're not the selfish, heartless jerks we probably seem to be right now. Maybe she'll never understand entirely, because I'm not sure that anyone besides the two of us can. But I _know_ she's capable of showing more understanding than this. They both are.

They just need a little time.

So with one last quiet apology, I follow Tommy out of the room and out of the house. 


	65. Chapter 65

  


 

 

Tommy is understandably quiet on the drive home. But despite how reasonable his introspection is, it still makes me nervous. I don't _think_ he's mad at me, but since I can come up with several dozen different ways in which what happened tonight could very fairly be considered my fault, I'm sure he can think up at least a handful himself. Whether you want to take it _all_ the way back to the beginning and say "if only I hadn't been married", or bring it right back to the here and now, and say "if only I'd kept my mouth shut at dinner", one way or another this can all be blamed on me.

Hell, this whole honesty kick was my idea in the first place, he wasn't even all that into it, _I_ forced it on him. He just went along with it because he loves me and because it was what I said I wanted.

And now he's miserable.

The kids are already in bed when we get home, but it's way too early for Zac to be asleep, and he's still wide awake in the family room watching 'Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring'. Tommy heads straight for the bedroom without a word, but as much as I want to follow him and try to talk to him, I feel as though I at least need to check in with Zac first.

"Hey." I interrupt his movie viewing, my eyes still lingering on Tommy's retreating form until he's completely out of sight. "How'd it go?"

"Fine." Zac shrugs, spinning the remote between his fingers. "Viggo took a little while to get to sleep, he kept asking when you'd be home. But he finally passed out after making me put on a one-man performance of 'The Mask'."

"I owe you."

"I know." He smirks. "Don't worry, I added it to the list."

"Good to know." I turn my attention to the TV screen for a second, watching the movie and trying to figure out exactly how far into it he is. "You okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because you're watching 'Fellowship of the Ring'. And whenever you watch this movie, you _always_ have to watch 'Two Towers', and then you inevitably end up watching 'Return of the King'. Which means you're gonna be up until like... five am at this rate."

"Yeah, well..." He gives another shrug but doesn't finish his sentence.

He doesn't need to, though. I know him well enough to know that he's too anxious about tomorrow to sleep. He chose these movies to watch tonight because he knew they'd keep him preoccupied until the early hours of the morning. And since he was going to be lying awake until then anyway, it's a good match.

"Do you want me to take the kids to school in the morning?" He offers out of the blue. "Give you a break?"

"I appreciate the offer, you have _no_ idea. But I have an appointment with that lawyer at ten, so I have to be up and out anyway."

"Okay."

"But if you _really_ want to help, you can keep Viggo and Asta busy so I don't have to take them with me?" I practically beg him. "I have to go straight from there to LAX to pick Jenna up, and it'd make everything a lot easier if I didn't have to keep loading and unloading kids into the car all day."

"Say no more. I've got it covered." He smiles sympathetically. "Anything else I can do?"

"Take Ezra to his therapy session and find a way to gently break it to him that I cheated on his mom with Tommy?"

"Um... yeah. I'll pass on that one, thanks."

"I kinda wanna pass, too." I sigh, sinking down onto the arm of the chair beside me. "I feel like I'm about to hit a reset button or something on any improvement he's been making. It seems totally insane to do it... but I can't _not_ do it."

"I still can't believe you're gonna tell them all the truth."

"I have to." I shrug powerlessly. "I can't just sit back and hope that the truth about me and Tommy never comes out, because we both know it will eventually. Stuff like that _always_ does somehow. And it's better coming from us. I already sent that thing I wrote to The Huffington Post, so it's gonna be online any day now. And after what happened to Penny at that party..."

"It'll get back to them, one way or another." He finishes for me, and I nod sadly. "I'm not saying it's not the right thing to do. I just... I don't know if _I_ could do it. I think you're kind of amazing for facing up to it like this."

"Thanks." I try for a smile, but I don't feel like I have a whole lot to smile about tonight. Tomorrow is going to _suck_. "If I hadn't done anything to face up to, though, I wouldn't have to be so 'amazing' and sit my kids down to tell them what an asshole I am."

He considers this statement for a moment, trying to find a way to reassure me that I'm not an asshole and that they won't hold it against me. But since we both know that's not true, he's at a loss. "It's character building."

"Right." I snort softly, pushing myself off of the chair and breathing a tired sigh. "And I could use some more character."

"You should be grateful for the opportunity, really."

Yeah. Grateful. That's the word I'd use. "G'night."

"Night."

I find Tommy lying on the bed fully clothed. He doesn't look over at me as I shut the door, he doesn't so much as flinch, which makes me wonder if maybe he's passed out already. But when I crawl onto the bed beside him, he turns his face towards mine and offers me _very_ small smile. I'd go so far as to label it tiny. Minuscule, even.

"You okay?" He asks right as I'm opening my mouth to pose the same question to him.

"Are _you_?"

"I guess."

"You don't have to be." I assure him supportively, my finger tips gently caressing the inked skin off his upper arm. "What happened tonight was rough."

"Maybe. But I had it coming."

"Tommy-"

"No, I'm serious." He shrugs, his expression blank, as though he really is totally at peace with it all. I know him too well, though. "I got off easy every fucking step of the way so far. My mom didn't almost disown me when I told her I was seeing a guy, and most of my friends and family have been totally supportive of us. You've gotten nothing but shit from almost everyone. I have _no_ right to complain because my mom and my sister were upset with me about this."

"It doesn't matter which of us takes more crap because of our relationship and how it started. It's not a competition, and it doesn't make what you're feeling now any less painful."

"I'm fine." He insists, but despite his even tone, I still don't believe him for a second. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Well, like you said, tonight was rough. And tomorrow's not looking like it'll be a hell of a lot better."

No, it's not. "It's just a day. It'll pass, and everything will be okay eventually."

He narrows his eyes at me suspiciously, and I do my best not to so much as blink. I don't _really_ believe what I've just said, but I _want_ to. And more than that, I want _him_ to believe it.

"Who the hell are you and what the fuck've you done with my neurotic mess of a boyfriend?"

"Shut up." I chuckle softly, giving him a light shove to the chest as he genuinely smiles for the first time in well over an hour. "I'm just trying to stay positive, you know? Put some hope out into the universe-"

"Keep yourself from completely pussing out?"

"That, too."

"What can I do?" He asks, his smile quickly fading and his voice becoming entirely serious. "Do you want me there when you tell them?"

"Only if you want to be."

"No, that's bullshit."

"Why?"

"Because we're _both_ in this. We both lied, we both cheated, and we're both gonna have to face whatever consequences come at us for it. Including this." He argues resolutely. "No, I don't _want_ to do it, but you don't want to either. You don't get a choice, though, so neither do I. They have to know, and we have to be the ones to tell them. So unless you honestly think it'll make things _worse_ if I'm there..."

"Are you _sure_?"

There's a pause. A hesitation. It only lasts for a few seconds, but it's long enough to confirm just how insecure he is about all of this, how afraid. But in spite of that fear, he nods. He promises me that he'll be there. For once, we're letting our fear bring us closer. We're not running for cover in opposite directions, desperately searching for some place safe and secure. We're holding on to each other.

We _are_ each other's some place safe and secure.

We spend the rest of the night "strategizing". That sounds kind of awful, considering what it is we're strategizing about. But we can't do this off-the-cuff, that's a recipe for disaster. Tommy listens carefully to my thoughts on how to approach each of my kids, how to explain it, how much to divulge. And he doesn't hold back any concerns or questions or suggestions he has. At least, not once we really start getting into it all. He seems a little unsure of himself at first, as though he's uncertain about how much input I actually want from him. But when he realizes that I'm _more_ than happy to hear his opinions on the subject, he opens up completely. And by the time we both give into sleep just after one am, the ideas I'd come up with are ten times better because of his contributions and our collaboration. Neither of us is looking forward to the whole thing anymore than we were before, but I feel more confident that we're going to handle tomorrow the best way we possibly can. And we're going to do it together.

The next morning plays out pretty much like every Monday morning. The kids are a little harder to get out of bed than usual because of the time they had off of school, but with Zac's help, we don't end up running too late. And, somehow, Zac and Tommy _still_ manage to avoid each other entirely almost all morning. Whenever they do find themselves in the same room, they pretend not to see each other. It's kind of like they're existing in two entirely separate realities, and they really _aren't_ aware of each other's presence. But I know that nothing could be further from the truth, and given how uncomfortable the whole thing is making me, I can only imagine how awkward they both feel.

But we all do our best to act as though everything is normal, and for the most part the kids seem to think it is, too.

The closer we get to leaving the house for school, though, the more resistant Penny becomes to doing _anything_ conducive to the process. It's clear that she doesn't want to go, she doesn't want to face those girls who were her friends only a few days ago but are now nothing more than bullies. And I know that I should make her go anyway, I should make her tough it out and go in there with her head held high... but I don't. I tell myself that one more day at home isn't going to make a difference, she won't miss much school work. And besides, I don't want her having a horrible day of possibly being tormented, only to come home and have me break her heart. So I let her stay home with Zac while Tommy and I take Ezra and River to school.

We have just enough time between dropping them off and meeting with the lawyer for me to make a quick stop at Starbucks for my third coffee of the morning. Tommy seems to think I have a "problem", but I think I'd have more of a problem if I tried to tackle the rest of this day _without_ any more caffeine in my system. Apparently, that only proves his point.

I don't care, though, because I have my Venti Caramel Latte, so all is right with the world.

I can actually _feel_ Tommy tense up almost as soon as we set foot into the lobby of the office building that the law firm is located in. It's big, cavernous, and every step taken across the polished floors seems to echo on and on. A security guard sitting behind a large information desk glances up at us somewhat disinterestedly as we make our way over to the elevators, and I quickly scan the pristine list of name plaques and floor numbers to figure out where we need to go. Tommy spends most of the elevator ride fidgeting, and I know that if he doesn't get control of his nerves soon, I'm going to be infected, too. So I reach over and take his hand in mine, squeezing it tightly until I hear him inhale a long, calming breath. And when he exhales it, his body is finally still.

"I hate these places." He admits in a mumble, eyeing the ever-changing floor numbers on the digitalized panel above the doors. "They're all fake and shiny, and everyone's fucking perfectly groomed and professional. Freaks me out."

"Right. Law offices freak you out, but blood thirsty killers are totally fine." I tease in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Honestly, though, I hate these places, too. But I've become used to buildings like this after spending most of my life in the entertainment industry; they don't faze me anymore. It's the _reason_ we're here that's the root of all of the anxiety I'm feeling (and trying to conceal from him).

"At least psycho killers are upfront about what they are. They don't hide behind a mask..." The second the words leave his mouth, he rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. But we'll be out of here in an hour." I assure him. "And hopefully he's just going to tell us that Pam doesn't stand a chance in hell, and that we have nothing to worry about."

Unfortunately, that's _not_ what he tells us.

After looking over the papers I was served with, and then asking me some questions about Pam's relationship with the kids and my relationship with her, he informs us that we _probably_ have nothing to worry about. But he's quick to point out that the court's main concern is what is in the best interests of the children, and normally they assume that relocation is _not_ in their best interests. And especially in our case, with our support system being so much smaller here than it was back in Tulsa, it will be on me to prove that moving them out here was the best thing to do for _them_. And it will be on Pam to prove that it wasn't. He also notes that there's a court date in Tulsa set for December tenth, and if I don't respond to the petition before then, or appear in court on that day, I risk losing custody automatically.

He spends the rest of the appointment basically interrogating us both (in the friendliest way possible) about our lifestyles, our relationship, our families, any criminal records we might have or criminal activity we may have engaged in, drug use, drinking, smoking... it's almost like the worst "meet the parents" imaginable. He's the over-protective father and we're the losers trying to date his precious daughter.

Thankfully, though, he seems to approve of most of our answers, and he can't see any reason for the court to be concerned for my kid's wellbeing while they're in our care. He suspects that Pam's main ploy will be focusing on how much change they've gone through this year, and how much better off they would be (in her opinion) if they lived in Tulsa with their grandparents and extended family, who basically helped raise them, rather than in "Hell A" with their sperm donor and his boyfriend. She'll play on the fact that I was gone so much while they were growing up, on the fact that I cheated on their mother with Tommy, and on the fact that I moved them out here so quickly. He also thinks that she'll use Ezra's behavioral problems as an example of the fact that I have no idea how to care for them. She'll point out that Ezra almost got kicked out of school at the age of nine, and how he's already been suspended once since we moved here.

Basically, she'll do whatever she has to, and say whatever she has to, in order to prove that I'm a bad parent and that my children aren't being adequately cared for when they're in my custody.

But at the end of it all, as we're shaking his hand on our way out of the office, he tells me not to worry, that he's _very_ good at his job, and that he wins cases a hell of a lot harder than mine all the time. I wouldn't say that his words _completely_ settle my nerves, because I don't know how any parent can avoid being nervous when faced with even the smallest possibility of losing their kids. I feel a lot better about the entire situation than I did last week, though, and I'm hopeful that he's going to make this whole thing go away sooner rather than later.

From the lawyers office, we head straight over to LAX just in time to meet Jenna off of her flight and help her with her bags. There actually aren't as many of them as I'd expected, but apparently she's having some of her things shipped to her later to avoid the ridiculous extra baggage charges the airline would have thrown at her.

She's _so_ excited to be back in Los Angeles, and to be able to call it home now. Seeing her smile and listening to the enthusiasm in her voice reminds me of how I felt a month ago when I was in her position, when my dreams were finally coming true. And it makes me feel so appreciative of it all again, and grateful that I had the opportunity to bring the same joy and sense of liberation to someone else.

I actually feel bad that she can't just relax and enjoy her first day here, and that the coming weeks and maybe even months aren't going to be stress-free, thanks to the custody case, the media attention surrounding my relationship with Tommy, and the impending conversations I intend to have with my kids this afternoon. As we fill her in on all of it on the drive home, her eyes widen further and further and her jaw drops a little more with every passing minute. She takes it all in stride, though, assuring me that she's ready to get right to work and that she'll do whatever she can to help out. I'm just not sure there's much that she or anyone else is going to be able to do to make things better.

Not today, at least.

Viggo and Penny are giddy to have Jenna back, and she's barely had time to set her bags down before they're dragging her out to the guest house to show her how it looks now that we've cleared out all of the boxes and set up a bed for her. Tommy and I, on the other hand, hang back a little and try to psych ourselves up to do what we both know has to be done. I'm honestly not sure which one of us is more nervous right now. I know that sounds stupid, because they're _my_ kids and I'm the one who should be worried about hurting them and having them think less of me. But I think Tommy's anxiety over this is almost equal to my own at this point!

Once Penny is preoccupied with showing Jenna her bedroom, and Zac is busy feeding Asta her lunch, I tell Viggo to come out to the backyard with me and Tommy, and he eagerly follows. My mind starts to race as soon as we step outside, I can't remember any of the things Tommy and I discussed last night, any of the things we'd agreed we should and shouldn't say to Viggo. I feel completely unprepared! But when Tommy intuitively takes my hand and holds it tightly, everything suddenly snaps into focus again. I take a breath to calm my emotions (and my nausea), and I take a seat with him on the steps of the deck.

"What're we doing out here?" Viggo asks, as though he was expecting some kind of surprise to be waiting for him when he got here.

"We just wanted to talk to you about some stuff." I shrug, trying to appear much more relaxed than I really feel. "Is that okay?"

"Sure." He smiles back at me, climbing up onto my lap.

With one more glance at Tommy, I figure there's nothing left to do but actually jump right in.

"You know how it's wrong to tell lies?" Viggo nods solemnly, he expression suddenly _very_ serious. "Well, sometimes people still tell lies, even though they know they shouldn't."

"I didn't tell a lie. Honest!" He swears fretfully.

"I know you didn't, buddy." I quickly assure him, putting his mind at ease. For now. "We're the ones who told a lie."

He frowns, as though this is completely unfathomable. "You and Tommy did?"

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Because we didn't know how to tell the truth without making a lot of people very sad."

"And you didn't wanna make them sad?" He concludes understandingly. "'Cause it's not nice to make people sad, 'cause then they cry and you feel bad."

God, I wish it really was as simple as we're making it sound. "Right."

"You could give them a hug and say you're sorry?"

"Yeah, you can do that sometimes. But... just a hug wouldn't have made anyone feel better this time."

"Oh."

Now he's at a loss for how we could have possibly done anything differently. He wants so badly to help us fix our mistake, unaware that we're trying to do exactly that just by having this conversation with him.

"What did you lie about?" He finally inquires, as though maybe that will help him figure out a solution to the problem. "Did you break something special?"

"Not exactly..." Begins Tommy carefully, diffidently trying to play his part and not mess this up. "You know that I love your dad and he loves me, right?" Viggo nods enthusiastically. "And he loved your mom, too. Just... in a different way."

"Like how?"

"Well, I love Tommy like a boyfriend." I explain simply, which leaves Viggo grinning as his eyes immediately flit to Tommy's face again. "And I loved mommy-"

"Like a girlfriend?"

"More like... a friend. A best friend."

"Like I love River?"

"Kind of." I answer uncertainly, not wanting him to confuse brotherly love with anything else. That's another one of my mistakes that I hope to _never_ have to explain to anyone besides the few who already know about it. "But your mommy loved me like a boyfriend, and she didn't know I only loved her like a best friend."

"You didn't tell her 'cause it would make her sad?" He asks with concern.

"It would've made her _very_ sad." Tommy confirms regretfully. "And he wanted her to be happy."

"Me too." Viggo laments. "But she's _always_ happy now, 'cause she's safe in Heaven."

I wrap my arms around him, holding him close to my chest as I kiss the top of his head and squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to fight back the tears. I feel as though I did this all wrong, because he's _so_ understanding of it all. I know I can't tell him that I cheated on her, he's not old enough to know what cheating even is. And maybe I'll have to sit him down again when he's older and re-explain this whole situation to him so that it's not as over-simplified and doesn't downplay what Tommy and I did to his mom.

But for right now, this is _all_ we can do. And I guess I'm just going to have to make peace with that.

"I want you to know something." I tell him quietly as he tilts his head to look up at me with big, innocent brown eyes. He's hanging on my every word, like always, so I _need_ to get whatever I say next right. "I shouldn't have lied to mommy. I shouldn't have lied to anyone, but I did. I told a lot of lies because I was scared that people wouldn't love me anymore if I told the truth."

"Why wouldn't they love you?" He asks, appalled by the very idea of me being hated.

"Because not everyone thinks it's okay for boys to love each other the way Tommy and I do."

"But how come?"

 "I wish I knew, buddy." I reply honestly. "They just... think it's wrong."

" _I_ don'tthink it's wrong."

There's no way I can _not_ hug him again, and even Tommy gently taps him on the knee in a silent show of encouragement. He's so full of love and hope, his views untainted by all of the hate and fear this world is overflowing with. I wish there was some way for me to keep him like this forever, to keep all of the ugliness out there from seeping in and sullying his soul in the slightest.

"It's not wrong to love someone. It _is_ wrong to lie about it, though. But I want you to know that, even if you tell a lie one day, even if you tell lots of lies like I did... you can make it better. It's never too late to tell the truth." I assure him, holding his rapt stare, willing him to hold this as close to his heart as I'm holding him to mine. "It might be scary, and some people might be upset with you, but the people who _really_ love you will forgive you. They're the _only_ people who matter, okay?"

"Okay."

"And you can always, _always_ tell me and Tommy the truth, about _anything_. _Promise_ me you won't ever forget that."

"I won't, I _promise_."


	66. Chapter 66

  


 

 

Our talk with Viggo went pretty much how I'd expected it would. Some of it didn't go quite as planned, but despite our (okay, _my_ ) divergences from the "script", we managed to make it through the whole thing without emotionally traumatizing him or overwhelming him. He understood everything we said to him, it wasn't too complicated or grown up for him to comprehend. And he came away from it knowing that even I make mistakes sometimes; I'm not perfect and I don't expect him to be either. If any of what was said to him today sticks with him as he grows up, I hope it's that I'll always love him, no matter what. I wish someone had said that to me when I was a kid. I wish someone had told me that I could tell them _anything_ and it wouldn't make them think less of me.

I guess no one realized I needed to hear it, though.

When we head back into the house, we find Jenna and Penny hanging out in the kitchen with Zac and Asta. Penny is kneeling on the floor with her baby sister, trying to convince her to let go of the kitchen island and take a step. It's impossible not to smile as I listen to her assuring Asta that she can do it; she sounds just like me. But Asta's no more influenced by Penny's coaxing than she is by mine, and she refuses to release her grasp on the wooden shelf she's clinging to.

"How'd it go?" Zac asks me quietly, watching Viggo carefully as he joins his sisters on the floor. "He seems... happy."

"He is." I shrug weakly. "It's not like we could tell him the whole story, so..."

"Right..."

"Jenna, do you think you could..." I nod my head in Viggo's direction, and Jenna smiles kindly as she steps out from behind the island and makes her way over to the kids.

"Hey, Viggo, wanna show me your room? I bet it's super cool now that you're all unpacked!"

"We got bunk beds!" He informs her excitedly, forgetting that they already had the bunk beds the last time she was here. But she pretends that she had _no_ idea, and he happily leads her out of the room to go and see them.

And then there were two...

"Come on, Stinker." Zac picks Asta up without me having to so much as give him a look. "It's nap time!"

I have to resist the urge to take her from him and insist that I'll do it. I can't get out of this conversation by procrastinating indefinitely, and I know I shouldn't try to. But honestly, I think I'm more nervous about talking to Penny than I am about talking to any of them, Ezra included. I don't want him to be any more angry with me than he already is, but I feel as though I barely have anything left to lose where he's concerned. He can't think much less of me, he doesn't have me on a pedestal the way his younger siblings still do. But Penny... that's a different story. I may not be quite the flawless hero in her eyes that I am in Viggo's, but I'm not the unreliable, heartless dirtbag that Ezra has me pegged as, either.

Not yet, anyway.

"Daddy, can I have some more Pringles?" Penny asks me hopefully as she pushes herself up off of the floor and brushes off her jeans in the most delicate, lady-like way imaginable. "Uncle Zac kept eating mine."

He does that. "Sure."

She smiles as she opens the snack cupboard and helps herself a small tub of potato chips, and while her back is turned I take the opportunity to glance over my shoulder at Tommy. But he's too busy watching her to notice my silent plea for assistance, and the look on his face pretty much identically matches the feelings of grief I'm currently struggling with.

"Um... Penny?" As soon as I say her name she looks up from peeling the seal off of her Pringles, her hand pausing as though I'm about to tell her she can't have them after all. "Can we talk to you for a minute?"

"Can I still eat my Pringles?"

"Yeah, of course."

She finishes opening her snack as she follows us out of the kitchen and onto the terrace, settling into one of the patio chairs opposite us. But she doesn't seem anywhere near as keen to eat as she did a few seconds ago, and as her eyes shift back and forth between us warily, she begins to look increasingly guilty.

"Uncle Zac told you what I told him, didn't he?" She sighs.

"About what?"

"About what those _stupid_ girls said at that _stupid_ party."

"Yeah, he did." I admit sympathetically, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand gently. "You know... _you_ could have told me?"

When she shakes her head sadly, her eyes still fixed on her untouched Pringles, my grip on her hand tightens. "I didn't want you to be upset."

"I know." God, do I know _all_ about keeping things from people in a misguided effort to protect them from the truth. Isn't that why we need to have this talk in the first place?. "But... sometimes it's better to be honest with people, even if you think it might upset them."

"Why?" She asks, genuinely baffled by the concept. "Isn't it better if everyone is just happy and they don't have to know about all the bad stuff?"

She is _so_ my daughter.

"I know it seems like it would be better, but the thing is... most of the time, they end up finding out about the bad stuff somehow anyway. And it upsets them more than it would have if you'd just told them the truth from the start."

"I'm sorry."

"No, Pen, I wasn't talking about you." I reassure her wholeheartedly. "I understand why you didn't want to tell me what happened. And I'm _so_ sorry they said those things to you because of us."

She gives a faint shrug, meeting my eyes for only a second before looking back down at her lap again. "It's not your fault. They're stupid and mean, and... I didn't really like them that much, anyway."

"I'm still sorry."

"It's okay." If only she'd have the same response to what we've really sat her down to talk about. "Listen...Tommy and I need to tell you something." I begin slowly, and Tommy quietly scoots his chair a little closer to mine, letting me know that he's right here with me. It's precisely the push I need. "But first, I need you to know that I am _so_ proud to be your dad. I love you and your brothers and sister more than _anything_ , and having you was the best thing I've _ever_ done."

"I love you, too..." She replies, clearly unnerved by the sudden intensity of this conversation.

"And I loved your mom. I've never loved another woman as much as I loved her." I explain as honestly as I can, taking a moment to gather my thoughts before I continue. "But... when you marry someone, you should be _in_ love with them. And even though I loved her _very_ much... I wasn't in love with her."

Her face falls instantly, and I wish I could take back everything I've just said. It was a truth I never wanted her to be aware of, and _this_ is why.

It's breaking her heart.

"It wasn't your mom's fault." Tommy interjects when he realizes that the tears in Penny's eyes have rendered me incapable of saying anything more. "And it wasn't your dad's fault, either. She loved him, and he wanted to make her happy. He thought he had to marry a girl, because everyone wanted him to, even though he liked boys. He was too afraid to tell everyone the truth."

"You didn't _want_ to be married to mommy?" She whimpers forlornly.

"She was the _only_ woman in the world I would have wanted to be married to." I tell her, desperately searching for a way to stop her from falling apart in front of me. "But if I'd thought I was _allowed_ to... I would have wanted to be with a guy."

Her eyes shift from my face to Tommy's for a moment, and then back again. "Like Tommy?"

"Yeah... like Tommy."

"Do you wish you'd never married mommy?"

"I wish... that she'd married someone better than me. She deserved to be with someone who loved her _so_ much, more than I ever could have. But... I don't wish that I hadn't married her, because then I wouldn't have you." I explain gently, willing her to understand even though I'm not sure she really can. _I_ can barely figure out how I feel about it all, what I regret and what I don't, and how it all makes sense. "I did a lot of bad things... I told a lot of lies because I didn't want to upset people by telling the truth. I..." My eyes instinctively go to Tommy, but even he seems too ashamed right now to look either of us in the face. "I fell in love with Tommy when I was still married to your mom. And that... that was wrong. But... you can't stop yourself from falling in love. It just... happens."

"Did mommy know you loved Tommy?"

I shake my head in remorse, forcing myself to look at her as I speak. "No, she didn't. And I should have told her, no matter how afraid I was or how upset it would have made everyone. I should have told the truth, but I didn't. I'm telling it _now_ , though, because it's the right thing to do. Even if it makes you mad at me. You deserve to know the truth, just like your mom did, and I wish I'd told her when I had the chance."

She's quiet for a moment, trying to accept everything I'm telling her, trying to figure out what it all means and how she's supposed to feel about it. I'm sure she feels as though she should be angry with me for what I did, but at the same time, nothing I just told her changes our lives _now_. And to the best of her knowledge, I never hurt her mom when she was alive. Even if I wasn't in love with Natalie, I still loved her enough that no one really questioned the legitimacy of our relationship. Especially not our kids.

"If mommy was alive now, would you still be with Tommy?" She finally asks me, posing the one question I really _don't_ know how to answer honestly.

Sometimes it's a yes, because I can't imagine how Tommy and I would have _not_ ended up together. It seems like too tragic of an end for us, too much of a waste. But then it's no, because I can't imagine leaving my kids, leaving Natalie _again_ after I promised her I wouldn't.

"No." Tommy answers for me while I'm in the midst of struggling to come up with a definitive answer, and both Penny and I turn to look at him in surprise. "He wouldn't have left you."

What he means is, _he_ wouldn't have let me.

Whether it's the whole truth or not, I guess we'll never really know. But either way, it seems to have been what Penny needed to hear. She's not okay, not at all, but she's not as devastated as I'd anticipated she would be. She asks if we're done talking now, if she can go back inside, and her demeanor is eerily similar to how I remember it being the day she found out that Tommy and I were a couple. Back then it terrified me, I felt hopeless and I thought I might be losing her. But we made it through that, and I believe we can make it through this, too. If I give her the time and the space that she's asking for, if I let her come to terms with this in her own way... I _think_ we might just be okay.

Once she's disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving her Pringles uneaten on the patio table, I hear Tommy exhale a weary breath as I do exactly the same thing. We wordlessly turn to one another, wrapping each other in comforting hugs and trying to accept that we actually made it through that seemingly impossible conversation without _completely_ screwing everything up. I don't feel good, by any means, and it would be a stretch to say I'm relieved, but I'm not a wreck, either.

We survived one of the hardest discussion we'll probably _ever_ have to have with Penny.

Two down.

 Two to go.

Jenna and Zac stay at the house while Tommy and I pick River and Ezra up from school. River is his usual, chatty self on the drive home, and the two of us do our best to focus on all of the details of his day that he's trying to share with us, rather than worrying about what we have to share with him when we get home. I'm actually not as nervous about telling him now, though. I already thought he'd take it better than Penny would, and we don't plan on telling him quite as much as we told her. Even though he's closer in age to Penny than he is to his little brother, he doesn't take things to heart in quite the same way that she does. He's more childlike... but then, since he _is_ a child, that's appropriate. Penny is more adult, always has been. She's always wanted to be like her mom and her aunts, always wanted to dress older than she is (with the exception of her Disney princess dress-up clothes), always wanted to be seen as mature. River is happy to stay a kid for as long as he can, and I want to do everything _I_ can to make sure that happens.

Sometimes I wish I'd done the same for myself instead of being in such a rush to grow up.

Our talk with River ends up going... smoothly. That seems like a terrible assessment of a conversation in which you basically tell your kid that you lied to their mom and only ever loved her like a friend. But I don't know what other word would be more fitting. He's not as accepting as Viggo, but not as hurt as Penny. He's torn between the two, struggling to integrate his loyalty to his mom with his love for me and Tommy.  I have a feeling he'll probably end up talking to Natalie tonight for the first time in weeks, seeking her advice and approval before he allows himself to forgive us and put this whole thing aside so that we can go back to the way things were before.

That just leaves Ezra...

I'm _so_ glad we decided to tackle this subject in the presence of a mental health professional, because I honestly don't feel equipped to try to talk to him about it by myself. I doubt it's going to go well, _at_ _all_ , but I think a hell of a  lot less damage is likely to be done if someone who knows a thing or two about managing emotions is there to mediate the whole thing.

Ezra is visibly unnerved by Tommy getting into the car with us when we leave to go to his therapy appointment, but he doesn't say a word about it. He does his best to pretend not to care, even though his concern is palpable for the entire drive over to Theresa's office. We're running a few minutes late, so she's already done with her prior appointment and waiting for us with a welcoming smile when we finally make it up to the waiting room.

"Sorry we're late."

"No problem." She insists sincerely. "Gave me a chance to make some fresh coffee."

"Theresa, this is Tommy." I introduce them in an effort to dispel the tension (and my own nerves), and they shake hands cordially.

"Nice to meet you, Tommy. I've heard all about you."

This information takes both of us by surprise. I told her _a_ _little_ about him over the phone before she first started seeing Ezra, and I might have mentioned him once or twice during our brief calls since then. And obviously I filled her in on what it is we intend to tell Ezra today, but I still wouldn't consider that to be "all about him". Does that mean Ezra actually tells her things? That he's been opening up to her and sharing details of his life with her?

"Well, come on in." Theresa encourages us, gesturing for us to go ahead into her office. And once again, when Ezra notices Tommy accompanying us, he looks incredibly apprehensive. "Take a seat anywhere you'd like."

Ezra immediately drops down into an armchair by the window, picking up a set of Buckyballs and focusing his full attention on them while Tommy and I sit side-by-side on a nearby leather couch. The room is quiet for a moment or two while Theresa settles herself in her own chair and picks up Ezra's file. She opens it to what looks like the last page in a small pile of note paper, and sets it on her lap as she reaches to retrieve a pen from her desk. Ezra seems unfazed by all of it; it's probably how every one of his sessions has started. But for me this is all new, and I'm more than a little on edge.

"Right, so... Ezra?" Theresa begins, and he looks up at her for a split second. Apparently that's his way of letting her know he's listening. "Your dad called me this morning and asked me if he and Tommy could be here today because there's something they need to talk to you about." He shrugs, his fingers still frantically manipulating the tiny magnets in his hands as though it's the most important task in the world. "I'm sure you're probably feeling a little nervous right now, and that's okay. Whatever you feel is okay-"

"You _told_ him, didn't you?" Ezra suddenly snaps, and to my immense surprise, his eyes are now fixed on Tommy.

"I... no" Tommy stammers uncertainly.

"Told me what?"

"You _promise_ d you wouldn't!" Accuses Ezra angrily, leaving me more and more confused by the second.

This is _so_ not how I expected this to play out!

"Ezra," Theresa begins in that calm, even tone of hers. "Tommy isn't here because-"

"He lied to me." Ezra informs her as he folds his arms defiantly over his chest. "He said if I talked to you he wouldn't tell, but he did anyway. He's a _liar_!"

"Will someone _please_ tell me what this is about?" I interrupt anxiously, looking back and forth between my livid son and my mortified boyfriend. "What's going on? What weren't you supposed to tell me?"

Tommy shakes his head regretfully, casting a worried glance at Ezra before looking me in the eyes. "Taylor-"

" _Tell_ me!"

"I told him something _private_ , and he _promised_ he wouldn't tell you. But _then_ he said he was gonna tell you if I didn't tell _her_!" Explains Ezra grumpily, but even though that fills in a couple of blanks for me, there's still _way_ too much here that doesn't make _any_ sense.

"I _didn't_ tell him, Ezra!" Protests Tommy earnestly. "He doesn't know!"

"Know _what_?!"

I don't know if it was the increased volume of my voice or simply my perpetual cluelessness, but Ezra finally seems to realize that it's true. I really have _no_ idea what the hell is going on, Tommy didn't tell me any-fucking-thing. Whatever secret Ezra thinks has been betrayed is still safe.

Apparently I'm the only one in this room who _isn't_ in on it.

"You _honestly_ didn't tell him?" He asks Tommy anxiously, receiving a resigned head shake in response.

"Ezra, I know this hasn't been an easy thing for your to talk about, but perhaps now would be a good time for you to tell your dad what we've been talking about during our past few sessions?" Suggests Theresa gently, but Ezra immediately turns his face away from us all. "It's okay to be nervous, but no one here is going to be upset with you for saying how you feel. We're all here because we care about you, okay?"

"I don't want to talk about it." He mutters, and I have to grasp the arm of the couch to stop myself from once again _begging_ someone to tell me what's going on.

"Well, do you think it would it be okay if Tommy and I told him for you?" She asks gently, and he shrugs as though he doesn't care what we do.

But it's obvious he does care. It's obvious that, whatever this thing is, he never intended for me to find out about it.

"Tommy, why don't you start?" Theresa persuades him. "You can tell Taylor what happened between you and Ezra, and then I can fill him in on what Ezra and I have talked about since then."

He takes a slow, unsteady breath as he nods and looks up at me again, and I'm so overwhelmed with worry that I feel as though I'm going to be sick. I can't even hazard at guess at what this secret is, what my boyfriend and my son have been keeping from me, or how long I've been kept in the dark until today.

I came here to confess something to my son, I wasn't prepared to have the tables turned on me this way!

"You remember the day I went to pick Ez up from school?" Tommy asks quietly, and I nod in apprehensive anticipation. "Well... I lied when I told you that we just went straight home and nothing happened. I... I took him to that park we went to that day we hung out with the kids last summer, you know?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"We talked a little... I told him about my dad, and how I felt when he died. I just thought that if he knew that I understood how he felt about losing his mom, he might feel like he could talk about it."

"Okay..."

So far, I'm not hearing anything too upsetting. I mean, I wish he'd _told_ me all of this when it happened, but I guess I understand why he didn't. I get the feeling that we haven't gotten to the worst of it yet, though.

"I guess I must've like... hit a nerve or something, 'cause he got mad at me. He said some stuff I don't think he meant to say..." His eyes automatically dart over to Ezra, and mine follow, and I notice that he's sitting as far to one side of his chair as he can. As far away from us as he can. "I didn't know what he meant, at first. He asked me not to tell you about it, and I said I wouldn't. But then... I was thinking about it, and it kinda hit me what he was saying, what he'd been thinking. So when you were sick with that stomach thing and I was taking care of the kids, I talked to him again. I told him that... if he didn't want me to tell you what he'd said, he had to tell his therapist about it instead. I _know_ it was stupid, but I didn't know what else to do! I felt like I knew this thing that might help you guys, but he wasn't gonna tell you about it, and I promised him _I_ wouldn't tell you about it... " He shrugs helplessly, pleading with me to understand why he did this. "I just wanted to help."

"And it _did_ help." Theresa is quick to confirm in his defense. "While I don't condone the method used to influence him, Ezra _has_ been talking to me more about certain things these past few weeks, and I think we can all agree that it has been helpful for him."

"It has." I admit, still trying to come to terms with the fact that Tommy kept something like this from me and I had _no_ fucking idea. I thought I was the master of keeping secrets, but apparently I've met my match in more ways than I ever realized. "But I still don't understand what it was that he said that was _so_ significant."

"It was just... something about..." Tommy pauses, struggling to tell me what was said _without_ actually telling me.

But I already know. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his sympathetic tone.

"It was something about me, right?" I look over at my son once again, but he's still busy staring out of the window. "Ez?"

"What?"

"Was it something about me?" He shrugs. "What was it? What did I _do_?"

"Nothing."

"Ezra-"

"Why don't you ask _them_?" He retorts bitterly. "They already told you everything else anyway."

"If you don't want me to know, then just say so!" I urge him in absolute frustration. "I think it'd be better for both of us if I knew what was going on with you,. But it's not about what _I_ think or what _I_ want. If you don't want me to know, then I'm not gonna force you to-"

"I don't _care_."

I know he does care, no matter relentlessly he tells us that he doesn't. But I have to believe that if he honestly _didn't_ want me to know, he'd put up some kind of fight. Maybe some part of him wants me to know this secret of his as badly as _I_ want to know it.

"Okay, so..." I turn back to Theresa and Tommy, waiting for one of them to start talking. "What was it?"

After casting one last cautious glance at Ezra, Tommy finally relents. "He said you didn't care about him." This isn't news to me; he's been accusing me of that all year. "And I told him it wasn't true, I said you loved him more than anything. And he said that, if you loved him so much... how come he was never enough."

"Enough?" I frown in utter confusion. "Enough for what?"

"That's what I asked him, and he wouldn't tell me." Explains Tommy ruefully. "But the more I thought about it, the more sense it started to make... and when I confronted him with what I thought, I knew I was right."

"Right about what?"

"He thinks he wasn't enough for you. Or Natalie." _What_?! "He wasn't enough to keep you home more, and he wasn't enough to keep her from wanting more kids."

No.

No, no, no, _no_. That is _so_ far from true!

Oh God.

"Ezra... you don't really believe that, do you?" I ask him in astonishment, my voice already threatening to fail me. He still refuses to look at me, he doesn't so much as shrug. "Buddy, that's _not_ true at all."

"Whatever."

"No, not 'whatever'. You _need_ to know it's not true! It was _never_ your fault. It was never _you_. It was me, it was _all_ me, _I_ was the one who wasn't enough. I wasn't strong enough to be the person I needed to be, and I couldn't love your mom enough to make her as happy as she deserved to be." Something about his posture changes, only very slightly, but I'm so focused on him right now that I notice it immediately. Even though I still can't see his face, even though he's still giving me the cold shoulder, I can _feel_ him listening to me. _Hearing_ me. "I messed up, Ez. When I was a kid... I knew I was different. I knew I liked boys instead of girls, but I knew that a lot of people would be upset if I told them that. So I lied. I lied and pretended it wasn't true, and I tried to force myself to like girls instead. When I met your mom, we got along so well... I thought that I could make myself fall in love with her like she'd fallen in love with me. But I _couldn't_. She was perfect, but I couldn't feel that way about her no matter how badly I wished I could. It hurt _so_ much, and it made me _so_ sad. I didn't even want to be alive anymore, I really thought that I was going to be sad _forever_. But then you came along, and I've _never_ loved anything as much as I love you." I tell him unequivocally, my hand reaching out to him without hesitation, without a second of thought. And to my immense surprise and _relief_ , he doesn't shrug me off or pull away from my touch. "You made me _want_ to be alive. You _still_ do."

"Then why did you leave all the time?" He asks, and unless I'm mistaken, there's a distinct hint of sadness in his tone. It's not the angry accusation it normally would be, there's no hostility. Only heartache. "And why did mom want to keep having more and more babies?"

"I left because..." It was easier to be away from Natalie than it was to be around her all the time. "Your mom thought I was someone I wasn't. And pretending to be who she thought I was... it made me tired. And unhappy." I try to explain as best as I can. "I was selfish, Ezra. I left because I could stop pretending when she wasn't there. But me leaving all the time made her feel like _she_ wasn't enough. She wanted to feel special, and you made her feel special. You and your brothers and sisters-"

"Not enough, though." He argues miserably as he finally turns to face me. "If we'd made her feel special enough, she wouldn't have wanted to have Asta. And if she hadn't had Asta, she'd still be here."

I shake my head helplessly, wishing I'd figured out how he felt so much sooner so that he wouldn't have been living with these thoughts plaguing him for the past ten months. "It _wasn't_ your fault, Ezra. You were her world. She loved you _so_ much, and you made her feel _so_ special... she didn't want another baby because _you_ didn't make her feel special enough, it was because I didn't. _I_ didn't love her enough, I _couldn't_ because I... I loved someone else."

He frowns, his teary eyes drifting disbelievingly from my face to Tommy's and then back again. "You loved him?"

"Yes."

"You loved him when mom was still alive?" I nod slowly, my body immediately turning cold as he pulls his small hand out of my gentle grasp. "You loved him and not her, and she _knew_ you didn't love her, and it made her sad." He concludes out loud, piecing together everything that's just been said. "She just wanted you to love her, but you didn't, so she wanted another baby to love her instead. And now she's _dead_."

Sensing his escalating emotions, and my inability to quell them, Theresa chooses this moment to attempt to step in and diffuse the situation. "Ezra, what happened to your mother wasn't anyone's fault. I know it's hard to accept that things like that can happen to people we love, and it's normal to want to blame someone-"

"I blame him!" He declares, getting out of his chair and stalking over to the door. "I blame _both_ of you."

"Ez-"

"I hate you! I wish _you'd_ died instead of her!"

That statement, spoken with so much conviction and venom, hits me like a baseball bat to the chest. It leaves me momentarily incapable of _breathing_ , let alone moving. But no matter how much it hurt, I can't simply sit back and watch my son flee from the office, none of us can. I force myself off of the couch and out of the room after him, just in time to see him disappear out of the waiting room. I chase him single-mindedly, but he's just as desperate to get away from me as I am to catch up to him. I'm three steps behind him the entire way down the stairwell, and all I can hear between my frantic pleas for him to stop is his ragged breathing as he puts _everything_ he has into escaping from me.

He bursts free of the quiet building and out onto the busy city street, running blindly straight into the road. My heart is in my throat as he dashes across two lanes of traffic unscathed, but he's barely crossed the median when he notices a car approaching in the far lane that will undoubtedly hit him if he keeps going. He stops in his tracks, shaken out of the reckless daze he'd been in... unaware of the SUV coming _right_ for him. The driver doesn't see him, they don't slow down, they're not even fucking _looking_!

I call out to him in a panic, and the sound of my voice prompts him to turn. That's when he sees the SUV, but he _still_ doesn't get out of the road.

He _can't_.

My son, the reason my heart still beats in my chest, is frozen in fear like a deer caught in headlights.

 


	67. Chapter 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY CHAPTER!!!

  


 

 

I do this thing sometimes. I don't know, maybe everyone does it.

It'd make me feel a hell of a lot better if that was the case; it'd mean I'm not completely alone in being batshit crazy.

But sometimes, when something horrible _almost_ happens, I have this kinda like... flash, I guess. It's like it doesn't almost happen, it _actually_ happens. In my head, if that makes any sense. I see it play out in front of me in vivid detail. I hear it, feel it... and when I finally snap back to reality, it's kinda like waking up from a bad dream. I gasp out loud like a freak, sometimes I'll even grab onto something just to steady myself. My heart will race for a moment, I'll feel a rush of panic and relief, and combined they make me feel _totally_ fucking nauseous.

That's what happened as I watched Ezra standing in the middle of the street with a goddamn SUV coming towards him at thirty-five fucking miles an hour.

I heard Taylor calling out his name, he sounded so desperate and afraid. I wanted to reach out to him. God fucking knows why, because it's not like a simple touch from me would have brought him any comfort while he stood by and watched his son get hit by a car. But it didn't matter anyway, because I couldn't do it. I couldn't reach out to him, or move, or speak, or _breathe_.

All I could do was stand there.

I was powerless. Helpless.

Useless.

The second I see the car hit Ezra, I'm brought back from the morbid alternate universe I'd been stuck in and dumped unceremoniously back in the here and now. In the here and now, the car _hasn't_ hit him. He's still standing right where he was before, and that SUV is still coming _right_ at him. I try again to reach out to Taylor, but I still can't touch him.

Only this time, it's because he's not even there to _be_ touched.

I've never seen anyone run so fast in my whole damn life. It's like the prospect of seeing his kid die has imbued him with superhuman speed or something! I honestly have no fucking clue what's going to happen, whether Taylor will get to Ezra before the SUV will. It seems like they've gotta be moving at the same speed, even though I _know_ it's not possible. They're neck and neck, though, coming at him from two different directions.

Taylor hits first.

But in the same instance that he shoves Ezra to safety, the SUV slams into _him_ instead.

I wait for my stupid mind to snap me out of yet another fucked up flash of "what if", but it doesn't. Everything slows down. Including my heart. I see his body smash against the hood, into the windshield, then that stupid bitch behind the wheel _finally_ slams on the brakes, which throws him back down onto the solid ground below.

I don't blink, not once. I _wish_ I could. I wish I could block this out, I _wish_ I didn't have to watch one of my worst nightmares play out right before my eyes... I wish I hadn't seen every last second of it. I wish I hadn't _heard_ the sound of the person I love most in this world being _broken_ right in front of me.

As soon as his body hits the road, I _run_.  I'm pretty sure I jump right over the fucking median (apparently I have some superhuman abilities of my own), and I'm moving so fast that the only way I can stop when I get to him is to practically drop to the ground beside him as though my legs have just spontaneously snapped in half. He's lying on his side, terrifyingly motionless, and I carefully cradle his heavy head in my hand as I ease him onto his back.

"Taylor?" Oh shit, oh _shit_! " _Taylor_?"

The right side of his face is covered in scratches and scrapes from the rough asphalt. Some of them are minor, some of them bleeding. But the blood isn't what scares me, it's the fact that he won't open his eyes. I want to shake him, but I force myself not to. I already feel like an idiot for moving him _at all_ , I know better, but I just...

"I didn't see him." I hear someone say, her voice trembling and distraught. "Is he okay? He came out of nowhere, I-I didn't _see_ him!"

"They're sending an ambulance." Another voice informs her. Or maybe it's me they're talking to. Or maybe someone else entirely, I don't fucking know.

I don't fucking _care_. He won't open his eyes!

"Taylor, come on..." I plead with him hopelessly, brushing the hair out of his face so that when he _does_ open his eyes it won't bother him. "Look at me. _Please_ , baby, open your eyes." This isn't happening. This _can't_ be happening. " _Look_ at me!"

He groans softly, his eyelids beginning to flutter a little, and I breathe a sigh of relief so big that I swear I must have been holding my breath this entire fucking time. It _feels_ like I was suffocating. As he slowly opens his eyes, his brow creases even more in confusion. Or maybe pain. He blinks a few times, staring up at the sky above us before his gaze finally falls to my face. And then he looks even _more_ disoriented.

"What..." He can't seem to finish the question, but he doesn't need to.

"It's okay." I quickly assure him, doing my best to act like I wasn't just freaking the fuck out, because I don't want _him_ to know how scared I was. "There was an accident, but you're okay."

He's silent for a moment, processing what I've said and letting it sink in, and then his eyes grow wide in panic. When he tries to sit up, his face instantly contorts in agony, and he grits his teeth as he bites back a cry of pain and collapses back into my waiting arms.

"Ezra! _Where's_ Ezra? Is he okay?"

God, I _suck_!

I was so focused on making sure that Taylor was alright, I didn't even fucking _look_ to see if Ezra was okay. He wasn't the one hit by an SUV, so I just assumed that he was in better shape.

Some step-parent I'm turning out to be.

I look up to find Ezra standing a few feet away, being comforted by his therapist as they watch us along with several other curious onlookers. He seems dazed, probably shocked. I'm not sure how much of the accident he actually saw, since he was probably too busy landing on the sidewalk to look back and witness his dad getting rammed by a moving vehicle. But whether he saw what happened or not doesn't matter; he can see the result. He can see his dad lying on the ground, bleeding, barely able to move. That'd be traumatizing enough for any ten-year-old, let alone one who already lost a parent this year.

Because regardless of how many times he tells Taylor he hates him, and in spite of his bitter wish that Taylor had died instead of Natalie, he still loves him.

"He's fine." I tell him, warily eyeing the bloody graze on Ezra's forearm for a moment before forcing a small smile and looking back down at him. "He scratched his arm a bit, but he'll be fine. You _both_ will."

"Fuck... it hurts." He mutters just loud enough for me to hear him, squeezing his eyes shut as he struggles to take a breath.

My eyes instinctively do a sweep of his body, but aside from the cuts on his face, I can't see any other signs of injury. That doesn't mean that there isn't plenty of damage that's invisible to me, though. "What hurts?"

"Everything... my head, my chest..." He grunts miserably. "It hurts to breathe."

"You might've cracked a rib." Or ten. "Try not to move, okay?"

"I-I think my leg might be broken."

"Which one?" Does it even fucking _matter_ , Tommy?! _Fuck_ , you're such an idiot sometimes.

"The right one." He winces in pain again, and all I can do is soothingly stroke my thumb across his cheek and hope that it offers him some small amount of comfort.

"Just... try to lie still." I urge him gently, the distant sound of sirens helping to alleviate a _little_ of my anxiety. "You're gonna be fine. I'm right here, and Ezra's okay, and the ambulance is coming." He nods as his body relaxes a little in my arms. "You're gonna be _fine_."

"Are you saying that for my benefit or yours?" He tries to tease me, but he barely manages a smile.

"Shut up." I retort, not feeling nearly as self-possessed as I'm attempting to sound. "You're wasting valuable energy on _failing_ to be funny."

"Ouch."

"What? What's wrong?" I ask worriedly, trying to adjust how I'm holding him in case I'm doing something to make him more uncomfortable.

"You hurt my feelings."

Damnit, I'm gonna _kill_ him! "Fuck you, I thought you were in pain!"

"I am."

" _Real_ pain."

"I am!" He exclaims honestly. "I'm in _real_ pain, and my boyfriend is insulting me."

"Stop pouting." I warn him, fighting to keep the smirk off of my face. "You're such a baby."

"Your bedside manner _sucks_."

"Yeah? Well you're a fucking _terrible_ patient."

Even though I _just_ told him to stop pouting, and even though I'm _trying_ to pretend that I'm immune to that pitiful little face he's making right now, I've never been able to resist it when he pulls this shit. And after the terror of almost losing him, I'm even more of a sucker for him than I already was before. His lips curl into a satisfied smile as I lean down and press mine to them, kissing him softly and thanking any and every-fucking-thing that I still _can_.

But as I pull back, there's something warm lingering on my lower lip. My tongue instinctively sweeps over it before I can give it a second thought, and I immediately feel nauseous. For all of my joking about wanting to be a vampire, I can't stand the taste of blood. Not Taylor's blood, anyway. Or maybe it's just that I can't stand the fact that he's bleeding.

Either way, it turns my stomach.

Once the ambulance arrives a few minutes later, I'm forced to let go of him and stand back while the medics evaluate his condition. I take the opportunity to check on Ezra while Taylor's trying to talk them _out_ of using a neck brace, but Ezra is either refusing to acknowledge my existence or he's still in too much shock to say or do anything. He just stands there, staring at Taylor while the medics ignore his assertions that he doesn't _need_ a neck brace and load him onto a gurney. When I try to guide Ezra towards the ambulance, he actually lets me to do it, which I guess is a good sign. But once we make it over there, Taylor asks the medics to stop for a second so that he can talk to me.

"Can you get my phone? It's in my left pocket."

"Taylor-"

"Please?"

Like I can really say no to him right now. He's ten seconds away from being taken to hospital! "Okay."

"And my keys." He adds as soon as I slip my hand into the pocket of his jeans. "I need you to call Zac." Shit, _really_? "Tell him I'm not gonna be able to take him to the airport and he'll need to call a cab or something."

"Fine." I sigh grudgingly, because even though talking to Zac isn't the most appealing idea I've ever been presented with, telling him to take a cab to the airport and _leave_ is.

"And I need you to go get the car-"

" _What_?" I cut him off before he can even finish making his request. "Fuck that, I'm coming with you!"

"Please? It's in a two hour parking spot, and I don't wanna have to deal with it getting towed and paying a bunch of fines on top of everything else."

"But-"

"You can drive Ez to the hospital and meet me there. It'll take you ten minutes; it's not like you're gonna miss anything." He insists, giving me those big, helpless baby blues of his. " _Please_?"

Fuck him.

"Fine, whatever." I grumble, rolling my eyes to make a point of how annoyed I am.

" _Thank you_." He reaches out and grasps my wrist gently, giving it a small squeeze. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I'll see you soon, okay?"

I nod, immediately missing the feel of his fingers on my skin as the medics push the gurney away from me and lift it into the ambulance. "I'll be _right_ behind you."

It's like I'm rooted to the spot, incapable of moving until the doors of the ambulance have been closed on him and the sirens are blaring as it disappears down the street. And even then, it takes me a moment or two to come out of the paralyzed state I'm in and actually _do_ something. I tell Ezra that we have to go, and he dutifully (and silently) follows me over to the sidewalk.

But before I can get any further, I'm stopped by a cop who wants to know if I witnessed the accident.

I'm tempted to lie and tell him I didn't see anything, because the alternative is wasting time standing here, relaying everything I saw while Taylor is alone in the fucking emergency room! But I end up telling him that I saw what happened, recounting one of the worst moments of my entire life so that he can take emotionless notes and question me about the details until I feel like I'm on fucking trial for something. Then he scribbles a case number on a business card and hands it to me, informing me that I'll probably need to answer some more questions later.

Can't fucking wait!

As we walk the two blocks back to the car, I try again to get Ezra to tell me whether or not he's hurt, or if he's okay. But he's still refusing to say anything, and I still can't tell what the hell is going on in his head. I guess I should just be grateful that he's cooperating, and that I'm not having to coerce him into the damn car while he kicks and screams like he threatened to do that day in the park. I've got to admit, though, it's kind of unsettling to see him like this. He hasn't been the most talkative kid on the planet for a long time now, but even when he was giving us all the silent treatment, you could still _feel_ how angry he was. And no, that wasn't fun, but at least it was _something_. Right now, I'm getting absolutely fuck all from him.

The second I'm settled in the driver's seat, I put the key in the ignition and start the engine. All I want to do is get to the hospital and be with Taylor, but there's a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that I need to call Zac first. I told Taylor I would...

Fuck it.

_Why_ do I agree to these things?!

What I _really_ want to do is just send him a text, but then he'll probably call me back anyway. Or he'll text me back with questions, so I'll have to text him again, which is just a _giant_ waste of my fucking time.

_Fuck._

"Hey." He greets me cheerfully after only a couple of rings. Probably because he was expecting Taylor to be on the other end of the line. If he'd realized it was me calling, I'm sure he would have hesitated before answering. "How'd it go?"

"Uh... hi. It's Tommy." I tell him awkwardly. "Taylor asked me to call you."

"Oh..." Yeah. _Now_ you wish you hadn't picked up, huh? "Okay... what's up?"

"There was kinda... an accident. Everyone's okay, but he's gotta get checked out at the hospital, so he can't-"

"Wait, _what_? What accident? What happened?"

I roll my eyes. I can't help it. I know I'm being a dick, and if the situation was reversed I'd be just as panicked as he is. But whatever, I hate him. "He just... there was a thing with a..." Oh, just say it, Tommy. There's no way to make it sound less horrible than it was. "He got hit by a car."

" _What_?!"

"It's okay, he's fine. I mean... he's probably got like a few broken ribs or something, but he's-"

"Which hospital is he at?" He demands. "Is it Cedars?"

Shit. "Yeah."

"Are you with him right now?"

"No, I'm on my way there with Ezra."

"I'll fill Jenna in and then I'll meet you guys there."

I _knew_ he was gonna say that. And I know I shouldn't begrudge him wanting to be with Taylor after he just got hit by a fucking car, but _damnit_ , I just want him to fucking _leave_ so things can go back to the way they were!

"You don't have to-"

"Look, I know you hate me, but if you think I'm gonna get on a plane and leave the state without so much as checking on him first, you're out of your Goddamn mind." He snaps at me impatiently. "Get over yourself."

He doesn't wait for an argument or an apology (not that he would've gotten either). If it wasn't for Ezra sitting in the back seat, I would be cussing at the top of my fucking lungs right now. Not only because I'm pissed off that I have to deal with Zac, but because of _everything_ that's happened in the past hour. From the therapy session, to the accident, to this... I am seriously at the end of my damn rope, I'm losing my fucking mind, and all I want to do is _scream._

But instead, I grip the steering wheel and take a long, deep, supposedly calming breath before shifting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb. Thankfully, Taylor was right and Theresa's office is only about ten minutes from Cedars-Sinai, but I shoulda known there'd be no fucking parking anywhere nearby. I mean, yeah, there are the visitor parking lots, but I know from past experience that they're useless unless you know how long you're gonna be here. And as much as I wish I did, I don't.

I really _loathe_ this place.

I haven't been near it in over two years, and I was really hoping to avoid it for a hell of a lot longer. Forever, if possible. But whatever. I'm just gonna have to deal with it, because no way am I letting my issues with this hell hole keep me from being with Taylor when he's hurt. I finally find parking about six blocks away, and then lead Ezra back through the busy streets until we find the bright red signs for the Emergency Department. I'm trying to be the strong, self-assured adult I'm supposed to be here, but I've gotta admit that all of the sights and sounds have me feeling more than a little overwhelmed and tense. I wish _I_ had someone to take the lead and figure out where we're supposed to go and what I'm supposed to say right now, but there isn't anyone else. It _has_ to be me.

So I suck it up and pretend that none of this bothers me as much as it actually does.

"Excuse me?" I address someone behind the main desk in the department, but she doesn't look up from her computer. "I'm looking for-"

"One moment, please." She tells me, still refusing to so much as glance my way. "I'll be right with you."

I don't want to wait one moment, it's already taken me long enough to get here! I just want to know where Taylor is so that I can be with him, is that really too much to ask?!

Unfortunately, since there's no one else to talk to, I'm forced to stand here and try to control my frustrated fidgeting and finger-tapping while she types away single-mindedly on her keyboard for what feels like another five fucking minutes. Then she _finally_ turns to look at me, a tight and entirely fake smile on her lips.

"How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for someone who was brought in a little while ago."

"Name?"

"Taylor Hanson." I tell her as she returns to her computer and types in his name.

"No, sorry." She shakes her head. "No one by that name has been admitted. Are you sure they were brought to this hospital?"

"Of course I'm sure!" I tell her irritably, trying not to let myself over-react to this turn of events. "Can you check again?"

"Sir, there is _no one_ in this hospital by that name. Is it possible they might have registered under a different name?"

"What kind of a..." Before I can completely insult her and make an ass of myself in one fell swoop, it hits me that it's actually not a stupid question. "Jordan. Try Jordan Hanson?"

A few quick key clicks later, she turns back to me with a triumphant (and yet still totally forced) smile. "And your relationship to the patient?"

"He's my..." Suddenly, calling him my 'boyfriend' feels incredibly immature. Like we're in high school or something. "Partner."

"Your partner?"

I swear, if this is gonna be a fucking problem, I'm not going to be able to keep up this whole 'grown up' thing for very much longer. "Yeah, my _partner_. Can you just tell me where the hell he is?"

"Please stay calm, sir." She tells me, like I'm making a fucking scene just by asking a simple question! "I'll go and check for you. Take a seat."

I don't want to take a fucking seat!

_Fuck_!

I spend the next couple of minutes pacing in the small waiting area, but there's still no sign of Miss Bitch returning, and I'm starting to think that pacing is only making me more anxious. So I follow Ezra's example (and, sadly, her instructions) and take a seat. I notice him staring at the scrape on his arm, gingerly running his fingers over it but showing no signs of feeling any pain.

Or any _anything_.

"Maybe we should get a doctor to look at that?" I suggest, partly because I actually think it'd be a good idea, but also just for the sake of saying something to him. "We should probably get it cleaned up, at least." Nothing. "Ezra?"

He doesn't speak, but he does finally look up at me. I honestly don't think he's ever looked so small to me before. So _young_. It's like I'm sitting beside one of his little brothers, and suddenly I have _no_ clue what to say or do. And I don't have time to try to think of anything, because the receptionist finally returns to the desk and gestures for me to come over (which is unnecessary, because I was already out of my seat).

"Can we see him?" I ask hopefully.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait-"

"Look, that's his kid over there, okay? And I know I'm not _technically_ family, but I practically live with them. He _wants_ me here."

She shakes her head at me in a way that _feels_ condescending before she even speaks. "Mister Hanson is undergoing some tests; he's not able to have visitors. The doctor's are aware that you're here, and when someone is available to talk with you, they'll come and find you."

"What kind of tests are they doing? Is it like x-rays or-"

"Someone will come and talk to you when they can." She repeats calmly, making it clear that she either can't or won't tell me anything more. Whether that's because I'm not entitled to know, or because _she_ doesn't even know, I have no idea.

And it doesn't even matter, because it's fucking frustrating as hell either way!

I grudgingly return to the waiting area and slump back down in my seat with a heavy sigh. All I can think is that I shouldn't have left him. If I'd just told him to forget about the damn car, if I'd been in the ambulance with him, maybe I'd know more about what's happening right now. Maybe I'd be on the other side of those automatic doors rather than stuck out here. So what if the car _had_ gotten towed? It's just a car, it's just money. We could've paid the damn fine, it wouldn't have been a big deal!

But it's too late now; I can't do anything to change any of it.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY CHAPTER!!!

  


 

 

I still have _no_ fucking clue what's going on with Taylor by the time Zac arrives at the hospital. He looks about as antsy as I feel when he comes rushing into the Emergency Department, making a beeline for the desk until he spots us sitting nearby and quickly changes course. I can't even decide if I'm glad he's here or not. On the one hand, I still can't stand the sight of him, and I don't want to talk to him now any more than I have at any other point this past weekend. But on the other hand, it might help to have him here.

If they want a blood relative, I'll offer him up like a fucking human sacrifice.

"Where is he?" He asks (more like demands) as soon as he comes to a stop in front of me.

It's like he thinks I hid Taylor away somewhere on purpose or something. I wonder if this is how that sour-faced receptionist felt when I was talking to her? "I don't know. They said he's 'undergoing tests', but that's all they'll tell me."

He crouches down in front of Ezra, carefully inspecting his wounded arm. But judging by his impatient tone, he's clearly still directing his questions to me. "What the hell happened?"

"He was..." I glance at Ezra for a second, debating whether or not to give Zac the full story. I don't think he'd blame his nephew for what happened, but I'm not so sure that Ezra won't blame himself. "He was crossing the street, and this woman was on her phone or something, and she wasn't looking, and she hit him."

"And Ezra?"

"What?"

"Did Ez get hit, too?" He clarifies impatiently, and I have to clench my jaw for a second in order to keep myself from telling him not to be such a little _bitch_.

"No."

"So what happened to his arm?"

I swear, he's one snappy question away from needing to ask what happened to his own _face_! "The car _almost_ hit Ezra. Taylor pushed him out of the way, and it hit him instead."

"Are you okay, buddy?" He asks Ezra in a _much_ gentler tone than the one he's been using with me. And of course, Ezra nods. "Are you sure? We can get someone to check out that arm-"

"It's fine." Ezra tell him, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Doesn't hurt."

"Well, we still need to clean it up a bit. I'm gonna go find out what's going on with your dad, and then we'll look for a bathroom or something, okay?"

"Okay."

Shoulda known Uncle Zac would swoop in and make everything all better. Yeah, I know, this is no time to be bitter and resentful. But seriously? Ezra won't even grunt at me, but he'll _talk_ to Zac. And I bet Zac will just waltz over to that bitchy receptionist, flash that annoyingly large smile of his at her, and she'll tell him anything he wants to know!

Only, to my immense surprise, she actually _doesn't_.

I watch as she shakes her head at him, giving him the same patronizing look and phony smile that she gave me. This should make me happy; he's not getting any further with her than I did, he's no better than I am in her eyes. But it's hard to be happy about it when it means that we're still clueless about where Taylor is and what the fuck it is that they're doing to him right now. It can't be much more than an hour since I last saw him, but it feels like ten times longer. I know he doesn't need me to hold his hand, he's a big boy, he's probably not even bothered that I'm not there. But _I'm_ bothered. _I_ need to hold his hand, I need to be with him. I just watched him get hit by a fucking SUV! I watched his body slam against the windshield. I heard it dent the hood, smash the glass... I heard it fall to the ground.

And I just... I just _stood_ there.

I stood there and did fucking _nothing_.

I don't want to just stand here and do nothing now, I want to be _with_ him.

Zac finally gives up on getting any information out of the brick wall behind the reception desk, and he and Ezra head off to a bathroom to take care of the cut on Ezra's arm. Leaving me alone. And I can't decide if that's better or worse. It's not like either of them were talking to me much. Or at all. But it kinda helped to know that I wasn't the only one freaking out.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and unlock it, briefly considering calling someone. But I don't know _who_. After last night, my mom and Lisa aren't the no-brainer choice they normally would be. I know that Taylor being hurt trumps their disappointment in me, I know they'll put it all aside and be here for me... but I still don't feel like calling either of them right now. And Isaac is out of town _again_.

If I'm being honest... I don't really know who the hell else to call for comfort.

I have friends, _plenty_ of them, and I'm sure they could all commiserate with me just fine and tell me that everything will be okay. But most of them have never even met Taylor, because I never made the effort to introduce him to any of them. I didn't intentionally keep him away from them, but my life with him is so different from any of the relationships I've had before. It's like... real. It's a _real_ relationship, and a lot of my friends have no interest in being "tied down" like that. They view it as something you do when you're done having fun, and most of them just _aren't_.  They don't get it, and I guess I haven't bothered trying to explain it to them. So they haven't seen us together, they haven't _really_ seen what we are. They have no idea how I feel about him, how much he means to me... they just won't get it, they _can't_.

I need more than a verbal pat on the shoulder and some generic reassurances.

I need to see Taylor, damnit!

There's still no word from the receptionist by the time Zac and Ezra return. And I had to literally hold on to the seat of my chair the entire time they were gone just to stop myself from getting up and going over there to harass her some more. I've spent the past twenty minutes debating the pros and cons of it in my head, but I couldn't risk pissing her off and having her withhold information just to fucking spite me.

She looks like the type of person who would.

"Anything?" Zac asks as Ezra silently takes his seat beside me again, and I notice that his arm looks a hell of a lot better now that the dried blood has been washed off.

"Nothing."

"This is ridiculous!" Yes it is. But I don't want to agree with him, so I don't say a word. "I'm gonna go ask her what's taking so long."

"She's not gonna help us if you tick her off." I tell him, but he ignores me completely and continues marching right on over to the desk.

My phone starts buzzing in my pocket with an incoming call, and I pull it out to answer it. But then I realize that it's not my phone at all, it's Taylor's. Normally, I wouldn't answer his phone. At least, not without his permission. But since it's Alex's name and picture on the screen, and he's a mutual friend, I feel a little less weird about accepting the call.

"Hello?"

"Thank _fuck_." He sighs with relief. "I _knew_ those TMZ shits were talking out of their asses."

"What?" I frown, wondering if all of their conversations begin this abruptly. "What're you talking about?"

There's a pause, and then a very uncertain, "Taylor?"

"No, it's Tommy." Whoops. Guess I shoulda led with that. "What's going on? What're TMZ saying?"

"Where's Taylor?"

Good fucking question. "He's..." How do I put this gently? "He's fine. There was an accident, and he's in the hospital-"

" _Shit_."

"He's _fine_." I reiterate, getting out of my seat and taking a couple of steps away from Ezra so that I'm no longer within earshot. "He's just getting some x-rays or whatever. He might've broken his leg, I guess, and maybe a couple of ribs."

"But that's it?" He presses expectantly. "A few broken bones, but nothing serious?"

"No, nothing serious. Why?"

"'Cause those assholes at TMZ just posted an article saying he got run down by a car in front of his kids, and he's in serious condition at Cedars. I wouldn't be surprised if 'RIP Taylor Hanson' is trending on Twitter within the hour!"

Fuckers. "He got hit by a car in front of Ezra, and he _is_ at Cedars, but the rest is bullshit. I can't believe people heard about it already."

"Are you kidding me?" He mutters bitterly. "Anytime anyone with the smallest amount of celebrity suffers the smallest fucking misfortune, they're _all_ over it. Vultures."

"Well they're assholes, and they're _wrong_. He's fine."

"Thank God."

No, actually, I don't. And I know Alex doesn't, either. Because seriously, if there _is_ a God, why should I thank him for this? Okay, so Taylor's not dead, I'm _indescribably_ thankful for that. But he still got hit by a fucking _car_. In front of his _kid_. Excuse me if the words "Hallelujah, praise the Lord!" aren't teetering on the tip of my tongue right now.

"Do you guys need anything?" Alex offers sincerely. "I can give you a ride home from the hospital if you need one?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I have _no_ fucking clue how long we're gonna be here." I sigh wearily as I glance back over at Zac, who is still trying to get the receptionist to tell us something more. I swear, if he makes this worse, _he's_ gonna be needing some x-rays, too. "You know what, though, if you seriously wanna help, you could go by the house and see if Jenna needs anything. She like _just_ got back into town today, and she's dealing with four kids alone while we're all camped out in the fucking ER."

"Yeah, sure, no problem. Text me her number and I'll give her a call, see if she wants me to pick up something for dinner on the way over."

"Thanks, man. That'd be awesome."

"You got it. Let me know if you think of anything else."

I can't help but smile faintly to myself as I reflect on how much less annoying I find him when he's being the genuinely good person he actually is, rather than groping my boyfriend just to get the _wrong_ kind of rise out of me. Honestly, if I didn't _know_ that he was like this underneath all of the bravado and innuendo, I wouldn't be able to tolerate him for more than five minutes at a time. It's stuff like this that makes it easy for me to understand how Taylor ever became friends with him in the first place, and why he still wants to be friends with him now.

I end the call with Alex, and then quickly browse through Taylor's contacts to find Jenna's number and send it to him. But just as I finish doing so, a text message appears on the screen. I don't recognize the name of the person who sent it, but they're asking if he's okay. I guess word really is starting to spread, and I'm sure this is the first text of many he'll be getting today. I should probably tell Zac to call their parents so they don't freak out when people start asking them how badly hurt Taylor is.

But since Zac's preoccupied right now, I may as well see what I can do to try and stamp out this stupid rumor before it gets any further out of hand.

I've been avoiding twitter ever since those stupid pictures of me and Taylor appeared on Perez's blog. I just didn't wanna deal with all the bullshit. I was willing to take all of the taunting my friends had to throw at me, and I handled any disappointment or confusion that my family felt over the whole thing, but I had _no_ interest in hearing the opinions of thousands of people I'd never even met. Today, though, those thousands of people are the ones I actually _need_ to talk to.

Here's hoping most of them still want to listen...

  _TMZ are a bunch of dumbfucks. Taylor ISN'T seriously hurt. There was an accident but hes FINE. Please RT. (p.s. yes we're together. :p)_

There. Two birds, one stone. Let it never be said that I'm not efficient when I need to be.

"She's gonna call up to radiology and have them get us an update." Zac informs me victoriously as I walk back over towards him and Ezra. But his smile quickly turns to a frown when he notices that I'm holding a phone in each hand. "Is that Tay's?"

"Yeah. He gave it to me so I could call you, remember?"

"Oh... right." I don't know why he looks so weirded out by the fact I have Taylor's iPhone. Me having his phone is no weirder than, oh, I don't know... him fucking his own brother? Just as an example. "Were you calling someone?"

"No, Alex called."

"He called Taylor?"

"Yeah."

"He called Taylor... and you answered?"

Really? Are we _really_ gonna do this right _here_?

"Yeah, I answered. Alex is my friend, too. Is that a problem?" It clearly is, even though he shrugs and looks away as though he couldn't give a shit. Whatever. I'm not getting into this with him, not now. "Good thing I _did_ answer, otherwise we wouldn't have known that TMZ heard about the accident and wrote some stupid article saying that Taylor's in serious condition."

"What?" He asks anxiously, suddenly a lot less concerned about how many incoming calls I might have answered on his brother's phone. "How the hell did they find out about all this already?"

"Who knows. But you might wanna call your family and fill them in on what's _actually_ going on before they start freaking out and thinking it's worse than it is."

He mutters something under his breath. I'm pretty sure it's some form of profanity, but I guess he has more practice at disguising it in front of kids than I do, because I have no idea what the fuck he just said. I take my seat once again as pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jacket and walks away. I feel as though I should say something to Ezra, but nothing seems appropriate. After everything he's been through this afternoon, and everything that was said in his therapy session, I get the feeling I'm the absolute last person he wants to be around right now. He'd probably prefer it if I just left him the hell alone.

So, as wrong as it feels, I do.

I spend the next seemingly endless number of minutes watching Zac while he paces back and forth and repeatedly informs whoever it is he's talking to that Taylor is okay. I'm guessing it's his mom, because only mom's tend to make their son's make the face that he's making right now. But I stop giving a crap who he's talking to when I notice the receptionist talking to someone in scrubs...

And pointing right at _me_.

I'm on my feet before they've even stepped through the automatic doors that separate the waiting room from the rest of the ER, and Zac's back beside me by the time they reach us. I can't tell _anything_ from the look on their face, and for some reason it makes me even more uneasy than I already was.

"Are you Jordan Hanson's family?" She looks back and forth between us expectantly.

"Yes." We reply in eager unison, which seems to momentarily throw her.

"Can we see him?" Zac asks at the exact second that I open my mouth to pose the same question.

I know it doesn't matter which of us says it, as long as the answer is "yes", but I wish that he wasn't so fucking _everywhere_ right now. It's bad enough that I'm going to have to share Taylor with his first love for the rest of my life, I don't want to share sentences with the guy, too!

"If you'll follow me, I can take you up to speak with one of his doctors."

" _One_ of his-" I begin, but of course, _someone_ cuts me off.

"Why can't we just see him? Is he still getting x-rays or something?"

"I'm sorry, I was told you were asking about his condition...?"

"Yeah, because no one will tell us any-damn-thing!" I inform her shortly. I hate being this much of a jackass, but at this point it feels justified. "What's going on?"

"I understand that you're worried and frustrated, and if you'll come with me, someone will answer _all_ of your questions." She explains calmly, offering us a small smile before turning and walking back towards the automatic doors.

And really, what choice do we have but to follow her?

Zac takes Ezra by the hand, and we traipse after the nurse, or intern, or whatever it is this woman happens to be as she leads us along hallways, and into elevators, and out of elevators, and down more hallways, and up stairs.

Until we _finally_ come to a stop... in _another_ fucking waiting room.

"Please take a seat." Oh _hell_ no! "I'll be right back with a doctor."

"But-"

She's gone before I can get any further into my protest, but I still refuse to sit the fuck down and wait around like I did downstairs. Apparently Zac feels the same, because even though he encourages Ezra to take a seat, he stays on his feet. And then we just... stand in the middle of the waiting room, like a couple of idiots with nothing better to do.

"Do you..." Zac clears his throat, taking a breath before trying again. "Do you get the feeling there's something they're not telling us?"

"They haven't told us jack shit, so yeah, I get the feeling there's a lot they're not telling us."

"No, I mean..." He glances down at Ezra for a second, keeping his voice low enough that he won't overhear us. "Something isn't right. I've got a bad feeling about this."

So do I, but I don't want to admit it. I've been trying _very_ hard to convince myself that I'm over-reacting, and I don't need Zac feeding my stupid, neurotic fears with his own. "They're just being dicks. They need to get some goddamn sensitivity training or something."

He exhales a soft breath of laughter, but it doesn't sound like he's even slightly amused. "Right?"

It's still another few minutes before the woman in scrubs returns with some middle aged guy in a white coat. At this point I have _zero_ patience left, and if either of them tries to spew any more bullshit at us, or so much as suggests that I take a fucking seat, I am gonna _snap_!

"I'm Doctor Martinez." He introduces himself with the same straight, unreadable expression that his little friend was wearing in the emergency department waiting room. I hate doctors, it's like they all have a fucking PhD in poker faces! "I've been treating Jordan."

Zac swoops right in and shakes the guys hand, and suddenly it feels as though I may as well not even be here. "I'm Zac, I'm Taylor's brother."

"Taylor?" The doctor frowns in confusion, looking over his shoulder at his colleague as if to ask her whether she brought him to talk to the wrong people. "I don't-"

"Jordan." Zac corrects himself. "Taylor's his middle name, he hasn't gone by Jordan since we were kids."

"Oh. Well... we'll be sure to keep that in mind."

Oh dear _god_! Can we just get to the fucking _point_ already?! "Where is he?"

As soon as Doctor Martinez takes a deep breath instead of simply answering my question, my heart drops into my stomach as though it just turned to stone. Even if his face doesn't give him away, that one, cautious inhale did.

"Jord... I'm sorry, _Taylor_ , is being prepped for emergency surgery-"

"Wait, _what_?" Zac stops him fearfully. "What for? I thought he just had a few broken bones!"

"He did!" I insist, though who the hell I'm trying to convince I'm not sure. "He was _fine_!"

"When Taylor was brought into the emergency department, his injuries appeared to be relatively minor." Explains Doctor Martinez, his tone just as even as ever, except that now there's an unnerving note of remorse to it. "But during his examination, he began displaying symptoms that suggested he may have suffered a head injury. We brought him up to radiology for a CT scan, but during the scan he had a seizure and lost consciousness." Oh fuck, no... "The scan showed that Taylor has a fractured skull, which resulted in an epidural hematoma-"

"A what?" Asks Zac, sounding almost as overwhelmed as I feel. I don't think he _is_ as overwhelmed as I am, though, because he can still form words. _I_ can't even remember how to fucking _breathe_. "Is it serious?"

"It can be very, I'm afraid." Doctor Martinez sighs once again. "To put it simply, the fracture caused bleeding between the skull and the outermost covering of the brain, both of which are very dense. When blood begins to accumulate between them, pressure starts to build. Because of their density, neither can give way, but something _has_ to. And that ends up being the brain itself."

"I... I don't understand."

"We're going to drain the blood that has accumulated, which will hopefully keep too much pressure from being put on the brain, and that should prevent any permanent damage."

"No." I hear myself say, and suddenly I'm acutely aware that all eyes are on me, expecting me to explain myself. "I... there has to be a mistake. I mean... he was fine. He was talking to me... h-he was making shitty jokes." I tell the doctor, hating the pathetically weak sound of my own voice as I practically _plead_ with him to change his diagnosis. "He was _fine_."

"What you're referring to is what's known as a lucid period." He tells me sympathetically. "It's not uncommon for patients to appear completely normal after sustaining this type of injury. Unfortunately, they often appear so unharmed that they don't seek medical attention. And when they do succumb to the injury, usually within a matter of hours or sometimes even days, there's often very little that can be done for them."

"But that's not the case with Taylor, right?" Presses Zac hopefully. "I mean, it hasn't been hours since it happened, and he was here in the hospital when he got worse. He was _right_ here, so you caught it fast and you can fix it... right?"

"That's what we're hoping." Nods the doctor with a small, reassuring smile. "We'll know more once we get him into surgery and see exactly what it is we're dealing with."

"Okay."

"Doctor Campbell here will try to come and give you updates periodically, and I'll be back down after the surgery to let you know how everything went."

"Thank you." I hear Zac reply numbly, but I'm too dazed to even look at either of the doctors before they leave.

I feel the intense need to argue with someone about this. It's as though I was taking some kind of test, and I was _so_ sure I had the right answer, and now I'm being told that I was wrong. But I can't believe I was, I can't _accept_ that I was. All I can think is "he was _fine_!" I can still hear him teasing me, even as he lay there on the street in pain, criticizing my bedside manner, telling me I'd hurt his feelings...

What if I hurt more than just his feelings?

I rolled him over.

I _shouldn't_ have rolled him over. I knew it as soon as I did it, there was a voice in my head _screaming_ at me that I might have made his injuries worse.

I wasn't thinking...

 _Fuck_.

"Where is he?"

"What?" I frown, glancing towards the sound of Zac's voice to find him turning in troubles circles, scanning the waiting area for something.

Or someone.

" _Where's_ Ezra?"

 


	69. Chapter 69

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY CHAPTER (yes, another one)!!!!

  


 

 

I think that today is a pretty fucking good example of why I have _no_ faith in my abilities as a parent.

Step-parent.

Whatever.

I mean, when you start your day off having to help your boyfriend basically explain to his kids that he cheated on their mom with you, and then one of them almost gets hit by a car and you don't even think to check on them until you're reminded to, and _then_ you fucking _lose_ them in a _hospital_? That's _not_ good parenting. I don't care how you look at it or what the circumstances are. If you're a parent, you should be on top of shit like that!

But I'm just _not_.

I'm not used to having to think about the needs of so many other people. I'm not used to having so many other people _depend_ on me to think about their needs. It's like being a fucking pre-school teacher or something, and there's a damn good reason I never _once_ considered pursuing that as a career! I can barely take care of myself, I shouldn't be responsible for anyone else! I'm only _just_ figuring out how to make a committed, long-term relationship work. How someone else's needs and wants fit in with mine, and how to deal with it in a mature(ish) fashion when they _don't_. And I haven't even got _that_ down yet, I still fuck up _all_ the time. I have _no_ business being anyone's parent.

Step-parent.

 _Whatever_!

I can't _do_ this without Taylor, I don't even know where to start!

And I mean that in general, not just when it comes to searching for his missing kid. But right now, having some small clue where the hell to look would be a bonus. My mind isn't focused enough for this. After everything that's happened this afternoon, I don't know how to function like a reasonable human being, I can't form a single, logical thought. I feel as though I'm wandering aimlessly through the halls of the hospital, looking everywhere and seeing _nothing_.

I hate this place. I hate the lighting, I hate the smells, I hate the sounds, I hate the way it all makes me feel and the memories it brings back. I hate that I'm here because someone I love is hurt _again_.

And I'm terrified that I might lose him, just like I lost my dad.

God damnit, now I sound like my mom.

 _Ezra_ is the only one who's lost, and I need to find him. Lost things can be recovered, dead people can't.

Fuck, Tommy, _stop_ thinking about dead people!

Taylor is _not_ going to die, he's going to be _fine_! And when he's fine, he's gonna want to know where the hell his son is, so fucking _think_!

If I were an emotionally unstable ten-year-old on the loose in a hospital, where would I be?

Okay, first maybe I should figure out where I, an emotionally unstable thirty-one-year old on the loose in a hospital, actually _am_. Then I can try to find someone else.

I come to a slow stop in the middle of the hallway I was wandering down, looking around me for some clue about where the hell it is I've wound up. But everything looks the fucking same; it's _all_ white and clean and _everything_ I can't stand! A woman in scrubs comes out of a room a few feet away from me with her nose buried in a folder, and at first I step aside to avoid being walked right into. But then I realize I'm about to let my best chance at finding my way back to where I started pass me right by.

"Excuse me, I got kinda turned around." I tell her, and she smiles understandingly as she comes to a stop. "I was..." Where _was_ I? "Um... I don't actually know where I was."

"Were you visiting a patient?"

"Not exactly. My boyfriend was in an accident... he was about to have surgery." God it feels weird to say that out loud. It's like a joke or something, it doesn't seem real. It sounds completely wrong, and I _never_ want to say it again. "I was in a waiting room... somewhere."

And wherever it was, apparently I left my brain there.

Despite my incredibly unhelpful description of where I was, and the fact that there isn't only _one_ waiting room in the whole hospital, she manages to give me directions back to where it is she thinks I probably came from. And by the time I'm almost there, things start to feel slightly more familiar. I think we came this way before, when we were brought up from the ER...

Then again, given how everything around here looks the same, I could be _totally_ wrong about that.

As I glance up at the directions posted on the wall nearby, the one for the restroom seems to stand out to me more than the others, and I suddenly realize just how badly I need to take a leak. It's like my mind was totally disconnected from the rest of my body, I couldn't physically feel anything. But seeing that word, 'restroom', snapped the two back together, and now peeing it's _all_ I can think about! I almost knock another guy over with the door when I push it open forcefully and hurry into the room, and I throw a half-hearted "sorry" over my shoulder at him as he leaves. I _am_ sorry, but whether or not I nearly knocked him on his ass is at the bottom of my list of concerns right now.

It's not until I'm washing my hands that I hear a faint, muffled sniffling sound coming from behind me, and I look up into the mirror to see if someone is there. But the only thing I see is bathroom stalls, all of them empty and open.

Except one.

I turn the water off and wipe my damp hands on my jeans quickly as I take a small step towards it. It definitely doesn't _sound_ like an adult, but that doesn't mean it's a child. And even if it is a child, it might not be Ezra. I'm pretty sure that if I say his name, he won't reply. He doesn't want to talk to me, he's made that crystal clear. But I'm not about to get down on the floor and look under the door to see if it _is_ him in there. I don't want to end this horrific day by being escorted off of hospital property by security for spying on a kid in a public restroom.

That would just be the icing on the fucking cake.

I really don't have many options here...

"Ezra?" The noises coming from the stall abruptly stop. That pretty much tells me all I need to know. "I know you're in there." Apparently he thinks I'll give up and leave if he ignores me. Not gonna happen. "I get that you hate my guts right now, but I _can't_ just leave you in here." Silence. "If you don't come out, I'm gonna call Zac and have him come and get you out."

"Go away!"

"Ezra-"

"Why can't you just leave us alone?!" He shouts as the stall door suddenly flies open. It surprises me so much that I instinctively take a step back. "You ruined _everything_!"

I'm not sure if he's blaming me for the accident or for the nose-dive his life has been on in general this past year. And even though I _know_ that neither one of those things are my fault, I still feel guilty. Standing here, looking at his red, tearstained face and heartbroken expression, I feel like every last bad thing that's ever happened to him is somehow _my_ fault. And if it's not, I'd still be willing to accept the blame anyway if it would make him feel even _slightly_ better.

Damn, it's crazy how he looks _so_ much like his dad sometimes. And right now it's like a fucking machete to the chest.

"Everything was fine until _you_ came along!" He accuses, struggling for breath as he swallows another sob. "But now she's dead, and he's dying, and it's all _your_ fault!"

"I'm sorry, Ezra-"

"I hate you!" I'm already completely unsteady, in every way imaginable, so when he shoves me furiously I stagger backwards as though he's ten times bigger and stronger than he actually is. "She'd still be alive if it wasn't for _you_! We wouldn't be here, and he wouldn't be hurt! It's all because of _you_!" He pushes me again, and even though I was more prepared for it this time, I still allow my body to move. Not as much as before, but enough. Enough so that he feels as though he has control over _something_. "I hate you! I _hate_ you! I wish you were _dead_!"

I'm expecting him to shove me again but instead he hits me, his fist landing hard against my rib cage. He might only be ten, and I might be pretty much entirely numb right now, but I'm still aware that it hurt. And so does the next blow, and the next. At first, I just stand here and let him take his pain out on me, partly because I don't know what else I'm supposed to do, and partly because I feel like it's the least I deserve. But as his punches become more and more aggressive, and his tears continue to flow faster and harder, it hits me that this isn't about me at all. The more he sobbingly asserts that it's _my_ fault, and that he hates _me_ , the more I realize that he's not even talking to me anymore. And letting him wail on me isn't making him feel better, it's only adding to the guilt he's already drowning in.

When I grab his wrist, he looks up at me in shock and outrage, and he lashes out against me until I manage to grab his other wrist, too. He struggles to get free, desperately trying to pull his hands out of my grasp, his expression melting from anger to agony right before my eyes. Until he just _stops_. His whole body seems to spontaneously fail him, and it's as though I'm the only thing holding him up anymore. If I let go, he'll sink straight to the ground like a rock.

I pull him towards me, and he doesn't resist. In fact, as soon as I wrap my arms around him and hold him against me, he _clings_ to me. My t-shirt dampens his cries and soaks up his tears, and I repeatedly tell him that it's okay, even though I'm pretty sure he can't actually hear me. If he can, I doubt he can believe me. I don't know that _I_ even believe me. It feels like a lie to use the words "okay" or "alright" or "fine".

Because _nothing_ is.

"I-I didn't m-mean it." He insists, looking up at me with big, pleading brown eyes. As though I can somehow fix this if he begs me desperately enough. "I didn't mean it!"

I'm honestly not entirely sure what it is he didn't mean, it could be a million things at this point. But it doesn't really _matter_ which one it is. Maybe it's all of them. "I know."

"I don't want him to die."

God, me either. "I know."

"Don't let him die." He crumbles in my arms once again, his shoulders shaking violently with yet another round of inconsolable sobbing. " _Please_ don't let him die!"

What am I supposed to say to that? It's not like I can just run on up to the operating room and say, "sorry to interrupt, but if you could try _not_ to let the love of my life die, that'd be awesome", and have it magically fix this stupid skull fracture and stop the bleeding that's threatening to cause him permanent fucking brain damage. I _wish_ I could. I _wish_ there was something I could say or do to make this all go away, because if there was I'd do it in a heartbeat.

But there isn't.

I can't do _anything_.

The bathroom door eventually opens again, and the stranger who walks in casts a sympathetic glance our way. I guess seeing a grief-stricken child crying in a hospital isn't the strangest thing imaginable, and he probably assumes that someone Ezra loves dearly has just passed away. The idea that he could be right, if not now then very soon, makes _me_ want to break down and cry, or scream, or throw up, or smash every fucking mirror in this room. Or _all_ of the above.

I can't even handle the thought of it, so how the hell I'm supposed to handle it if it ever becomes a reality is beyond me.

I just hope I never have to try.

Once Ezra's crying has died down to irregular, broken sniffles instead of body-wracking sobs, I give him a comforting squeeze and gently suggest that we go back to the waiting room. He doesn't reply, but he doesn't put up a fight when I guide him towards the door. As we walk, I pull Taylor's phone out of my pocket and text Zac that I've found him and we're on our way back. He meets us in the waiting room a few minutes later, ignoring me completely in favor of crouching down in front of the chair that Ezra is slouched in.

"Are you okay?"

"He's fine." I answer when Ezra continues to stare blankly past Zac. "He just-"

"I'm talking to my nephew."

Dick. "Well _your_ nephew is fine. He's tired, and he's scared, and he needed a break. But he's doing better now."

He shoots me a withering look, just to make it clear that he doesn't want my input, and then he turns his attention back to Ezra. "Buddy, I know this is scary, but you can't go running off like that, okay? This is a big hospital, and it's not safe for you to be wandering around by yourself. We were worried-"

"He knows that."

"He _can_ speak for himself, you know?"

"Maybe he doesn't wanna talk right now. Did you think about that?" I snap back at him as he pushes himself back up to standing height and faces me. "Just give him some room to _breathe_ for god's sake."

"Look, I appreciate you finding him, but I don't need you telling me how to talk to him, okay? I've been there for him since the day he was _born_."

"Yeah, well, he's not a baby, and he doesn't need you treating him like one."

"I'm not!" Argues Zac defensively. "I'm just trying to-"

"I'm _fine_." Ezra suddenly pipes up, though his voice still sounds a hell of a lot more frail than usual. "I won't run away again, I promise, so will you please _stop_ fighting?"

I'm not used to being made to feel like a child _by_ a child, not like this. And I can tell from the look on Zac's face that the same is probably true for him. We're bickering over how to treat Ezra, like two children fighting over a toy or a puppy or something; it's pathetic. And really, it has nothing to do with Ezra. We're not fighting over him, we're fighting over everything else and using him as an excuse to take shots at each other. It's pointless, and immature, and completely unfair to him because he has to sit here and listen to us. It's the last thing he needs right now.

It's the last thing any of us needs.

We wordlessly take our seats on either side of him, settling in for however long it is that this surgery is supposed to take. I know I was too shocked to really absorb a whole lot of what was being said when we talked to the doctor before, but I don't recall him giving us any kind of time estimate. That makes me kinda nervous, because I feel like maybe he didn't want to commit to a  time frame in case it was worse than they expected once they got him into surgery.

I don't know anything about this stuff, I don't even watch medical shows on TV, real or fictional. I hate them, I hate hospitals and all things related to them. The only time you'll catch me willingly watching someone slicing into a human body is when I'm watching a horror movie. Obviously, this is different. They're not gonna hack into him with a butcher knife, they're trying to keep him alive not kill him. It's not gonna take a few minutes, but I don't know if I should expect it to take a few _hours_ , either. Should I start worrying if we get to that point, or is that normal?

Fuck, I wish I knew _anything_ about what they're doing to him.

But at the same time, I have absolutely _no_ desire to find out. I think it might make me sick. More than once, I take my phone out of my pocket, open up Safari, and type "epidural hematoma" into the google search box. But as soon as the results page loads, and I see words like "serious" and "traumatic", I close it again and put the phone away.

It's easy to lose all sense of time while sitting in a waiting room like this. Five minutes can feel like five hours, and an hour can feel like an entire day.  I can't tell if checking the time is making it seem as though we've been here for longer than we have, but I also can't stop myself from doing it. After about an hour of sitting in silence between me and Zac, Ezra falls asleep. And to my surprise, he does so with his head resting against _my_ arm. I would've thought he'd instinctively lean towards Zac, even if he wasn't awake enough to think about what he was doing. Not that I'm complaining; it's not like I have anything more worthwhile to do.

But after two hours I start to wish that he _wasn't_ asleep on me, because I feel an overwhelming need to get up and do something. I don't know what, I don't care, I just don't want to sit here anymore. I need to move, pace, stretch, _something_. I seriously feel like I'm going to go crazy. I tap my foot in an effort to release some of the pent up nervous energy, but it's accumulating faster than I can get it out of me. I try drumming the fingers of the arm that Ezra isn't resting against on my thigh _while_ tapping my foot, but that doesn't help much, either.

"Do you think it's normal for it to take this long?" I finally sigh, trying so hard to keep my voice down that I'm not even sure I spoke loudly enough for Zac to hear me.

But I notice his head snap up immediately, and I can tell from the worried look in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing. For a split second, I stop hating his guts and I actually feel sorry for him. I'd feel sorry for anyone who feels even a fraction of what I'm feeling right now.

"I don't know." He shrugs, shaking his head helplessly. "I mean... it's brain surgery, so..."

So it's not easy.

I mean, that's why there's a saying, right? When something doesn't require you to be all that smart to do it, people say "you don't have to be a brain surgeon". It takes someone incredibly smart to do what they're doing to Taylor right now, because what they're doing is incredibly delicate and difficult. One wrong move could ruin his life.

Or end it.

So they're gonna take their time. Two hours is nothing. Nothing to worry about, at least.

"I thought they said they'd update us."

"Maybe there's nothing to update us about yet." I shrug, staring off in the direction the doctors were headed the last time we saw them. "No news is good news, right?"

"I guess." He murmurs, staring down at his hands sadly. "I still wish they'd come out and just _tell_ us that there's nothing to report, though. Just so we know."

"Yeah..." Me too.

"Look... about before..." Ugh. Can we please _not_ do this? "I'm sorry I was such an ass about the whole Ezra thing."

"Forget it." I shrug, because even though _I_ haven't forgotten it, I'd rather pretend to be okay with it than sit here and dissect it with him. "We were both tired and worried... it's fine."

"No, it's not. I was a jerk and I didn't need to be. And honestly... I don't know _why_ I was. I mean, I don't have a problem with you." Coulda fucking fooled me. "I did, once, but that was a _long_ time ago. Things are different now."

"Yeah."

"I guess old habits die hard or something."

I seriously have to bite my lip to stop myself from flat out asking him if there are any other old habits he finds it particularly difficult to let go of when it comes to this situation. I doubt he'd look me in the face and tell me if he still has feelings for Taylor, especially not with Ezra sitting right between us. And if he _does_ still feel even the slightest twinge of resentment over my relationship with his brother, I'd rather not know about it. Right now it's just irrational jealousy on my part, I don't wanna risk making it more than that.

"I appreciate the apology or whatever, but... I don't really care if you have a problem with me or not." I tell him frankly. "I don't need you, or Ike, or anyone else in your family to think I'm a good guy. I'm not saying that to be a jerk, it's just the truth. I get that your family is close, especially you and Taylor," I'm not even looking _at_ him, but I can still tell when he quickly looks away from me. "But that doesn't mean that any of you have to like _me_. I don't give a crap if you do or don't. I don't care what any of you think about us, or what you say or do to try to mess with us. It won't work. I know I walked away before, but that was a mistake. I'm _not_ giving him up again, not for anything. I'm not going _anywhere_. I love him, and I love those kids, and I'll fight for them in _any_ way I have to."

He smiles, and at first I assume that he thinks something I've just told him is funny in some way. That he's laughing at my sincerity like it's a joke. But when he looks up at me again, I can tell that it's not a smile of amusement at all.

"Good." He nods approvingly. "If you _weren't_ willing to fight for him, _then_ I'd have a problem with you."

It was _not_ my intention to bond with him, but I get the unsettling feeling that I managed to do just that anyway. Or he seems to think so, at least. We're having like... a _moment_. And I don't know how to make it stop!

Until I notice Doctor Campbell approaching us with a not so cheerful look on her face, then it's as though my heart immediately _stops_.

My entire body goes cold in an instant.


	70. Chapter 70

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY CHAPTER!!!!!

  


 

 

"Is it over?" Zac asks as he immediately gets out of his chair to speak with the doctor.

I can't get up, though, because I have a sleeping child using me as a pillow. That's the excuse I'm going with, anyway. Sounds way more selfless and mature than "I'm too scared to hear what the doctor has to say" and "my legs won't move".

"They're still working on him." She tells us (well, mostly Zac, since he made the effort to get out of his chair). "There were some complications-"

"What complications?" He jumps right in before the entire word has even left her mouth. "What happened?"

"There was some bleeding in the brain," She begins cautiously, and I feel a lot better about sitting down now because I'm pretty sure I would've needed to anyway if I'd been standing up. "The doctors were able to get it under control very quickly, and things have been progressing extremely well since then."

"Well... what does that mean?" Questions Zac, his voice sounding eerily hollow all of a sudden. "Is he gonna be okay, or...?"

I wish he hadn't posed the question that way. With that "or" just hanging there, bringing to mind endless, awful possibilities. And I wish Doctor Campbell would just fucking _answer_ him, and say "yes, he's going to be totally okay", instead of standing there and shaking her head as though she has no clue what's even going on!

"It's impossible to say for sure how he'll respond once the surgery is over. If we can keep him stable, and keep the inter-cranial pressure from increasing any further, he _should_ make a full recovery."

I don't like this "if" crap. I want to hear "we _will_ keep him stable" and "he _will_ make a full recovery". There shouldn't be any "if" about it; they're brain surgeons for fucks sake! If they can't keep him stable, then what the hell good are they?! He bumped his fucking head, he fractured his skull, and he had some bleeding around his brain. All they have to do is stop the bleeding, and fix the fracture, and make him better.

It's not _that_ complicated!

"How much longer is he gonna be in there?" I ask, finally finding my voice. "Can we see him once the surgery is over?"

"Barring any further complications, they should be done within the next couple of hours. After that, he'll be taken to recovery, and then to the Neuro-ICU. You'll be able to visit him there. But the Neuro-ICU has very strict limits on how long visitors can spend with patients, and how many visitors can be with a patient at any given time, so you should prepare yourselves for that."

I'll prepare myself for that when it happens, right now I'm a little too preoccupied with trying not to have a meltdown over everything else that's going on. My boyfriend is having fucking _brain surgery_. I haven't even really processed that yet, so I don't see how I'm supposed to find the will to care about visiting hours or _anything_ else. Not until I know that he's going to be okay.

"I should get back to the operating room. I just wanted to give you an update."

"Thank you." Zac tells her sincerely.

"I'll be back down with Doctor Martinez once the surgery is over and he's completed his post-op evaluation."

There's nothing more she can tell us, and nothing more either of us can seem to think of to ask. All I want to know is that he'll be okay and that I can be with him soon, and she's basically answered both of those questions (more vaguely than I was hoping, but whatever). After lingering for a second or two longer, just in case either of us has anything more to say, she heads back off across the waiting room. Ezra stirs in his sleep as Zac takes his seat again, but he merely shifts in the chair to get more comfortable. His head doesn't leave my arm, and his eyes don't open even a crack.

"Maybe one of us should call Jenna and let her know what's going on?" Zac eventually suggests, and judging by his tone, he doesn't particularly want to be the one to do it.

"I was gonna wait until the surgery was over." I mumble, no more eager to explain all of this to anyone than he apparently is. "Are you gonna call your parents and let them know it's more than just a few broken bones?"

He shakes his head faintly before looking up at me with a _very_ small, sad smile on his lips. "Not yet. Not until we know exactly how the surgery went and what's gonna happen next. I figure it's better to call them and tell them that he _had_ surgery and everything's gonna be okay, than to call and tell them he's _in_ surgery and we don't really know what's going on."

"Right."

"You know they're gonna want to come out here when they find out, though? Maybe Ike, too."

"Yeah, I figured..."

I was just trying not to think about it.

Of course they're gonna want to be there for their son while he's in hospital, and be with their grandkids while their dad is hurt. That's what families are _supposed_ to do for one another. That's what _I_ intend to do for Taylor, because he's _my_ family. We're only gonna have an issue if they try to keep me away from him and the kids while they're here. I can be plenty civil when I need to be, but I _refuse_ to take any "we're his _real_ family" bullshit from _any_ of them.

If anyone tries to play the blood relative card with me, even _once_ , it's _not_ gonna be pretty.

"I'm gonna give you some advice." Oh _goody_. "I'm _sure_ you don't want it, but I haven't got anything better to do right now, so... you're just gonna have to settle for pretending not to hear a word I say, 'cause I'm saying it anyway."

I heave a tired sigh, resigned to the fact that he's gonna keep talking whether I want him to or not. I can't stop him or get away from him. "Okay."

"Okay. So, I get that my parents aren't exactly your favorite people, none of us are. And I'm not saying that you don't have plenty of very valid reasons to want nothing to do with any of us. But... you gotta let it go. I know that sounds like a lot to ask, but this is the _worst_ time for you to hold a grudge." He tells me in a tone that makes it sound suspiciously like he's trying to help me. "You say you don't care what we think of you, and that's fine. But if you get all defensive and 'whatever' with them, it's only gonna make _your_ life harder. They're gonna be hyper-protective of Tay, and if they feel like you're not on their side, they're not gonna be on yours. But if you _let_ them see that you care, if you let them _see_ that you love him, they'll back off."

So that's it? That's _all_ I have to do, huh? Just bare my soul to a bunch of people who decided I wasn't worth knowing as soon as they found out I was sleeping with their son?

No biggie.

"I'll keep that in mind."

We sit in silence for another half an hour, until Zac's stomach starts making obnoxious grumbling noises. He tries to ignore them at first, but when they refuse to stop, he forces himself out of his chair and mumbles something about finding a vending machine. He asks if I want anything, and I immediately decline. I don't think I could eat anything right now. But when he begins to walk away I call out "coffee" to him, and he turns back to make sure it actually was me who said it. So I add a "please" to that one word request, just to be somewhat polite.

I don't particularly want to drink coffee, but if we're gonna be stuck in this place all night, I need something to keep me semi-functional.

As my eyes follow Zac across the waiting room, I start to envy him simply because he's up and walking. I feel like I've been sat in this damn chair for days! I don't want to wake Ezra up just so I can move, but now that the thought has occurred to me, I can't _un_ think it.

I _need_ to get up.

Holding his head steady with one hand, I carefully shift myself out from under him and somehow manage to get out of the chair and keep his head continually cradled until I can safely lower it down into the spot I was just sitting in. He sighs in his sleep, and for a moment I think he might open his eyes. But after squirming around to get comfortable, he settles again. I shrug my jacket off and fold it into a makeshift pillow, crouching beside him and gingerly easing it under his head. It's not the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but it's better than nothing.

It hits me again just how much he looks like Taylor, and it leaves me temporarily unable to breathe. My whole body _hurts_ just thinking about it, about what's happening, and what _might_ happen. Inhaling is too painful, so I just... don't.

Not until I'm absolutely forced to.

I push myself up onto shaky legs, turning away from him and taking a wavering step. I feel like I stood up too fast, but I don't think I did. Everything spins and swirls for a few seconds, and I'm almost tempted to sit back down again. But I can't, I have _way_ too much anxious energy and if I don't do something about it, it's gonna drive me crazy. I take another step, a more certain one, and then another. And then I start pacing. Honestly, it doesn't make me feel a whole hell of a lot better, but at least I'm not just _sitting_. Walking back and forth in front of Ezra's sleeping form like I'm guarding priceless goods might not be doing anyone any good in reality, but it still _feels_ like it contributes more to this situation than doing nothing at all. 

Zac seems kind of surprised to see me up and in motion when he returns a few minutes later, but he doesn't question it. He hands me my coffee without a word, and I offer him a half-smile of thanks before resuming my pointless pacing. When I raise the cup to my mouth to take a sip, though, I end up breathing in the aroma first.

Taylor...

God _damn_ him and his fucking coffee addiction. If he didn't drink so much of this shit, he wouldn't smell like coffee beans, and he wouldn't taste like lattes, and I'd be able to take a sip of my fucking drink without _aching_!

It makes me want to scream and throw the cup at the nearest wall. I want to do something to get this pain _out_ of me, it feels as though something is stuck in my chest. It's like the feeling you get when you have something in your throat, only it's a hundred times worse. It's not irritating, it _excruciating_ , and nothing you do can get rid of it because nothing you did put it there in the first place.

I don't understand how stuff like this happens. This morning he was fine, and now...

What the actual _fuck_ is so wrong with the universe that it completely screws everything up like this for no reason?!

Or is there a reason?

Is this some kind of twisted karma? Is this the universe flipping us off for all of the shitty things we did in order to be together? As soon as we start trying to build a life, a family, it gets torn apart. Maybe it's just a coincidence that all of this crap keeps coming at us, but maybe it's not. Maybe this is the universe's way of getting us back for lying and cheating and being scummy human beings for so long. It had to happen, right? I mean... you don't just get everything you want at other people's expense. You have to pay some kind of price eventually.

But this is more than just paying a price, this is losing _everything_.

I can't.

I _can't_ lose him.

"Not to be insensitive or anything, but if you _have_ to do that, could you like... do it where I can't see you?" Zac suddenly pipes up.

At least, it _feels_ sudden to me, and at first I'm too busy trying to figure out what he even said to answer him. "Do what?"

"The frantic pacing thing. It's driving me nuts. I mean, I get it, but it's making me feel even more restless than I already was."

Me too, honestly.

"Sorry." I mumble, forcing myself over to the empty seat beside him and slumping down into it. "I just wish it was over already."

"You and me both. I don't understand how just sitting here can be so _exhausting_."

Because it's not the sitting, it's the stressing. It's all the god damn worrying about what's happening in that operating room, and what might happen in an hour from now, or tomorrow morning, or next week. I'm all too familiar with worrying, more so lately than _ever_ in my life before.

"Is it always like this?"

He frowns at me, clearly not understanding the question.  "Is what always like this?"

"I don't know. Just... life." I shrug glumly. "Life with Taylor." _Fuck_ , that sounds bad. "I don't mean it as a bad thing. Not really. Shit, I don't know. Forget it."

"You mean, is it a constant slew of surgeries, custody battles, paparazzi photographers, and family feuding?" He replies knowingly, cocking a curious and somewhat amused eyebrow at me. "No."

"Then how come it feels like it is?"

"Because...it is." He replies simply. "Now, anyway. It wasn't before."

"Before what?" I ask, figuring out the answer almost as soon as the question leaves my mouth. I guess I should have known. "Before me?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

"I didn't mean it, either." He continues to insist. "It's not _you_ that's the problem. It's not him, either. It's just... the result of him wanting to be who he really is for the first time in his life. And there's _nothing_ wrong with that. He _should_ want to be himself, and he should be able to live his life the way he wants to. But... not everyone likes who he really is."

"Yeah, well, those people are fucking _idiots_."

He smiles a little wider, nodding in agreement. "They are. And hopefully they'll realize that and leave him alone sooner rather than later. But until then, he's gonna have to put up with a lot of unnecessary bullshit. And so are you."

"I'd kinda already figured that part out." I inform him resentfully. It's not Taylor I resent, though. It's everyone who refuses to shut the fuck up and let us be happy. "I just feel like... all this stuff keeps happening to us. And I know it's stupid, but sometimes... I wonder..."

"If you deserve it for being a terrible person?" He finishes for me. "You've been spending too much time with Tay; you sound _just_ like him, you know that? He's spent his whole life telling himself that he _deserves_ to be unhappy. Try convincing him that he's wrong, it _can't_ be done."

"Believe me, I know."

"Which means that you don't believe it."

"Of course not!"

He gives a shrug, as though my own answer proves me wrong. And damnit, it fucking does. "Bad things happen to good people. And despite what my messed up brother believes about himself, he's a _really_ good person."

"Yeah, he is."

" _You_ , on the other hand..."

"Fuck you." I snap, but despite my immense desire _not_ to, I can't help but smile.

Just a little.

God, I _hate_ him.

"I _can_ tell you that he thinks it's worth it, though. All the crap he's had to go through to get here, and everything he's still going through... his life has never been _this_ complicated. But he's _never_ been this happy, either."

Neither have I.

And it was worth it to me, too. Being with him was worth whatever the hell the rest of the world wanted to throw at us. Because I was happy, and in love, and getting to fall asleep beside him at the end of every day, no matter how difficult that day had been, made all of the bad shit totally worthwhile.

But this...

I won't get to fall asleep beside him tonight. I don't know when I'll get to fall asleep beside him again.

 _If_...

As much as I try not to let that thought linger in my mind for too long, it's impossible not to come back to it over and over as we wait for the doctors to return to the waiting room and let us know how the rest of the surgery went. By the time they do, it's almost eleven o'clock, and I have several anxious text messages from Alex stacking up on my phone. I responded to the first one, telling him that we weren't sure how much longer we'd be. But I couldn't figure out anything else to say to his other messages because I didn't want to tell him what was really happening. Not until I knew for sure. I know that makes me an asshole, just leaving him hanging with no fucking clue why I won't explain anything, but I don't know what else I'm supposed to do.

Ezra's awake when the doctors finally approach our seats in the waiting room, and he rises from his chair a little less abruptly than Zac and I do. I can _feel_ his fear as he stands beside me, but I hope like hell that he can't feel mine.

"The rest of the surgery went well." Doctor Martinez tells us optimistically, and I think all three of us breathe a simultaneous sigh of relief. "As Doctor Campbell already explained to you, there were some complications that resulted in some increased swelling. We won't know what effect, if any, that will have on his recovery until the swelling has gone down and Taylor is awake."

"When will that be?" Zac questions hopefully. "A few hours?"

The doctors share a look. It's brief, but it's enough to put me back on edge all over again. "We want to give Taylor the best chance at recovery that we possibly can. His brain needs time to rest and heal, and in order to facilitate that, we've placed him into a medically-induced coma- "

"You _what_?!" He exclaims, and my hand automatically reaches out take Ezra's when I notice him flinch at his uncle's outburst. And, okay, maybe having a hand to hold right now is necessary for me, too. "You _put_ him in a coma?! _Why_ would you intentionally-"

"A medically-induced coma isn't the same as what you would usually think of as a coma. In essence, we've got him _very_ heavily sedated, almost as though he's under anesthesia. The blood flow to his brain is decreased while he's in this state, and we're hopeful that it will help to decrease the swelling. We'll be monitoring him _very_ closely, and as soon as we feel that his condition has improved enough, we can begin to bring him out of it and see how he responds."

"So you can control it?" I ask anxiously. "If you stop giving him the anesthesia or whatever, he'll wake up?"

"He should, yes."

Zac exhales an indignant chuckle. " _Should_? I can't _believe_ this..."

"I know that this is overwhelming, and it sounds scary and complicated, but we really are quite hopeful that Taylor will make a meaningful recovery."

"What does that mean, though? Is he gonna be..." I don't even know how to say it. And I don't really want to. "Will he be like he was before?"

"There's no way to say for certain, at this point. I wish I could give you a definitive answer, but until he wakes up and we can properly assess-"

"But if there is... damage..." Zac interrupts persistently. "What kind would it... I mean... is he still gonna be the same _person_ , even if there's stuff he can't do?"

"Given the area of the brain affected, any damage he may have suffered would likely present in the form of problems with memory or language, or possibly changes in behavior or personality." I really don't wanna throw up in front of everyone, but I feel like I'm about to do just that. "But there is a very good chance that he'll be fine, and any potential deficit will be so negligible that it will have little to no impact on his day to day life. The next couple of days will be critical; there is a small possibility that there may be some post-operative swelling, which could increase the inter-cranial pressure. But as I said, we'll be monitoring him very closely. We're doing _everything_ we can to help him pull through this. Right now, the best thing we can do is take as much of the strain off of his body as we can, and give him the time he needs to heal."

"How long is he gonna have to be... like that?"

Doctor Martinez gives me another one of those "sorry, I have no fucking clue" looks that I'm already sick of. "It's hard to say. We're hoping that within the next twenty-four-hours or so we _might_ be able to begin bringing him out of it. But it could be a couple of days, maybe more. It really all depends on how his body responds. Every case is different."

"Can we see him?"

"Well..." Fuck this! They said we could see him! Doctor Campbell _told_ us that once he was in the ICU we could be with him. And I'm just about remind her of this when Doctor Martinez speaks up. "The Neuro-ICU has very strict rules regarding visitors."

"What do you mean?" Zac presses impatiently. "Like only one at a time?"

"Only one person in the room at a time." He nods. "Patients can only have visitors for five minutes each hour," What the actual _fuck_?! "And... no visitors under the age of eighteen are allowed."

I feel Ezra's fingers tighten their grip on my hand. It's like he's pulling the trigger on a gun, and that one small motion sets me off. "But it's his son for fucks sake! You can't keep him from seeing his _dad_!"

"We understand your frustration." Doctor Campbell assures me, but I'm pretty damn sure she _doesn't_. "The rules aren't only put in place for the sake of patient care, they're there for the sake of their loved ones. The Neuro-ICU can be an incredibly upsetting place to be, even for most adults. It would be much too distressing for a child. It's just not an appropriate environment for them to be in, for a multitude of reasons. We're sorry."

As soon as my eyes meet Zac's, I know we're thinking the same thing: If Ezra's not allowed in the ICU, someone has to take him home.

One of us has to leave.

"Ezra, buddy, you wait right here for a second, okay?" Zac instructs him gently. "I need to talk to Tommy."

If he thinks that _anything_ he has to say to me is gonna make me leave this hospital without being physically _thrown_ out, he's out of his fucking mind.

I'm not going anywhere!

I let go of Ezra's hand and follow Zac back over to our chairs, where he apparently thinks the pointless bickering match we're about to have is going to go completely unnoticed by everyone else around us. One look at him makes it obvious that he assumes he's going to be the one staying with Taylor tonight, and it kinda makes me want to punch him in the face before he even has a chance to open his mouth to speak. I'm generally not a violent person, but something about this guy brings out that side of me like nothing else ever has!

"You already know what I'm gonna say." He begins, unfazed.

Asshole. "And you already know that I don't give a shit what you say; I'm _not_ leaving him."

"Look, I'm trying to be practical here, okay? If anyone should be here, it's me."

"Fuck that!"

"It's true! I'm his medical power of attorney; _I'm_ the person that _he_ chose to make medical decisions for him if he can't do it for himself." God _damnit_ , Taylor! "I know his medical history, I know what he would and wouldn't want. He's my brother-"

"Yeah? Well he's my _everything_!" I snap, too angry and afraid to be even slightly embarrassed by my own honesty.

Zac takes a deep, weary breath, fixing me with what I can only assume is his most levelheaded look. "His kids are gonna wake up tomorrow morning, and he's not gonna be there. They're going to be confused, and frightened, and _someone_ needs to be there to tell them that it's going to be okay-"

"Why can't it be you, huh? 'Cause just a few hours ago, you were all too willing to point out that _you've_ been there for them since they were born. _You're_ their uncle-"

"And weren't _you_ the one telling me how much you love them, and swearing that you're not going anywhere?"

"I meant it!"

"Then _prove_ it!" He argues determinedly. "If you want to spend the rest of your life with Taylor, you're gonna be helping him to raise those kids. You're basically going to be their dad, too. And being a father means putting your kid's needs before your own, and doing whatever you have to for them, no matter what _you_ want. It's inconvenient, and unfair, and _exhausting_. And it's _every_ damn day. So you better decide _right_ now if you can hack it. Are you going to be that person for them? Are you the guy who's there for them when they _really_ need you? Or are you just the guy who's screwing their dad?"

Motherfucking _fuck!_

Seriously, fuck him.

God _fucking_ damnit!

"I'm not leaving until I see Taylor." I force out through teeth that are practically gritted in an attempt to keep me from laying him the fuck out.

And also to keep me from screaming in total frustration.

"Okay." He obliges with an understanding nod. Of course he's considerate _now._ He won; he gets to stay. "You take the first five minutes."

Zac stays down in the waiting room with Ezra while Doctor Campbell escorts me up to the ICU. She chatters on and off the entire way there about what I should expect, she says something about him being intubated (and then explains what being intubated means, as though I'm a fucking idiot who's never heard the term before), and something about a 'drain' of some kind. I'm sure I should be paying attention to every word she says, but I can't make myself focus enough to do it. I don't care how many tubes he has in him, or how many wires are attached to him, or what any of them do. Just as long as those tubes and wires keep him alive.

At least, that's what I think right up until the moment she lets me into his room in the Neuro-ICU.

I thought I was prepared for this, but I'm not. I thought I didn't care about all of the medical junk cluttering up the room, but I do. I care that his head is wrapped in bandages. I care that he's not breathing by himself. I care that he's completely oblivious to my presence.

And I care that he looks like he's inches away from death.

"You can sit with him." She encourages me gently after I've stood silently in the doorway for almost a full minute.

Just... staring.

I take a hesitant step towards the bed, and then another. I'm scared to get too close, scared I'll accidently bump one of the machines or pull on a wire. Scared I'll do something to make things even worse than they already are.

"It's okay." I hear her say, but as difficult as it is to see him this way, I can't take my eyes off of him for long enough to so much as glance over my shoulder and acknowledge her words. "You can hold his hand, if you want."

I do. I _really_ do.

It takes a little while, but eventually I find the courage to take those last couple of steps closer and carefully lower myself into the chair beside him. Then I have to sit there and look at his hand for another minute or so before I can finally bring myself to reach out and touch it.

It's not as warm as usual.

Or maybe it is, I don't know.

I can't tell what's real and what's not right now. I don't know how or what to feel.

"I'll give you some time."

I murmur a "thank you"... maybe.

Maybe I just imagined doing it.

I keep waiting for his fingers to slide between mine, curl around my hand, hold on tightly. But they don't. His hand is heavy, a dead weight in my own. Every second that passes and it doesn't squeeze mine back, I squeeze harder and harder. I'm sure that if he could speak right now, he'd tell me it hurts and ask me to loosen my grip. But I _can't_. I can't let go.

"Hey... it's me." I feel somewhat stupid, like I'm talking to myself, but it's not enough to stop me. "I don't know if you can hear me. They said you probably can't, 'cause of the drugs they gave you and everything..."

And even if he could hear me, what the hell am I supposed to say? "Please don't die"? I would hope that goes _without_ saying.

"I just want you to know that..." I'm here. I love you. I miss you already. "I think this is totally fucked up."

At first, I'm kinda surprised by my own choice of words. I might not have known what to say, but I'm pretty sure _that_ wasn't one of the possibilities I'd considered. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that it's _exactly_ what I want to say.

"You can't do this to me. You can't fucking _bail_ on me, not now. It's not fair. You can't just come back into my life when I'm _finally_ starting to get over you, and make me fucking fall for you even harder than the first time, and then..." I clench my jaw, biting back the word, shaking my head faintly as I stare down at his lifeless hand. "You just can't, okay? You can't do shit like this. You can't throw yourself in front of a fucking car, not unless you shove me out in front of it, too. 'Cause this _sucks_ , Taylor. Sitting in that waiting room all night, wondering whether you were gonna be okay, wondering if you were gonna make it... it fucking _sucked_. And sitting here right now, wondering the exact same damn thing... it's _worse_. So you'd damn well better come out of this, and _soon_ , understood? I can't do this without you, I don't _want_ to."

Damnit, I will _not_ cry.

I will not fucking _cry_!

"I _need_ you to be okay. Okay? I need you to wake up. I just... I need you _so_ much. _Please_ , baby..."

So much for not crying.

Jesus, this is something I _never_ thought I'd be doing.

It's the kind of thing that happens in movies and on TV shows, _not_ in real life. Not _my_ life, anyway. The closest experience I've ever had to this one is when my dad was in this same hospital, waiting on a transplant that never came. But even that wasn't like this.

Back then, I had hope. I thought everything would work out, because... I just didn't think the alternative _was_ an alternative. I thought everything would work out because it _had_ to.

And I think the fact that it didn't, that he died, has robbed me of the ability to have that same hope now.

 


	71. Chapter 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY CHAPTER!!!!

  


 

 

I was expecting Ezra to throw a total fit over having to leave the hospital. To be honest, I think I actually _wanted_ him to. I wanted him to throw the mother of all screaming fits, until whoever the hell it is that's in charge of deciding who can and can't visit patients changed the rules just to make him stop. Then I wouldn't have to take him home, and I wouldn't have to leave Taylor for the rest of the night.

Selfish? Yes, but at least I'm fucking honest about it.

Not that it really matters; Ezra didn't protest when I returned from the ICU and told him we needed to leave. I don't know if he was just reconciled to the fact that he couldn't see his dad, or if he was too exhausted to put any effort into fighting it. Either way, he followed me out of the hospital and back to the car without a word. He didn't speak for the entire drive home, and I kept glancing at him to see if he'd fallen asleep. But he was wide awake the whole time.

I'm pretty sure he's going to be wide awake for the rest of the night, just like me.

I pull the car slowly into the driveway, killing the lights and cutting the engine. And then everything is eerily quiet, even more so than it has been since we left Cedars. We both just... sit, staring at the house, unable to force ourselves to get out of the car and actually go inside. I'm sure Jenna and Alex have probably managed to get the kids to bed by now, so at least I don't have to deal with trying to explain what's going on to them. God knows how the fuck I'm supposed to do that, I feel totally unprepared.

I guess I have the rest of the night to _get_ prepared...

"What are you gonna tell them?" Ezra asks in a fractured almost-whisper, as though he's reading my damn mind.

I shift my gaze from the light by the front door to the rearview mirror, shaking my head in sincere indecision. "I don't know."

"Don't tell them... what I did." He requests, his eyes rising to meet mine guiltily. "Don't tell them it was my fault."

"It _wasn't_ your fault."

"Yes it was. I ran out in front of the car-"

"You were upset." I insist earnestly, willing him to believe me. I'm not sure he can right now though. Maybe he never will. "You couldn't have known he was going to run out after you like that. _I_ didn't even know he was gonna do it."

If I had... would I have stopped him?

That's such a pointless, fucked up question. I wish I had some kind of control over whether or not my brain posed crappy, hypothetical dilemmas like this to me, but I don't. And once the question has been asked, I can't stop thinking about it until I figure out an answer.

Taylor or Ezra?

If I could go back, if I could reach out and keep Taylor from diving in front of that SUV, would I? If I did, he wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed right now. He wouldn't be in a fucking coma, drug-induced or otherwise. He'd be safe, and healthy.

And his son would probably be dead.

He'd blame himself forever. He'd probably blame me, too, because if I hadn't held him back he could have saved Ezra's life.

And if I'd never kissed him in that bar, or sent him those first few texts, we wouldn't have been at that therapists office telling his emotionally messed up kid the truths that sent him running out into that street. Hell, if it wasn't for me, he probably wouldn't even be in Los Angeles at all.

That holds true, no matter what choice I would have made this afternoon.

Fuck, I need to _stop_ thinking like this before I throw _myself_ in front of a moving vehicle!

"Come on." I sigh, unbuckling my seatbelt as he reluctantly does the same. "We can't sit out here all night."

We're both slow moving as we make our way towards the house, not only because of how tiring the last seven hours of our lives have been, but because we're both aware that we're going to be pounced on by at least one insanely curious person as soon as we set foot inside. And sure enough, the second the front door closes behind us, we hear hurried footsteps on the hardwood floors of the dining room as Alex and Jenna come to greet us.

Or interrogate us.

They're both visibly confused by the fact that it's just the two of us, and Alex immediately takes another step towards the door. "Are Zac and Tay outside? I'm gonna go help-"

"No." I tell him, holding out my arm to stop him when he makes a move to get by me. "They're at the hospital."

" _Still_?" Jenna exclaims, her eyebrows jumping in surprise. "It's been _hours_ , I didn't think it took so long to put a cast on a broken leg!"

Alex looks at me, and despite my best efforts, I can't hold his stare for more than two seconds before looking away. I know without even seeing the expression on his face that he's on to me. I can just _feel_ it.

"That's not why they're still there, is it?" He asks, already knowing the answer to his own question. Which is why I don't bother responding. "I _knew_ it. When you wouldn't answer my calls or text me back, I _knew_ something wasn't right. What's going on, Tommy? _Where_ is he?"

I take a deep breath and turn my attention not to Alex, but to Ezra. I'm sure that just makes Alex even more pissy and impatient than he already (justifiably) is, but I don't want Ezra to have to stand here and listen to all of this _again._ He's been through enough for one night. He's seen and heard more things than any kid his age should have to, and he deserves a break.

"Why don't you go get something to eat or go to your room?" I suggest, and he nods before silently heading in the direction of his bedroom with his head bowed.

"Tommy-"

"It's bad." I interrupt, cutting right to the chase because it's Alex. And because right now I don't have the energy required to find the words to break this to anyone gently.

I should really work on that before tomorrow morning.

"What do you mean, 'bad'?" He asks, and I swear his face is paler now than it was a minute ago. But it's kinda hard to tell in the low light of the foyer, and I think my messed up mind is so tired that it's playing tricks on me. "You said he was fine-"

"He _was_."

"So what the fuck happened?!"

"They... he needed to have surgery." I explain uncomfortably, aware of how closely Jenna and Alex are watching me right now. Every move, every breath, every blink of my eyes is being dissected for clues and answers that I'm not giving them fast enough. "He had a fractured skull. They didn't realize until they got him to the ER and started checking him out."

"So they needed to fix it?"

"No. Well, yeah, I guess. But... the fracture caused this..." I hate every word I could possibly use to describe what happened to him, and I resent having to use _any_ of them. "He was bleeding. Like... under his skull or something. They said it was gonna start putting pressure on his brain if they didn't stop it."

"Oh my God." Murmurs Jenna, her hand instinctively covering her mouth in shock. Alex, on the other hand, is starting to look like any blood left in _his_ body just evaporated entirely, he's _that_ fucking white. "Is he going to be okay?"

I don't know. No one knows. "The doctor said that the next couple of days are critical. They put him in this... induced coma so that his brain won't have to do so much and he can rest."

"If they put him into the coma, does that mean they can take him out of it?" Alex asks anxiously.

 "I guess." I shrug helplessly. "The doctor said he should wake up, but..."

"He might not?" Jenna finishes sadly, but I can't find it in me to answer her.

"And if he does wake up... is he still gonna be Taylor?" Alex presses, his expression making it clear that he's almost as scared of the answer as I am. "I mean... is there gonna be any permanent damage?"

"I don't know. They just said that they're 'hopeful' that he'll make a 'meaningful' recovery." It all sounds as meaning _less_ to me as the words leave my own mouth as it did when the doctor said them to me an hour ago. "They said we'll know more when he wakes up."

"So what the hell are you doing _here_?" He frowns at me, like _I'm_ the one with brain damage. "Why aren't you with him?"

"Because the hospital won't let kids Ezra's age visit ICU patients, they won't even let him in the ICU waiting room. Someone had to bring him home, and Zac gave me this whole guilt trip about being here for the kids when they wake up, and how he knows Taylor's medical history so he should be the one to stay."

"Did you punch him?"

In spite of how drained and depressed I feel right now, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch in an attempt to smile. "I wanted to. But... he was right. I mean, I'd rather be there, but there's nothing I can do for Taylor right now. We're only allowed to be with him for like five fucking minutes an hour, and only one of us can go in at a time. So that's like five minutes every two freaking hours that I'd get to be in the same room as him." I shake my head miserably. "He'd want me to be here with the kids."

As soon as it hits me just how much that sounds like the things people said about my dad in the days and weeks after his death, I feel like throwing up. I didn't mean for it to sound like I'm fulfilling Taylor's dying wishes, but that's kind of how it came across. And I can see that Jenna and Alex are both thinking the same thing. The looks they're giving me are way too familiar, they're the same looks I was getting from every-fucking-one a couple of years ago. I hated it then, and I hate it even more now.

"I'm gonna go check on Ezra." I mumble, desperate to get away from their pitying gazes.

"Is it family only?" Alex questions just as I'm about to leave the room. "At the hospital, I mean. Is it just family, or-"

"Go." I tell him, fighting back the jealousy I feel as he immediately turns towards the front door.

I know I need to be here right now, and he doesn't. He's done everything I've asked him to do for us today, and then some. Now all he wants to do is be with his friend, and just because I can't be there doesn't mean he shouldn't be. It just doesn't seem fair. But then, as Zac so patronizingly informed me, being a parent isn't always fair.

I chose this.

Maybe I never could've known exactly what I was getting into, but no way in _hell_ am I gonna try to get out of it now.

"Is there anything I can do?" Jenna asks me sympathetically, pulling me out of my staring match with the now closed front door.

"No, thanks." I assure her sincerely. "You can go... 'off duty' or whatever, get some sleep. You must be totally wiped out."

"I'm fine."

I'm not. "I'd still get some sleep. Tomorrow's probably gonna suck, so..."

"What're you going to tell the kids when they ask where he is?"

"That's a damn good question."

She nods understandingly, taking a hesitant step back towards the kitchen. "Well... let me know if you need anything."

"You, too."

We part ways, her heading off to the guest house and me slowly making my way back towards the kid's rooms. Even though my original plan was to see how Ezra is doing, I end up quietly opening the doors to each of his younger sibling's bedrooms on my way along the hall. Asta is sleeping as peacefully as always, blissfully unaware of everything that's going on. I envy her. I'd give anything to be as oblivious to all this as she is. But the only way I know of to achieve that is to drink myself unconscious, and that would be one of the most completely selfish things I could do right now.

River and Viggo are both sound asleep, but if the fact that Viggo is still wearing the same jeans and t-shirt he had on this afternoon is anything to go by, I'm guessing he gave Alex and Jenna one hell of a rough time tonight. Odds are, he worked himself into a fit when we didn't come home, and then he exhausted himself crying and screaming for his dad. When he passed out they probably put him straight to bed rather than risk waking him up again by putting him in his PJs.

I don't blame them one bit.

I stupidly don't think to prepare myself before cracking open Penny's door. And the second I do, I'm assaulted by the sound of Taylor's voice. It's not even that loud. It soft, gentle... it's supposed to be a lullaby, and for her it is. But for me, at this moment, it's just a reminder that the person I love isn't here. He isn't here, but his voice is. It's everywhere, all around me, closing in on me and making it harder and harder to breathe. It's like a menacing spirit of some kind, sucking the air out of the room.

And there I fucking go again, thinking about him like he's already dead.

I wish my mind would _stop_ doing that!

Of all the times to be a fucking pessimist, I have to chose the absolute worst. I need to think positively right now. He needs me to, and _they_ need me to. But it's like I'm preparing myself for the worst. I'm thinking like it's already happened, like he's already left me. Doing "what he would have wanted", feeling haunted by him. It's only been a few hours, but I feel as though I need to get used to this. I need to get used to him being  gone. In case, in one way or another, the guy I love never comes home again.

But if he never comes home... there _is_ no home. This all goes away. _All_ of it. The house, the kids...

This is my _future_ slipping through my fingers.

We were gonna be a family...

The cries of grief and distress in my own head are suddenly drowned out by the cries of panic coming from inside Penny's bedroom. I guess I should've expected this tonight; her nightmares seem to be directly linked to her stress levels most of the time. On normal days she's fine, but if something unexpected or unpleasant happens, it's like a trigger. I just don't know what _I'm_ supposed to do about it. I've never had to deal with it before, Taylor's always the one dragging himself out of bed in the middle of the night to comfort her. She wants her mom. And if she can't have her mom, she wants her dad.

I seriously doubt she wants me, but right now her options are me or no one at all.

I can't just stand here and let her cry alone.

Her sobs get louder as I push the door further open, the light from the hallway flooding into her room. She rolls over in bed, her eyes wide and afraid but also full of hope. Just for a second. Just until she realizes that it's me, not Taylor. And then she crumbles back down into her sheets, burying her face in her pillow as her body shakes with more tears. I slowly make my way over to the bed and cautiously sit down on the edge of her mattress, placing a tentative hand on her back. She tenses instantly, but she doesn't shrug me off or pull away, so I begin rubbing slow, gentle circles over her night gown.

"I w-want my d-daddy." She chokes out, half a demand, half a plea.

"I know." I tell her quietly, wishing that I could miraculously make him appear in the room. Not for my own benefit, but for hers. "I'm sorry..."

My pathetic attempts at comforting her barely seem to make any difference for the longest time. Probably because I'm too worried about making it worse to really do much besides pat her back. I don't know what the fuck to say to her. I can't tell her everything will be okay, I don't _know_ that. I've never had to soothe an emotionally scarred little girl before.

What do you tell them to make them feel better?

Eventually her cries begin to die down, until they're nothing more than heartbreaking little hiccups. Every so often, her shoulders will shudder as she struggles to draw breath, but other than that, she lies motionless on the bed, staring unblinkingly at a picture on her nightstand. I never noticed it before now, I don't tend to spend a whole lot of time in her room.

It's a picture of her and her brothers with both of their parents. Something about it looks _so_ familiar, even though I'm sure I've never seen it before in my life. And after staring at it for a few minutes, I finally figure out where that nagging feeling of familiarity is coming from. I may not have seen the picture before, but I _did_ see them on the day it was taken.

It was at the Sunset Junction Street Fair last July.

I can't decide what about the picture is making my heart hurt more right now: the memory of that past encounter, and of my soul-shredding goodbye with Taylor later that night, or the giant question mark now looming over our entire future...

"Where's daddy?" Penny finally murmurs, her eyes still fixed on the photo of her once happy family. "Why isn't he h-here?"

"He's..." How the hell do you explain stuff like this to a frightened child without totally freaking them out? "He had an accident." Her eyes instantly shift from the picture frame to my face, and I don't think I've _ever_ been so aware of the fact that someone is listening to every word I say. So I damn well better make sure I say the right thing. "The doctors want to make sure he gets a lot of rest, so... he has to stay in hospital for a little while."

"How long?" She asks, her voice wavering even more than before. "H-how long does he have to stay there?"

"They don't... they don't know yet." I tell her regretfully. "They have to wait and see how fast he gets better."

If he gets better.

"Can we go see him in the morning?"

Fuck. I _hate_   this! I thought this afternoon was bad, telling her that I basically stole her precious dad away from her perfect mom. But I'd relive that conversation a thousand times over is I can just _not_ have this one.

"Um... not tomorrow..." I can't do this. I _suck_ at this! "The doctors said that he can't have visitors for a few days."

She whimpers. Actually fucking _whimpers_. It's a soft, vulnerable little sound that makes me feel like I'm being eviscerated. There's nothing I can say to make her feel any better. I can't take it back, because it's the truth. I can't make the hospital change their policy, they don't give a fuck what I say. I can't bring her dad home for her tomorrow, or the next day.

I can't do _anything_.

When I start to get up off of the bed, she rolls over, reaches up, and grabs my hand tightly. I'm so startled by the feel of her small fingers grasping mine that, for a moment, all I can do is stare down at it as though I'm not even sure it's really happening.

"Don't leave." She begs.

"I'm not leaving." I promise her wholeheartedly, curling my fingers around hers securely. "I was just... gonna get something to eat."

"Right now?"

I nod, even though it was just an excuse and I actually couldn't be _less_ hungry. "Wanna come?"

She wriggles out from under her comforter, never letting go of my hand for even a second as she climbs out of bed and follows me out of the room. Just as we step out into the hallway, I notice movement from near Ezra's room. I'm surprised to see him standing in the doorway, or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he's _hiding_ in the doorway. My eyes meet his, and he knows he's been caught.

"You okay?"

"Couldn't sleep." He answers, focusing his attention on the floor at his feet. I already knew he was lying, and his sudden inability to look me in the face confirms it. "I heard Penny crying."

"She just had a bad dream."

"Oh."

"We're gonna get something to eat..." He gives a faint nod, pretending not to give a crap as he turns to go back into his room. "Ezra?"

"Yeah?"

"You hungry?"

He's not. But neither am I, and neither is Penny. We just don't want to lie in our separate beds, alone, and think about the fact that Taylor isn't here. We'd rather force feed ourselves whatever we can scrounge up in the kitchen that looks even remotely appetizing. For me, that's a bag of potato chips (and a beer), and for them, it's reheated Thanksgiving pie. At first, we take our midnight snacks into the dining room and sit around the table in silence. They poke at their pies with their spoons, and I stare down my potato chips like I'm afraid to put one in my mouth. It's stupid. Sitting here together with our uneaten food isn't making us feel any better than we would if we were in separate rooms with nothing but our thoughts and fears for company.

They're still here, filling the silence in our heads. Taunting us.

"Come on." I sigh, grabbing my chips and beer and getting out of my seat.

"Where are we going?" Asks Penny as she carefully picks up her bowl.

Without a word, I lead them through the house and into the movie room. When we step through the door and I turn the dimmer lights up just enough for us to find our seats, I regret bringing them in here. I can't be here without thinking about the day I came back from Africa and he "gave" me this room. I can't be here without thinking about everything else he's given me, and everything I stand to lose if I lose him.

To say it hurts would be a colossal fucking understatement.

We're here now, though. And they've already settled themselves into recliners, leaving an empty one between them for me to sit in. I can't just say, "Nope, sorry. Turns out that being in this room is fucking agony, let's go to the family room." So I take a breath and force myself over to the projector, loading in the next disc of 'The Beverly Hillbillies'. I was watching it with the kids on Thanksgiving. They loved it, and we were supposed to finish it over the weekend...

Then Zac showed up, and I ran away. Because that's what I fucking do best.

I guess it's kind of fitting, in an incredibly twisted way, that now I'm _finally_ ready to stay, ready to try, and I might not be given the chance.

 

 


	72. Chapter 72

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another TOMMY CHAPTER!

  


 

 

Letting Penny and Ezra eat apple pie and watch DVDs with me after midnight probably wasn't the most responsible, parent-y thing I could've done. But at the time, it seemed like the _right_ thing to do. And after only a couple of episodes of 'The Beverly Hillbillies', they both drifted off to sleep beside me in their recliners anyway. I wished I could join them, but even though my eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and my eyes stung, every time I closed them for more than five seconds I started picturing the accident again. Or I'd see him in that hospital bed. I'd hear the sound of him hitting the ground, or the sound of those machines beeping incessantly...

So I forced myself to stay awake.

I turned both his phone and mine on and off every hour or so all night. I wanted to make sure that if Zac or Alex texted or called me, I'd get the message as soon as possible. But I couldn't just leave the phones on, because they were both buzzing with texts from other people every ten fucking minutes and I couldn't deal with it. I didn't want to answer questions, and I didn't even really know how to. I don't feel like I have any answers for anyone right now.

Besides, they all seem to know about as much as I do anyway, thanks to the celebrity gossip machine.

Word got out sometime in the early hours of the morning, "confirmed" by some elusive "insider". So I deleted my tweet about him being fine. I was just gonna leave it at that, but then I realized how much speculation and bullshit that would probably start. I knew I had to say _something_ , so I typed up a tweet simply asking people to keep him in their thoughts, and then I turned my phone back off for another hour.

Just after six am, I _finally_ get a text from Alex telling me that everything is "okay", and that the doctors said the swelling hasn't gone down much, but it hasn't gotten any worse, either. At first I'm disappointed that there hasn't been some miraculous improvement. I wanted a text full of capital letters and exclamation points, declaring that the swelling has gone down, and they've taken him off of the drugs, and he's awake, and he wants me to bring him some decent coffee. But I know a text like that isn't going to come. Any progress he makes isn't going to be sudden; it could be days before he wakes up.

And who the hell knows what condition he'll be in when he does.

I need to prepare myself for the longest wait of my life. I need to prepare myself for the fact that, if he wakes up, he might not be Taylor anymore. Not the Taylor I know. Whether it's mental or physical, he might be different. He doesn't have to die for me to lose him, it could happen in more ways than I can stand to think about.

Unfortunately, I've had _a lot_ of time to think over the past few hours, and most of that time has been spent dwelling on the things I've tried the hardest _not_ to dwell on.

Like what happens if he doesn't know who I am?

Is it going to be like some lame chick flick where I have to make him fall in love with me all over again? Or make him remember me over and over, every fucking day for the rest of our lives? I'm not Adam Sandler, for fucks sake! I can't make shit like this _funny_. My life is not a movie with a "happily ever after" tacked onto the end.

And what if he can't even take care of himself anymore, let alone his kids? Even if I was capable of handling a situation like that, even if I wanted to be the kind of person who could step up and say "I can take care of all of them!", that doesn't mean that I'll be _allowed_ to. I'm his boyfriend. We're not married, we don't even live together (and of course, that's my fucking fault). I have no legal say in anything that happens to the kids _or_ to him. He gave Zac control over his medical care, and no doubt his family will swoop right in and take him and the kids back to Tulsa if it looks like he's not going to be able to stand on his own two feet out here anymore, figuratively _or_ literally.

Before I can think to turn my phone back off again after Alex's text, it starts to ring. I quickly get out of my recliner and creep out of the room before Isaac's ringtone has a chance to wake Penny and Ezra, and as soon as I'm safely out in the hallway, I accept the call.

"What the fuck're you doing up this early?"

"It's not early here." He reminds me. I keep forgetting that he's in another time zone. "Did I wake you?"

"Can't wake someone who never slept."

"I figured." His sigh is sympathetic, and it makes me wish that he was here. He's so good at keeping me focused and making me feel like I _can_ do all of the things I'm afraid that I can't. I _need_ that right now. "What's going on over there? I saw something this morning about Taylor almost _dying_ , and I figured it was bullshit. But then I saw your tweet, and when I started looking around, I found all these other news stories about him being in an accident."

"Yeah." I mumble miserably, leaning against the wall behind me because apparently just _hearing_ about it is draining. "He was."

"But he's okay, right?" No. Yes. Maybe? I don't fucking _know._ "Shit, Tommy... I'm so sorry."

Take it back, Isaac. _Please_. I don't want condolences, I _can't_ handle it. "Don't be."

"How're you holding up?"

I shrug, which is dumb because he can't fucking _see_ me right now. I guess that means I have to keep talking.

"I don't know. I'm trying to stay positive, but it's like _all_ I can fucking think about is the worst case scenario."

"Are you at the hospital with him?"

"No, I'm at home with the kids. They're not allowed to visit him while he's in the ICU. They don't even know how bad it is." I sigh wearily. "The only one who knows is Ezra, 'cause he was there when it happened. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to tell them, Isaac. I'm no fucking good at this, I shouldn't be here-"

"That's bullshit. You love those kids, I know you do. That's all they need right now, Tommy. They don't need you to have all the answers or do everything perfectly, they just need you to be there. And you _are_."

"Why the fuck do you have to be gone _now_ , of all fucking times?"

"Because I'm a jackass." He informs me simply, a hint of a small, sad smile in his tone. "I really wish I wasn't. If I could just get on a plane and come home, I would."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do, or who I'm supposed to call. I feel like I don't have it in me to talk to anyone right now; they're all gonna be asking me what happened and how he's doing, and giving me those sad looks, and I don't wanna deal with it."

"What about Lisa? Or your mom? They can at least come over for a while and help with the kids, right?"

I know I should have more faith in my family. I _know_ that what happened at dinner the other night will be forgotten as soon as I call them and tell them what's going on. They'll be here for me _now_ no matter what I did in the past, there's no question. But because of how we left things, I feel weird about asking them for help. I know I'm being an idiot, and I should just get the fuck over it and call my mommy to come rescue me, like any other grown man would. But...

"They have their own stuff going on."

"Tommy-"

"It's fine." I cut him off quickly, before he can confirm that I'm being totally stupid. "I'm hoping I can talk Penny and River into going to school, and the others have a live-in sitter, so they're taken care of. There's nothing else that needs doing; I don't _need_ to call anyone."

"Okay, if you say so."

"I do." Speaking of taking care of the kids, that familiar 'get me out of here' morning cry is coming from the nursery. I guess my day is about to officially begin. "I gotta go, the baby's awake."

"It's so _weird_ to here you say shit like that."

I can't help but smile softly at the thought of it. "Right? Totally fucked up."

"Call me if you need to talk, okay? Or even if you don't wanna talk. You know I'm good for just sitting on the phone and _not_ talking, too."

"I will." I promise him truthfully. "Thanks, Isaac."

"Any time, beb."

I reluctantly put my phone back into my pocket and make my way through the house towards Asta's room. But when I reach the door, I stop. It's as though I'm hit by a flashback or something, but it's not a specific event I'm recalling. I'm just remembering the many times that Taylor has told me how he never goes to her when he's noticeably angry or sad, not if he can help it. I can hear him in my head, telling me to stop and take a breath, to let go of as much of what I'm feeling as I can, and to go in there with a smile on my face.

The smiling part doesn't really happen, but I do somehow manage to let go of enough of my negative energy that I genuinely feel better when I step into the room and see her standing in her crib. She's gripping the railings, crying in impatient discontent. But as soon as she realizes that salvation has arrived, and she's seconds away from freedom, her tears suddenly stop.

"Hey, booger." She blinks up at me through long eyelashes laced with tears , and when a smile spreads across her flushed cheeks as I lift her into my arms, I feel myself smile in response. "Sleep well?"

"Dada."

It doesn't matter how many times she says it, it always makes my heart _stop_. Or jump. Or something. And I seriously can't tell how I feel about it. Part of me is afraid, part of me loves it, part of me feels... guilty? And right now, the majority of me _hurts_. Which isn't one of the many things I'm used to feeling whenever she says that "word" to me.

"No." I sigh tiredly, talking to myself more than to her. "Not 'dada'."

"Dada." She repeats more insistently, probably because I stupidly just said it back to her and now she thinks I'm encouraging her. "Da- _da_."

"Dada's not here, kiddo."

Shit, I did it again!

"Dada."

"Diaper." I counter hopefully, laying her carefully down on her changing table. "Can you say 'dia-per'?"

"Dadadadadada!"

Fuck my life.

By the time I've got Asta into a clean diaper and into the kitchen for some breakfast, Jenna is already up and making coffee. I tell her that she's insane, and that she doesn't need to be up so early when she didn't get to bed until after midnight. But she just gives me this "whatever, dude, like you weren't up all night" look, and hands me a mug.

"So... what's the plan?" She asks me cautiously after we've spent a good five minutes watching Asta try to eat oatmeal and blueberries through her nostrils. "Do you know what you're gonna tell them?"

"Well, I already kinda talked to Penny. She knows that he's hurt, but not how bad it is. I told her the hospital won't let anyone visit him for a few days because he needs to rest."

She gives an approving nod, so I guess I didn't screw up too bad. "That makes sense. The boys are probably going to throw a fit about not being able to see him, but they're going to throw a fit no matter what."

"Yeah, that's what I figured."

"Are you going back to the hospital today?"

"I _want_ to. I doubt Ezra's gonna be up to going to school, but if I can convince Penny and River to go, even just for this morning, then I won't feel like a _total_ dick for leaving you with Asta and Viggo again."

"You're not a total dick, it's my job."

"No." I shake my head as I exhale a bitter breath of laughter. "This was _not_ what you signed up for. You were supposed to be helping out with the kids, working semi-regular hours. Not single-handedly trying to comfort them at all hours of the day and night while their dad is in hospital for who the hell knows how long."

"First of all, I'm not doing it 'single handedly'. You're here. And second of all, I'm here to help out. Period." She shrugs simply. "I've been working for this family on and off for _years_ , I care about them a lot. I honestly don't care what it is I "signed up for", it doesn't matter right now."

"You're kinda awesome, you know that?"

"Oh yeah? Awesome enough to get me front row seats to Adam's next show?"

I know she's joking, _everything_ about her makes it clear that she's not really fishing for free concert tickets. But I'm still not laughing. I can't. Adam's next show is in San Francisco in a couple of weeks... I should probably call him and tell him to start looking for someone else to play lead guitar, at least for that show. And then there's the New Years Eve concert in fucking _Bali_...

I don't know what it is I should be planning for right now.

Best case, Taylor wakes up in a couple of days and he's fine (except for some broken bones). In that case, I only need to skip San Francisco to be with him while he's getting better. But if he wakes up and it's not just broken bones he has to recover from, then I have no idea how long he'll be out of commission. I can't go flying off to Bali in six weeks if he's still in hospital, or if he's home and can barely get out of bed!

And if he _doesn't_ wake up...

Well, let's just say I doubt I'm gonna be in any fit shape to fly _anywhere_ or play _anything_ anytime soon.

"I was kidding." Jenna points out with a somewhat nervous chuckle. "About the front row seats, I mean."

"I know."

"You probably hear bad jokes like that one a lot."

"No." I assure her quickly. "I was just... it reminded me about something I need to do, that's all."

It's just after seven when we hear tiny footsteps running across the hardwood floors, and an expectant little voice calling out for its daddy. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the absolute meltdown I _know_ I'm about to have on my hands as soon as Viggo realizes that Taylor _still_ isn't home. He runs into the kitchen, his face momentarily lighting up with relief when he sees me. Because if I'm here, his dad must be somewhere close by, right?

If only.

"Where's daddy?" He asks, looking around the kitchen for some sign of Taylor. "He's not in bed, I looked."

"Viggo-"

"Is he outside?"

He doesn't give me a chance to answer, probably because some part of him already knows what I'm going to say and he doesn't want to hear it. I follow him at a distance as he hurries out of the kitchen and in the direction of the stairs down to the pool. The French doors at the bottom of them are locked, but that doesn't stop him from pulling on them so persistently that they rattle in their frames. He doesn't give up, not even when I reach out and try to pull him away. In fact, he clings to the handles as though they'll somehow save him. Like if he can only get those damn doors to open, he'll be able to run outside and his dad _will_ be there.

"He's not out there." I try to pry his hands away, but he's holding on so tightly that I feel as though I'd have to break his fingers to do it! "Come on, buddy, let go."

"I want my daddy! _Why_ isn't he here?" He demands as I _finally_ manage to pull him off of the door handles, but he thrashes in my grasp the second he loses his grip. His hope. "Where is he?!"

Damnit, what the hell am I supposed to tell him? He's already losing it, if I tell him that Taylor is hurt he's going to have a fucking psychotic break! But I have to tell him _something_. I can't just stand here and hold him at arm's length, waiting for him to kick and scream himself into exhaustion.

He deserves an answer.

"He's with Zac." I blurt out, because at least that's a half-truth. "He's with your Uncle Zac."

"Where? _Where_ are they?"

Fuck. "They... they're out." Great job, Tommy. That's a really compelling answer! "They had to go somewhere-"

" _Where_?!" He repeats, breathless from struggling and sobbing. "When will he come home?"

"Soon." Liar, liar, pants on fucking fire. "They'll be home soon."

"I want him to come home _now_!"

"I know." I sympathize, more than he could possibly know.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he can tell how tired I am, and how badly I need him to calm down right now, because something seems to flip his freak out switch "off". He stops kicking, stops trying to pull away from me, and his body gradually gives out and falls against mine as he turns in my arms and holds onto me tightly.

"I want my daddy."

"I know you do, buddy."

I want him, too.

It takes at least another twenty minutes of sitting on the floor with him until his crying comes to a slow stop, but when I so much as shift my leg to stop it from falling asleep, he gasps in panic and grabs onto my t-shirt so hard that he pinches me through my shirt. I'm not too manly to admit that being pinched by a petrified four-year-old fucking _hurts_. The only way I can get him back up to the kitchen is to carry him; he seems about as content as he's probably going to get as long as I don't let him go for even a second. It makes getting breakfast for his brothers and sister a little challenging, but with Jenna's help it's not completely impossible.

Besides, none of them are all that hungry this morning anyway.

They sit around the dining table together, the only sound in the entire room is the soft clink of spoons against bowls as they stir their soggy cereals of choice and watch them turn to mush. It's not until I tell them that it's time to get dressed for school that any of them speaks. And when they do, it's to protest.

"I'm not going to school." Penny declares stubbornly.

"If _she's_ not going, _I'm_ not going." Adds River. "It's not fair!"

"She _is_ going." I tell them both, trying to sound like I know how to do this parenting thing. "Ezra's staying home today 'cause he fell down and hurt his arm, but you guys are going to school."

"I don't feel well."

Nice try, Penny.

I walk over to her and gently place my hand against her forehead, the way my mom always used to do when I tried to fake some kind of illness to get out of going to school. "You don't have a fever, I think you'll be okay."

"You're not a doctor." She snaps petulantly. "You don't know how I feel."

"I know you're not sick enough to stay home and miss another day of school when you already missed yesterday."

"You can't _make_ me go. You're not my dad!"

Breathe, Tommy. _Breathe_. "No, I'm not. But I know that if he was here he'd say the same thing."

"No, he wouldn't."

"Yes, he would."

"No, he wouldn't!"

" _Yes_ , he..." What the fuck am I doing? I'm not gonna get into it with a seven-year-old girl! "Look, I know you don't _want_ to go, but sometimes we have to do stuff we don't wanna do, okay? And for you, today, that means getting dressed and going to school."

"No." She folds her arms over her chest defiantly and turns her face away. "I'm _not_ getting dressed, and _you_ can't make me."

She's right, I _can't_ make her. If she was already dressed, I guess I _could_ technically drag her out to the car and drive her to school. But no way in hell am I gonna drag her to her bedroom and force her to take her pajamas off!

Jenna, on the other hand...

As soon as I glance over my shoulder at her, silently pleading for help, she nods in understanding and steps forward. "Come on, Penny."

"No!"

"Sweetie, you're _going_ to school. So you can either come pick out your own clothes or we can take you in your PJs. It's your choice."

Her brothers watch with anxious curiosity as she remains in her seat for another minute or so, scowling at her cereal bowl. I'm starting to think she's going to call Jenna's bluff, but thankfully she decides against attending school in her nightgown. She pushes her chair out angrily and stalks out of the room, making it obvious to everyone that she's _pissed_ , and Jenna hurries after her while I turn back to the boys.

"Time to get dressed, Riv."

He heaves a defeated sigh as he slides off out of his seat and traipses out of the dining room with a lot less attitude than his big sister. But I still feel like a total jackass. Maybe I should've just let them stay home. But for how long? At what point am I supposed to say "enough", and force them to go back to school? They only just started, they'd only _just_ settled into a routine after spending the majority of the year in upheaval. As far as they know, there's no reason for them to go back to living in limbo. There's no reason for them to stay home from school indefinitely. If I give in because I hate being the bad guy, I'm gonna do them more harm than good.

At least, that's what I tell myself in order to avoid backing down just to wipe the pout off of Penny's face.

While they're getting dressed, I leave Ezra in charge of watching Asta so I can try to put together some form of lunch for his siblings. But it's more challenging than it should be because Viggo _still_ refuses to let me put him down! I swear my arms are gonna fall the fuck off soon; even switching him back and forth every few minutes isn't helping anymore! And I can't make sandwiches one-handed without massacring the bread, so I end up throwing a packet of Poptarts into Penny and River's lunch bags, along with a mini tub of Pringles and a banana each. It's not the most nutritious lunch ever, but it's better than nothing.

 _Barely_.

I meet them by the front door with only minutes to go until we'll officially be late. Neither of them looks any happier about having to go to school than they did the last time I saw them, but there's not a whole lot I can do about that right now. I just have to keep telling myself that they'll be fine once they get there. And even if they not, it's not the end of the world.

They've survived much worse, and they'll survive this, too.

Viggo, on the other hand, makes it _sound_ as though his chances of survival are seriously being called into question when I try to hand him off to Jenna. If I thought he had a tight hold on me before, it's nothing compared to the grip he has now! I swear he's about to rip my shirt right off of me just as she somehow manages to tear _him_ off of me instead! She repeatedly tells me to go, that's it's fine, she's got it under control. But that doesn't make me feel any less shitty as I shut the door behind me. I can _still_ hear him screaming for me as I open the car door for Penny and River, and I'm pretty sure I'll have those desperate cries ringing in my ears for the rest of the damn day.

River interrogates me about Taylor's whereabouts and condition the entire duration of the drive to the school, asking me the same questions over and over, as though he's trying to find some kind of hole in my story. I do my best to remember exactly what I did (and didn't) tell Penny last night so that I can make sure I keep my half-true story the same, and then I repeat it as many times as it takes for him to accept it. I tell him that Taylor is okay so many times that _I_ almost believe it myself by the time I pull into the parking lot.

They grudgingly get out of the car, and I follow them over to the main school building and through the halls. I don't know where their classes are, the only time I ever came in here was to pick Ezra up from the main office, so I hope they're actually going where they're _supposed_ to go right now. We come to River's classroom first, and he pauses in the doorway for a second before turning to me and offering me a half-hearted smile and wave. I feel like I should say "have a good day" or something, but it sounds stupid in the confines of my own head, so I don't bother saying it out loud.

When we get to Penny's classroom, she comes to an abrupt stop. Unlike River, she doesn't seem like she's just sad to be going inside, she seems _scared_. I follow her gaze into the room, and it only takes me a few seconds to spot the group of girls staring right back at us. I'm guessing they're the little brats who told her she's not going to grow up "normal" because she doesn't have a mom. And I'm guessing her refusal to come to school today had as much to do with facing them as it had to do with her dad being in hospital.

"Hey, look at me." I tell her gently, crouching down beside her as she slowly turns to face me. But she still won't look me in the eyes. "I know what those girls said to you at that party, and I want you to know that it's _bullshit_." Her eyes immediately dart up to meet mine, and she looks stunned by the fact that I used an "adult word", as Taylor would call it, in an elementary school. Normally, I wouldn't. But it shocked her enough to earn me her attention, and that was the point. "They're bullies. They make other people feel bad to make themselves feel better. But they're _not_ better; they're spoiled, and they're mean. You're not like them, and you don't wanna _be_ like them, okay?"

"But _everyone_ likes them."

"Everyone _pretends_ to like them so they'll leave them alone."

"I want them to leave me alone, too." She mumbles miserably, chancing a brief look in their direction. "They're gonna tell everyone not to be my friend because I'm weird."

"I'm weird, too." I shrug, trying my best to make it seem like it's no big deal. But I remember what it's like to be a kid, and I remember that being weird wasn't the best way to make friends. "It's better to be weird than mean."

"I guess."

This isn't working.

"Just... think about Belle." I tell her hopefully as her forehead crinkles into a confused frown. She looks mildly intrigued by where I'm going with this, and to be honest, I'm kinda wondering what my points is, too. "Everyone in her whole town through she was weird, right?" Penny nods. "But did she give a crap?"

"No."

"No. So... would you rather be like them," I nod my head towards her former friends. "Or like Belle?"

After giving what I've said a moment of consideration, a flicker of a smile appears on her face. "Belle."

Next thing I know, she's got her arms wrapped around my neck and she's _hugging_ me. Girls are so fucking schizophrenic. One minute they hate you, then they're hugging you! I'm so bewildered that it takes me a while to remember to hug her back, and as soon as I start to she pulls back to look at me again.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"I'm sorry I had to make you come to school." I tell her sincerely. "I know it sucks."

She gives a small shrug, shifting her backpack onto her shoulder again as she turns and takes a step into the classroom. But then she stops and quickly turns back at me. "Are you gonna pick us up?"

If I'm here to pick them up, that means I can only be at the hospital for five hours. That's a grand total of twenty-five minutes that I'll get to spend with Taylor today, _if_ I don't have to share him with anyone else. But I can see in her eyes how nervous she already is, and all she needs to know right now is that she can count on something. _Someone_.

"I'll be here."


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy again. ;)

  


 

 

I _hate_ parking at this hospital. Not as much as I hate being here in the first place, but pretty fucking close. Whoever came up with the time limits and fees in these dumbass lots obviously never had to deal with finding a place to park while someone they loved was lying in a hospital bed. There's no point even parking in the official hospital lots unless you have no interest in actually spending more than an hour visiting a patient. They're designed for exactly that: visiting. Not staying by someone's bedside for as long as you possibly can.

Those of us who actually _need_ to be here, because our family members are seriously hurt or sick, are screwed. We have to drive around looking for street parking with no fucking time limits, and then we have to walk all the way back to the damn hospital from wherever the hell that ends up being.

It's so fucking _backwards_!

And yes, I realize that parking is the least of my problems in the grand scheme of things. But I'd honestly rather focus on that than think about any of the other shitty things going on right now. In some weird, fucked up way, it makes me feel _better_ to be outraged by the lack of decent, affordable parking at Cedars-Sinai. I have something to direct my anger and frustration at, and I _need_ something to direct my anger and frustration at before I drown in it.

When I finally make it up to the Neuro-ICU waiting area, I find Zac asleep and Alex slumped in the chair beside him. He doesn't notice my presence until I sit down next to him, and then he looks up in surprise.

"Jeez." He breathes a soft chuckle as he tugs his ear buds out and turns his iPhone off. "Where'd you come from?"

"Pasa-fucking-dena." I lie. "Closest parking I could find."

"Right? So fucked up."

"How's he doing? Any change?"

The look on his face says it all before he so much as shakes his head. "Not since I texted you this morning."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. I didn't wanna take too much time away from Zac, you know? He's his brother, he has more of a right to be with him than I do." He glances down at Zac's sleeping (and snoring) form. "He's been out for about an hour now, so I kinda snagged the last visit just by being conscious."

"How long ago was that?" I ask hopefully as I look over at the clock on the waiting room wall.

"You got ten more minutes." He tells me knowingly.

Thank fuck. "Did you get any sleep?"

He shakes his head again, stretching as if to demonstrate how tired he is. "You?"

"Nope."

"How're the kids doing? Did you tell them what happened?"

"I told them he's in hospital and he needs to rest, so they can't see him for a few days." I shrug helplessly. "I have no fucking clue what I'm gonna tell them if he doesn't wake up soon. It's not like I can just keep lying to them about how bad it is for weeks."

"Yeah, well... hopefully you won't have to. Zac said they're supposed to start bringing him out of this coma thing soon, right?"

"If he's doing well, yeah."

"Well... he's not _not_ doing well."

"We're not out of the woods yet. The doctor said he could get worse over the next couple of days."

"Jeez, way to think positive." He mutters, kicking at the floor with his heel. "Would it kill you to have a little faith?"

"I don't believe in God."

"I meant faith in Taylor."

"I _have_ faith in Taylor." I tell him impatiently, trying to keep my emotional exhaustion from getting the better of me in the middle of a hospital waiting room. "But right now, Taylor is in a fucking coma. I can have all the faith in him I want, but it's not gonna change that. Having faith doesn't fix people when they're broken, Alex. It doesn't magically make them better, okay? He might not pull through-"

"He will."

"He might _not_ , and I _need_ to be ready for that. So you can sit around and have faith and think positively if that makes _you_ feel better, but I've been there, and I've done that, and it doesn't make a damn bit of difference at the end of the day. I'd rather be prepared for the worst instead of just hoping for the best."

For a moment or two he's silent, letting me believe I've actually made a valid point that he can't argue with. But this is Alex we're talking about, so I probably should've known better.

"You do realize that you're kidding yourself, right?" He asks, his tone even and nowhere near as insensitive as his words. "All this 'preparing for the worst' bullshit is exactly that: _bullshit_."

"Whatever."

"You're _never_ gonna be prepared for something like that, no matter how negatively you think, or how convinced you are that you're ready. It'll knock you on your ass, even if you think you're already sitting the fuck down."

Deep down, I know he's right. I've known it the whole time, but I don't want it to be true. I don't want to face the fact that there's _nothing_ I can do to make it hurt less than I know it's going to if the worst happens. Because knowing how much pain is coming my way if the worst case scenario becomes a reality is the single most _terrifying_ thing I've ever been confronted with...

Fuck this.

I don't care if it's been ten minutes or not, I haven't seen Taylor in almost twelve hours, and I'm not gonna let some dumbass hospital rule keep me away from him any longer.

The nurse must be able to see my determination (or desperation, whatever), because she doesn't give me any crap about it not being time for visitors when I approach her and ask to be taken back to his room. I fucking _hate_ that I have to get permission from a total stranger to see the guy I love. I know he's hurt, and I know they're trying to help him, but I don't think keeping him away from the people who love him is good for him.

Or maybe it's just not good for me.

I think I must've somehow forgotten how it felt to be in this room with  him last night. Because when I step back inside, and I'm greeted by the sound of relentless beeping, and the sight of the machines, and of him lying so still, with tubes and wires coming out of him... it really does feel like someone has just physically shoved me, and I have to struggle not to take a step back.

"Five minutes." The nurse reminds me gently before walking away and leaving me alone with him.

I don't feel quite as unsure of myself as I did last time I was standing here, but it still takes me a few seconds to steady myself and remember how the hell to even walk. And my heart still sinks when his hand doesn't grasp mine. It's stupid, because I _knew_ it wouldn't. I knew he wouldn't open his eyes, or make a sound, or react to my presence _at all_ , but that doesn't stop me from being disappointed.

Alex was totally right: being prepared for the pain doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Hey." _Hey_ , he says (in my head, because apparently I'm going completely fucking crazy now). "You look..." Terrible. He looks terrible. And beautiful, still. I don't even get it. "You've got a little more color this morning." That was a shitty compliment. That's the kind of thing you say to someone when you can't think of _anything_ nice to say about their appearance! "The kids are..." Miserable. Crushed. Missing you already. "They're hanging in there. Jenna's been great;  asking her to move out here was _definitely_ a good call."

I hate this. I don't wanna sit here and not say anything at all, but I really don't know what the fuck it is I'm supposed to say to him. I'm _not_ leaving him, though. I don't care if I'm pissing my five minutes away by making pathetic small talk with him when he can't even respond. I'd rather be in here talking to myself than sitting in the waiting room without him.

"I told Penny I'd pick them up from school later, so I can't stay all that long. But I promise it's _not_ 'cause I don't want to be here. It's not like I'm freaking out and running away or whatever. I just... I figure you'd want me to be with them. I mean, _you_ were the one who made me leave you alone in that ambulance to go and move the fucking car so you wouldn't get towed. You worry more about everyone and everything else than you do about yourself. So... I guess I'm trying to do the same thing. I don't know if that makes any sense..."

Not a whole lot does right now.

"Speaking of things that don't make sense, you wanna hear something totally messed up? I kinda think you getting hit by that car might have 'fixed' Ezra a little. It's like he's different. He's not angry anymore, he's just... sad. I don't know if that's better, but... I think he's kinda opening up a little more. Maybe it took you throwing yourself in front of that car for him to realize how much you really _do_ care. Or to remind him how much _he_ cares. He's like... talking more and stuff. And this morning he was helping me with Asta. I mean, he wasn't doing all that much, but he wasn't totally ignoring her or anything. It's like this whole thing snapped him out of whatever it was he was going through. So you need to wake the hell up and come home, 'cause if you don't it's just gonna fuck him up all over again."

It's gonna fuck us _all_ up. 

My five minutes are over way too soon, and I feel like I wasted them all. Even though I have no clue what I could have said or done differently. I mean, when you're talking to someone who can't talk back, most of your conversation starters tend to die out pretty fucking fast.

When I head back out to the waiting room, Zac is nowhere to be seen. Alex informs me that he needed to answer a call or something and "stepped out". I wish the call had come fifty-five minutes later, so that he'd have to take it right when Taylor is allowed his next visitor. Then I wouldn't have as much competition. I know it's selfish, but I do _not_ want to share him right now. I might not know how to make the most of five minutes an hour with my comatose boyfriend, but I still want every last one of them!

"You know... you don't have to stay." I tell Alex, trying to sound like it's him I'm thinking about rather than myself. "You've been here all night. You should go home-"

"And do what?" He asks with a quirked eyebrow. "Get some sleep? Not fucking likely."

"Well you should at least go and get something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

I should've known he wouldn't be so easy to get rid of. "So you're just gonna hang out here all day?"

"Don't have anything better to do." He gives a small shrug, trying to play it off like it's no big deal. But we both know it _is_.

It strikes me how awkward, and insecure, and just plain _un_ -Alex he seems right now. Not that I'm feeling much like myself either, but it's not the same.

Unless it _is_...

I've always chalked all of the flirting and less-than-appropriate affection he showed Taylor up to him being a shameless, hypersexual dickwad with impulse control issues. And I figured some of it was solely for my "benefit", because he can never resist an opportunity to piss me the hell off. Besides, it wasn't like I could really begrudge either of them that overly-friendly side of their relationship when I'm frequently guilty of behaving the same way with a lot of my own friends. They play around, and so do I. It's all an act, it doesn't mean anything.

At least, that's what I _assumed_.

"I'm gonna ask you something." I announce abruptly. "And now's probably the _only_ time I'm ever not gonna totally hate your guts if I don't like your answer."

After eyeing me warily for a moment, a half-smirk begins to tug on the corner of his mouth. "Okay... what's the question?"

"Do you love him?"

"Who?"

"Taylor." I press insistently, telling myself that I _won't_ punch him in the face, no matter what he says next. "Do you love him?"

"Yeah, of course I do."

"No... you _know_ what I mean, Alex."

He holds my stare, apparently weighing the pros and cons of being completely honest with me. And really, that hesitation is all the answer I need anyway. When he sighs heavily and looks away, it just confirms what I already suspected.

"Since the second he first laid eyes on me."

"I think you got that backwards." I mumble as I fold my arms across my chest and try like hell not to pout.

"Nope. The second _I_ first laid eyes on _him_ , I wanted to fuck him." Was this conversation really _my_ idea? I'm such a fucking idiot sometimes, I swear. "But the second _he_ turned around and looked at _me_ with those big, innocent blue eyes of his... it was all over."

I can definitely relate to that. "Does he know?"

"I don't think so. If he does, he's never let on."

"So you never told him?"

" _Hell_ no." He laughs softly, regretfully, shaking his head as he gazes off across the waiting room. "I couldn't admit it to myself back then, let alone him. I didn't even plan on being his friend, you know? But he just... gets a hold of you. He doesn't have to fucking _try_ , it just happens. You go into it thinking you'll fuck him a few times, until the novelty wears off, and then you'll let him go back to his wholesome little life like he never even met you. But somehow you end up _clinging_ to him, and you just... wanna keep him."

"Sounds familiar." I admit, unable to keep a hint of a smile off of my lips because it's _so_ fucking true.

"I'm never gonna _not_ love him." Declares Alex plainly and unashamedly.

And for some reason... I'm not even slightly threatened by his confession. You'd think I'd be on the verge of knocking his teeth out, but all I feel right now is sympathy.

Because if things had been different... maybe it would've been me. If I'd met Taylor at a different time in his life, at a different time in _my_ life, maybe I would've been the one who lost him because I was too proud and too afraid to admit how I really felt.

I almost was anyway, wasn't I?

"It doesn't matter how _I_ feel, though. He's never gonna feel the same, and I got over that a _long_ fucking time ago. He never would've given up everything to be with me; I wasn't that person for him. But _you_ are, and... that's fine. I honestly don't care who he ends up with, just so long as whoever it is appreciates the fact that they lucked the fuck out. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're a catch, too-"

"Fuck off."

He smiles, nudging my shoulder gently with his. "I'm serious. You're good together. You make more sense than it seems like you really should, but... I think that's how it goes, you know? You don't need someone who's exactly like you, you need someone who's all the things you're _not_. The light to your dark, the sweet to your sour. Not saying you're the dark, sour one-"

"I _am_ , though."

"He has plenty of darkness, too, he's just not as proud of it as you are of yours. And you might not be an obvious kind of light; you're no angel, that's for sure. But you were the kind _he_ needed. I saw it the first time I ever saw you together, before I even knew you _were_ together. I could _see_ that he was different... happy. I know it sounds cliché, but there was something in his eyes... I'd never seen him like that before. You crept into all those corners he'd been hiding away in his whole life and you just... lit him up."

The last thing I want to do is break down crying. Not in public, and not in front of Alex fucking Greenwald. And I'm trying _really_ hard not to. But everything he's just said, on top of everything that's happened over the past twenty-four-hours, paired with my complete lack of sleep last night... it's all just left me completely fucking weak. _Raw_. I feel like every last layer of protection I'd normally have against shit like this has been stripped away, and I can't even _pretend_ not to feel it.

"Fuck..." I rake my fingers through my hair in an attempt to literally pull myself together, but I can tell it's too late. I can feel Alex watching me. "I can't believe I messed this up so badly."

"What're you talking about? _You_ didn't do anything, you weren't the one who hit him with a fucking car."

I give a faint, sad shake of my head. "I don't mean that."

"Then what _do_ you mean?"

"I just... I should've said yes."

"To _what_?" He presses impatiently, trying to figure out what the hell it is I'm losing my shit over.

"Everything." I answer simply, sniffing back a looming rush of tears. "I should've just said _yes_ , I should've just fucking done everything he wanted me to. Because _I_ wanted it, too. But I was too fucking scared, so I kept putting it all off and telling him not to rush things. I was a total fucking _idiot_.And now he's..." I can't even finish the damn sentence. At least, not out loud. "I should've said yes when I had the chance."

He places a strong, reassuring hand on my shoulder and gives it a confident squeeze. "There'll be more chances."

"I kept my distance. Every time he tried to get me to come closer, to make us a real family, I took a step back. I thought I wasn't ready... do you know how fucking _stupid_ that sounds now?!"

"I know, but-"

"I'm nothing, Alex. I don't get a fucking say in _any_ of this! We don't live together, we're not married, because I couldn't just fucking say _yes_. And as far as the kids are concerned, I have _no_ rights. _None_! I'm _nothing_ , and that's exactly what I'm gonna wind up with if he _dies_!"

It's the first time anyone has said it out loud. And it's like it wasn't even me who said it, like I was just sitting here, minding my own business, and some insensitive asshole came along and blurted it out. If it came from me, then why has it left me speechless? If I was the one who said it, then why am I so horrified?

Why did it feel like a fucking slap in the face?

"He's _not_ gonna die." Alex asserts boldly, though to be honest, he doesn't look anywhere near as strong as he sounds. He kinda looks like he wants to puke, actually. "He's gonna wake up tomorrow, and he's gonna be Taylor, and he's gonna get better. And you're gonna move your sorry ass into that house, and marry him, and grow the _fuck_ up. Got it?"

"Got it." I agree feebly.

I just hope he's right.

"What's wrong?" Zac asks, frowning in concern as he approaches us. "What happened?"

Alex tries to smile and shake his head nonchalantly, but it comes off totally forced. "Nothing."

"Then why do you both look like..." Like someone died? "Like that."

"It's just my face, dude."

"What, are we supposed to be sitting here laughing or something?" I ask Zac pointedly, and then I feel like a douche bag because he has every reason to be on edge, and I have no reason to be a jerk about it. "We're just... tired."

"Yeah, well, you better hold onto all the energy you have left, 'cause our parents are on their way over from LAX." Oh _joy_! One big happy-and-not-at-all-resentful family! "They just called for an update."

"Okay." I nod, because really, what else am I supposed to do?

"Um... there's something else you should know." He adds somewhat guiltily, and suddenly there's a giant ball of dread where my stomach used to be. "Pam came out here with them."

"You have _got_ to be shitting me. She's coming _here_? To the fucking _hospital_!"

"No, actually... she's heading over to the house to see the kids."

Oh. Hell. _No_.

"What the fuck?! She can't just show up and invite herself over! Does she seriously think she's welcome in that house after she had him served with fucking _custody_ papers?!"

Zac shrugs helplessly, and I kinda wanna punch him for not being as outraged as I am. "She's their grandma, she wants to be there for them-"

"She wants to take them away from him!"

"It's not like she's just gonna smuggle them back to Tulsa while he's in a coma!" He argues incredulously.

"Damn fucking right she's not."

He watches in surprise as I get out of my seat, and it's only a matter of seconds before he questions my actions just like I expected him to. "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" I snap at him before making a beeline for the waiting room exit.

"Tommy, you can't stop her from seeing them! It'll only make everything _worse_!"

"Fine, I won't stop her. But no way in hell is she getting an all access fucking pass to that house."

To _our_ home.

The doors of the elevator have almost closed behind me when someone jams their arm into the small gap still left and forces them open again. I'm expecting it to be Zac standing in front of me, lecturing me on how to handle this, telling me it's not really any of my business. But it's Alex standing on the other side of the doors, and he doesn't lecture me at all. He simply steps into the elevator with me, and pushes the button to close the doors again.

"What're you doing?" I ask uncertainly.

"Thought you might want some backup."

I didn't think I would, but now that he's brought it up, I'm kinda grateful for the support. I'm not afraid of Pam, even if she does technically have more of a right to be with the kids than I do. But I've never been in a situation like this before. I've never felt like I had to fight for or protect something _so_ important. It's a huge responsibility to be faced with, and I'm more than a little afraid that I'm not prepared to handle it.

But if I don't at least _try_ , who the hell will?


	74. Chapter 74

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still Tommy. ;)

  


 

 

Alex doesn't say a word to me the entire trek back to the car, or on the drive over to Taylor's house. I can't decide if I'm glad or not, to be honest. It'd probably help to have a distraction, to keep my mind from spinning off in a thousand different directions. But since I never know what he's going to say, or if what he's going to say if gonna piss me off, maybe it's better that he keeps his mouth shut.

It's not until I've pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine that he finally speaks. He reaches across the gear shift and grabs my arm as I make a move to get out of the car, holding me back before I can so much as set foot out outside.

"What's the plan?" He asks.

"I don't have one."

"Maybe you should."

Logically, I know he's right. But planning still feels like a giant waste of time. "I don't know, Alex. I don't even know if she's already here or not."

"Okay, so what if she is?" He asks calmly, fixing me with a stare that's way too serious. I'm not used to seeing him like this. "Are you gonna kick her out?"

I _want_ to, but I know I can't. And even if I could, I probably shouldn't. "No."

"And if she's not here? Are you gonna let her in the house when she shows up?"

"I don't know... yeah, I guess. I'm not gonna keep her from seeing her grandkids. Even if she's not my favorite person on the planet right now, she's still their family, and they have no idea what's going on between her and Taylor."

"So you're just... gonna supervise her while she's with them?"

I can tell from his tone that he's genuinely curious. He's not making fun of my plan (or lack of one), he just wants to be clear on what it is I've got in mind. If I knew, I'd be happy to fill him in. "I honestly don't fucking know. I just... I can't let her be here alone. It's his home, you know? It's _our_ home, and she's actively trying to pull it apart. I'm not gonna sit back and let her. _He_ wouldn't."

"Okay." He nods understandingly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Get the kids out of the way if you think something's about to happen that they shouldn't be around for?" I shrug, unable to give him any other ideas because I don't have any right now.

I have no idea if this is going to turn ugly, or if we're all going to be able to act civil towards one another for the sake of the kids. And I _won't_ know until I get in there. So I tug my arm out of Alex's grasp and get out of the car.

Everything seems normal as I open the front door of the house and step inside... but it doesn't feel normal. Not to me. It's kind of creepy, actually. Like I'm out of place, sneaking into a stranger's house. I'm on alert from the second I set foot over the threshold, listening closely for the slightest sound, my eyes darting around the room for any sign of something that doesn't look right. I can vaguely hear the sound of the TV in the family room, and talking coming from the same general direction, but I can't tell whose voice it is. I guess it could be Jenna's...

"Hey."

Or not, since Jenna just jumped out of fucking nowhere and scared the shit out of me! "What the _fuck_?!"

"Sorry." She cringes apologetically, very clearly trying to keep her voice down. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just thought I heard a car outside, so-"

"Is Pam here?"

She seems momentarily stunned by the question. I can't tell if it's because Pam isn't here yet, and Jenna had no idea that she was even coming, or because she didn't realize that _I_ already knew.

"She got here about half an hour ago." She admits timidly, as though she's done something wrong. "Should I not have let her in? I'm _sorry_ , I didn't know what else to do. I mean, I know she's-"

"It's okay." I assure her as Alex joins us in the foyer and closes the door behind him. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"It's just weird, you know? I've known her for years, and she's always been _so_ nice to me. I get that with the whole custody thing you guys probably don't want her around the kids too much right now, but I don't think she's here to try and take them away or anything. She's just worried about them."

I nod, though I'm not entirely convinced that Pam has _no_ ulterior motive. Even if her main reason for coming out here was just to be with her grandkids, I can't imagine that _no_ part of her sees this as an opportunity to swing the odds further in her favor somehow. I'm not gonna let her position herself as the primary caregiver in this shitty situation. She's not gonna be the one who's making meals, and changing diapers, and taking them to school. If she thinks she can use what happened to Taylor _against_ him somehow, she's got another thing coming.

She's gonna have to go through _me_ first.

"Where is she?"

"In the kitchen."

You can do this, Tommy. You're a grown man. This is basically your house. Well... it's Taylor's house, and you sleep here most of the time. But whatever! You have more right to be here than she does. So you go in there, and you stake your claim. Or mark your territory. Or at least make sure she doesn't feel too welcome.

Just fucking _do_ something for once!

With a deep breath, I do my best to stand as tall as I can (I wish I kept a pair of creepers here), and head back towards the kitchen. Sure enough, Pam has already made herself right at home. She's busy rummaging through the fridge like she fucking lives here, while Ezra and Viggo wait patiently at the kitchen island. Once she's found whatever it is she's looking for, she closes the fridge door and turns around. She doesn't seem all that surprised to find me standing here. Disappointed, yes, maybe even annoyed. But not surprised in the least.

I can't help wondering if Zac gave her a heads up.

"Hello." She greets me in the most civil tone she can probably muster.

"Tommy!" Even though his smile isn't anywhere near as wide as usual, Viggo still charges at me full force. At least someone is happy to see me. He wraps his arms around me and holds on tightly, and I give his light brown hair a gentle ruffle in return. "You came back."

"'Course I did, buddy."

"Look! Grandma came to visit." He tells me, even though I've obviously already seen her. "She's gonna stay until daddy gets better."

"Oh yeah?" I ask, my question directed more to her than to him.

"I just want to make sure that my grandchildren are being looked after." She replies sweetly, spreading some peanut butter onto one of the slices of bread laid out on the butcher block. "I'm sure you must be very busy at the hospital-"

"I've got it covered, thanks. And Jenna's here to help out when I'm not here."

"Yes, well, an extra pair of hands never hurt."

"What hotel are you staying at?" Alex asks as innocuously as he can, but it's pretty clear to me that he's really trying to figure out if she's planning to stay here.

And I think it's clear to her, too.

"I hadn't gotten around to booking a room yet. When I heard Taylor was hurt, I got right on a plane to make sure the children were alright." She smiles affectionately at Ezra as she hands him a plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on it. "They're all that matters."

"You can stay here." Viggo offers generously. "Me and River have bunk beds! Mine is the bottom one, it has race car sheets on it. You can sleep there, and I'll sleep on the couch!"

"Viggo-"

"That's very kind of you, sweetheart. But I don't think I'd fit in your bed!" Chuckles Pam, her expression flickering from warm to icy cold in an instant as her eyes meet mine. "I'll find a hotel later today. But I'll still be here as often as I need to be to make sure everything is taken care of."

"It will be." I inform her resolutely, before turning my attention to Ezra and Viggo. "Hey, why don't you guys take your lunch into the family room and watch a movie with Alex?"

"Can I pick the movie?" Viggo asks Alex hopefully as he finally lets go of me in order to grab his sandwich off of the island."I _never_ get to pick the movie."

"Me either, dude. I think you might have to arm wrestle me for it."

"Maybe they should sit at the table to eat?" Pam interrupts. "It's better for them."

Viggo's grin immediately melts into a disheartened frown. "Daddy lets us eat in the family room..."

"You're fine, buddy." I insist with a reassuring smile, giving him a gentle nudge in Alex's direction. "Try not to get jelly on the couch, though, okay?"

"I won't!" He calls back to me as he and his brother make their way out of the room.

Pam watches them closely until they're out of sight, and then she shakes her head in disapproval and goes to work cleaning up the jars of peanut butter and jelly on the counter. It's obvious from her entire demeanor that she's pissed off, and I have to admit, it makes me feel like I did something right.

"They shouldn't eat in front of the TV." She informs me snappily. "They spend far too much time watching movies and playing video games."

"They're fine."

"Forgive me if I'm not _at all_ reassured by your _expert_ opinion on the subject."

Oh, what-the- _fuck_ -ever.

"Look, I get that you're their grandma and everything, and you're here to take care of them, and that's... fine." No, actually, it's not. I can't do anything about it, though, so I'm just gonna have to pretend that I'm okay with it. "But this isn't your house, and you don't get to tell me how to take care of them while you're here."

"It's not your house, either, from what I understand. And they're not your children. They're not your family, they're mine. I helped my daughter to raise them, I know them and I know what they need-"

"I'm not gonna do this with you, okay? Yes, you're family, and yes, you've been in their lives longer. But you're _not_ their legal guardian-"

"Neither are you! You're their father's... _boyfriend_." She remarks in disgust. "You _barely_ know them. It's ridiculous for you to think that you have _any_ right to tell me how to take care of them!"

"News flash: _You_ don't have any rights here! You might be trying to take them away from their dad, but you haven't won that custody case yet, and you're not fucking going to." I notice her flinch slightly when I cuss, and it kinda makes me want to launch into a string of pointless profanity just to see if it repulses her so much that she's forced to flee the building. "Maybe this isn't my house, but it _is_ my home. And maybe they're not my kids, but they _are_ my family. So until Taylor gets out of hospital, I'm in charge around here. If you wanna see the kids, that's fine, you can come over as much as you want. But you need to accept the fact that what I say goes." She opens her mouth to protest, so I quickly continue before she has the chance to get so much as a squeak out. "You're not taking _any_ of them out of this house. I'll take them to school, and I'll take Ezra to his therapy appointments, and Jenna and Alex will take them wherever else they might need to go. But _you're_ not taking them _anywhere_ unless I'm right there with them. Understood?"

"How _dare_ you tell me what I can and cannot do with my own grandchildren! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"It doesn't matter who I am! This is the way it's gonna be, and if you don't like it you can get on the next plane back to Tulsa."

"You can't treat me like this! You have no right-"

"No, but Taylor _does_ , and I know what he'd say if he was here."

"But he's _not_ here, is he? As usual-"

"Don't you fucking _dare_!" I yell a lot louder than I intended. Louder than I can remember yelling at anyone in _years_. "He may not have been the perfect father in the past, but he's been busting his _ass_ trying to be _everything_ they need-"

"He doesn't _know_ what they need! He _never_ understood what it meant to be a father!"

"Yeah? Well he understands well enough that he almost got himself fucking _killed_ saving Ezra's life yesterday! What the hell else do you want from him? No, he's not here. He's not here because he's in a fucking ICU! So how about you save your bitchy commentary on what a shitty father he is and show a little fucking _respect_!"

I have to leave the room, because I know that if she says even one more word to me I'm gonna grab that jar of Skippy off of the counter and throw it across the room. Or possibly even _at_ her. I feel like I'm about to fucking _break_ , and the only way to make it stop is for me to break something else instead. On my way over to the stairs I pass the family room, but I don't stop to check on Viggo and Ezra because I'm in no state to be around anyone else right now. Especially not kids who are just as breakable as I am, if not more so. Besides, I know Alex is with them, and I can tell from the much higher than usual volume of the TV that he cranked up the sound to drown out the arguing coming from the kitchen.

If I could keep a single thought in my messed up head, I'd make a mental note to thank him later.

I blindly make my way through the house, not even really thinking or caring where the hell it is I'm going. I'm sure to anyone watching right now it would look like every move I make is purposeful, like I know exactly what I'm doing, but I don't. It's not until I wind up in Taylor's bedroom that I stop and look around me, lost, unable to figure out what I'm doing in here. I guess this place is a refuge to me, it's somewhere I instinctively go when I desperately need to feel safe. Only it's not. Without him, it's just a room. And right now, it's just a reminder that he's not here.

I don't want to be here, either.

I want to be where _he_ is. But I know that he'd want me to be here with the kids, so this is where I need to stay. _Fuck._ I hate this! I was supposed to spend all day at the hospital, it was the one thing I was clinging to _all_ night. But I only got to see him for five fucking minutes, and then I had to come back here to deal with his ex-mother-in-law.

It's not _fair_!

Zac and Alex have spent more time with him since the accident than I have! And now his parents are in town, even if I _can_ find a couple of hours to sneak out to Cedars, I'm gonna have to deal with them and split the visiting time with them, too!

He needs to fucking wake up _now_.

 _I_ need him to.

I can't do this anymore! It hasn't even been twenty-four-hours but it feels like a goddamn eternity already!

I can't think, I can't breathe, I just want to fucking _scream_!

Somehow I manage to avoid doing it, but it takes so much effort to keep my mouth clamped shut that it physically _hurts_. I end up practically doubled over, gripping the comforter between my balled up fists as I grit my teeth and fight to stay as quiet as possible. It feels unnatural, my whole body wants nothing more than to just _burst_ , to fall apart completely, but I _can't_. If I left myself go, I don't know how long it'll take me to pull myself back together again. I can't risk it. I need to be able to walk out of this room at a moment's notice and do whatever the fuck those kids need me to do.

In a hopeless effort to make myself feel even a fraction better, I head into the bathroom to take a much needed shower. It actually does help a little, at least while I'm standing under the steady stream of hot water. For a moment, it's like it's washing the past day down the drain. And even though the accumulating steam is making the air in the room thinner, it's a little easier to breathe than it has been for hours now.

As I'm drying off after finally forcing myself to turn the water off, I can hear Asta crying. It's not very loud, but it's enough to make me pick up my pace and make an effort to get dressed much faster than I'd originally intended. I can tell that the crying is coming from the nursery as soon as I step out of the bedroom, and I can also hear Jenna's soft singing as I get closer and closer to the open door. But nothing she's trying seems to be making Asta any happier.

"Is she okay?"

"I think so." Jenna sighs tiredly while Asta squirms and sobs, reaching out towards me as though I'm some kind of hero who's here to save her from the harmless, doting babysitter. "She's been a little fussier than usual, but she doesn't have a fever or anything. I think she just wants her dad."

I can relate. "I'll take her."

"It's okay, I don't mind."

"Neither do I." I insist sincerely, carefully lifting Asta out of her arms. "Go... take a lunch break or something. You deserve one."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Okay, well... I'll be in the guest house if you need anything." She tells me as she edges closer to the hallway. "Just give me a shout if she won't settle."

I nod, even though I have no intention of calling her back in here any time soon. And the second she disappears from the nursery, I shut the door behind her. Asta is still crying, but it's nothing like it was before. She's done with her angry "you're not doing what I want" cry, and she's moved on to her "I've made such a ridiculous fuss that it would be embarrassing to just let it go now" cry. In a few minutes, it'll die down to nothing but miserable sniffling and whimpering, and then she'll either fall asleep or want to be put down. I've spent enough time with her to know the routine.

Sure enough, as soon as I sit down in the rocking chair with her, she starts getting restless. At first she just doesn't want to be held as close anymore, but she's still content to stand on my lap and pull on my hair. Usually I'd try to distract her, 'cause it fucking hurts. But right now I just... don't care. If she wants to tug on my bangs, or poke me in the eye, or grab my nose, or try to stuff her hand in my mouth, I'm not gonna stop her.

She's not crying, and I'm not on the verge of screaming, so in my opinion it's an improvement.

Eventually she starts trying to wriggle her way off of my lap and onto the floor, so I set her down and idly watch as she crawls across the polished hardwood towards her crib. I'd never admit this out loud, but I kinda love this rocking chair. Apparently it's not only good for soothing unhappy babies, it works on thirty-one-year-old men, too. I haven't felt this calm since...

I don't even know. The last few days have been so fucked up, in one way or another.  

A perfect example of why I never wanted this.

I never wanted complicated and stressful, it's why none of my relationships ever lasted more than six months before. I wanted simple. I wanted nights at home in front of the TV, and zero drama, and lots of sex. I didn't want to deal with meeting parents, or being approved of by best friends, or having that goddamn "where is this going" discussion. I didn't want to exchange keys, or make commitments...

And then he came along, and suddenly I had _no_ fucking idea what I wanted anymore.

Except him. I _knew_ I wanted him.

But I couldn't have him without taking on all of the other stuff that I'd never wanted before. I had to choose between being young, free and single _without_ him, or being way more responsible than I wanted to be _with_ him.

I _couldn't_ be without him.

I can't...

And somewhere along the line, all of that stuff I didn't think I wanted became _everything_ I wanted. I'm still fucking terrified of it all, of messing it up, but I _want_ it. I want to live in this house, and take care of these kids. The thought that I might not get to is more petrifying than the idea of actually doing it _ever_ was.

"Dada!"

My head automatically snaps up, my eyes locking onto Asta as soon as I hear her say that one little "word". Even though I keep denying it, and telling myself it's meaningless, some part of me reacts to it _every_ fucking time.

"Hey." I force a small smile for her as she looks over her shoulder at me, and her own smile spreads into a mischievous grin. "Whatcha doin?"

What she's doing is holding onto the bars of her crib to help her stand up, which is something she does a lot. Anything (or any _one_ ) that stands still long enough is fair game for her to grab onto. She'll go from one piece of furniture to the next if she can, as long as she can reach between them there's no stopping her. But she never lets go entirely, she always has to hold on with at least one hand.

She expertly cruises along the side of her crib, moving back towards me. But when she gets to the corner, there's nothing for her to reach out and grab. She looks around for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell to do next. Usually when she finds herself faced with this predicament, she'll lower herself back to the ground and crawl whenever it is she wants to go.

But not today, apparently.

She lets go of the crib with one hand, shuffling on her sock covered feet for a few seconds until she's almost facing me...

And then she lets go with her other hand.

"Fuck." I hear myself mutter, sitting forward in the rocking chair, literally on the edge of my seat. "No, Asta..." She sways unsteadily, looking down at her own feet and then back up at me. "Come on, kiddo, _don't_ do this. Not today."

I wait for her to drop down onto her bottom, or turn back to the crib and grab a hold of it before she falls down, but she doesn't. She just _looks_ at me with this sweet, conspiratorial smile on her innocent little face. It's like I can _hear_ her saying, "I'm gonna do it this time. Are you ready? I'm really gonna do it!"

Shit.

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and fumble with the screen and the icons until I finally manage to open the camera app and switch it to video mode. If he can't be here to see her first steps, the least I can do is make sure he gets to see it later.

"Okay, Asta." I tell her, my heart racing in my chest with anticipation. "Let's do this thing."

Her right foot moves, barely an inch, I don't even see it lift off of the ground. Then her whole body teeters precariously, and I'm certain she's about to lose her balance and wind up on her butt. Instead, she slides her left foot forwards, wobbling even more erratically than before, until her legs inevitably give way.

"You did it! You did _so_ awesome!" I hear myself laughing, and I realize that, in spite of everything else that's going on right now, this actually feels _good._

I just watched her take her first step.

I've _never_ seen anything like it before, not even with Bridget, and I've never felt anything like this before, either. It's unexpected, and surreal, and I wish _so_ much that I could look over at Taylor right now and share this moment with him. But all I can do is try to keep my phone steady so that I get a good video of it to share with him when he wakes up.

Huh...

I think that might be the most positive thought I've had since that fucking SUV slammed into him yesterday.

Asta pushes herself up off of the floor slowly, squatting for a moment before finally standing up straight. I'm literally holding my breath as she rocks back and forth and takes a few seconds to regain her balance again. Quickly slipping off of the rocking chair and onto the floor a couple of feet away from her, I check to make sure that I'm still pointing the camera in the right direction to capture whatever she does next.

This time she manages four steps instead of two, and rather than falling onto her butt, she staggers towards me. Instinct takes over and I reach out to catch her, oblivious to what my phone might be filming as she collapses into my hands with a squeal of excitement.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I hold her against me, attempting to fight back a ridiculous and uncontrollable urge to cry. But then I realize that it's too late. I can feel the tear tracks on my cheeks, and I have no idea how long they've been there.

"Dada."

 _Fuck_.

"Okay." I tell her with a sigh of defeat, turning my face towards hers and pressing my lips to the soft, warm skin of her forehead. "You win." 


	75. Chapter 75

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy Chapter.
> 
> I apologize for not updating all week. Again. Apparently now that I'm not working full time, I have even less free time... not sure how that happened. I feel like I never have chance to sit down and focus, and when I do, I have no mental energy left. I was going to try to write tonight, but I'm not so sure that's going to happen now. So I'm going to edit and post the next chapter anyway. I'm going on vacation on Wednesday, and won't be back for almost a week. Not sure if I'll update again before I go away, or if I'll be taking my laptop... I guess we'll see.
> 
> Sorry again. <3

  


 

 

I end up hanging out (or hiding out, whatever) in Asta's room for the next hour or so, helping her to practice her new, life-altering skill until she's so exhausted that she doesn't even need to be coaxed into taking a nap. She tumbles forwards into my outstretched arms, just as she has at the end of every unsteady trek she's taken across the room, but she doesn't try to stand back up again. She simply rests there with her head on my chest, and a few minutes later I can tell that she's fallen asleep. Normally, I'd put her in her crib and go and find Taylor. "Nap time" is one of those few times of day that we get to be alone together. But today, he's not here. So if I leave this room, I'll just be alone _alone_.

Or worse, I'll have to deal with Pam.

No fucking thank you.

I'd rather just stay right here on the floor and let Asta sleep in my arms a while longer. So that's exactly what I do.

Alex eventually comes looking for me, and he takes a seat in the rocking chair without a word. For a while, we sit there in silence like it's the most normal thing in the world. But I can tell from the way he's looking around the room curiously, taking it all in, that nothing about this is normal or familiar to him. It wasn't all that familiar to me until a couple of months ago.

"This rocking chair is pretty fucking sweet." He finally remarks, running his hands over the smooth wood of the arm rests. "I gotta get me one of these. I could put it on my porch, and sit out there and yell, 'get off my lawn!' at the neighbor's cat. It'd be awesome."

Now _that's_ one hell of a mental picture. "Don't forget to grow a beard, too."

"Good idea!"

"I was kidding."

" _I_ wasn't." He tells me sincerely, leaving me rolling my eyes over what a fucking loser he is sometimes. "I think I'd look good with a beard."

"'Cause you're a narcissistic jackass."

"I am not! I have great self-esteem; there's a subtle but _very_ important distinction."

"If you say so." I snort softly, carefully shifting Asta in my arms so that I can use one hand to push myself up off of the floor. My whole body is worn out and sore, and it makes me feel so fucking _old_. "Where're the boys? Are they with Pam?"

"Yeah, they're still camped out in the family room. Viggo fell asleep on the couch, and Ezra's just..." He shrugs, giving it another moment or two of thought before giving up on finding a word for it. "There, I guess."

"She hasn't said anything to them, has she?"

"What, like telling them that you guys are going to hell, and asking if they wanna move back to Tulsa with her before the Good Lord smites you both?"

"Something like that." I murmur, setting Asta down gently in her crib and covering her with her favorite blanket.

"Not that _I_ heard." Alex smiles faintly as I turn to face him again. "She's been a little nostalgic, you know? Just kinda talking about things they used to do, and their favorite places in Tulsa and stuff. But I don't think she's trying to sway them or whatever."

"Good."

"Dude, you look like you're about ready to pass out."

I am. "I'm fine."

"When was the last time you slept?" He asks knowingly, but I refuse to answer. I doubt that telling him I've gotten a grand total of four hours sleep in the last two and a half days is going to help my case any. "You _need_ to get some sleep. Go take a nap or something."

"I can't."

"I'll keep an eye on the kids and make sure that Pam doesn't say or do anything-"

"No, I mean..." I heave a long, _tired_ sigh as I push my hair out of my face and try to summon enough energy to even have a conversation. "I _can't_ sleep. Even if I wanted to, it's not gonna happen."

"You could at least go and lie down for a couple of hours."

"And do what? Stare at the ceiling and think about all of this over and over until I'm even more fucking exhausted than I already am?"

"Well you need to do _something_ , man. Otherwise you're gonna wind up falling asleep at the wheel on your way back to the hospital, or when you're picking the kids up from school."

I hate that he's right. And I hate that it feels like he's right more frequently than I am.

Why can't I _ever_ be right?

"I'll sleep when he wakes up." I mumble defiantly, making my way over to the door and out of the room, even though I _know_ that won't stop Alex from following me and trying to argue with me.

"You _can't_ force yourself to stay awake indefinitely, Tommy, you'll totally mess yourself up!"

"I'm already messed up. And I'm not forcing anything, it's just _not_ happening."

"These kids are counting on you! How are you gonna take care of them if you're walking around like a fucking zombie?"

"Look, I've survived longer than this without sleep before, okay? I can handle it, I know what I'm doing."

I can't believe I just _said_ that. It's such bullshit; I have _no_ fucking idea what I'm doing! I feel like I'm running from one fire to another, trying to put them out and _keep_ them out before they spread too far out of my control. I'm tired, and I just want to _stop_. But I _can't_.

If I don't do this, everything will turn to ash around me.

Before I can make it to the family room the doorbell sounds and I stop in my tracks, staring in the direction of the noise as a feeling of dread settles over me.

"Want me to get that?" Offers Alex.

"No, I'll get it."

"Well... if you're honestly 'okay', I'm gonna go home and take a shower." He tells me uncertainly, as though he's not sure I should be left to my own devices right now.

He's probably right. _Again_. "Sure."

"Can I borrow your phone to call a cab? Mine's been dead for hours."

"Yeah, just let me get rid of whoever the fuck this is."

When we get to the front door, I hesitate before opening it. No one usually comes by, at least not without Taylor knowing about it first. I'm guessing it's either his parents or some other random family member who probably hates my guts. So I'm pleasantly _stunned_ when I open the door to find a friendly face waiting on the other side.

Or _several_ friendly faces.

"What the fuck?"

"Hello to you, too." Adam smiles at me, and even though it's not his usual, blinding, turn-your-fucking-high-beams-off grin, it still automatically brings a smile to my face.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well," He glances over his shoulder at the assortment of gathered band members he apparently brought along with him. "Isaac was pretty bummed out that he's stuck in another country and couldn't come over and cheer you up, so he called Ashley," She waves from behind him, offering me a small, sympathetic smile. "And she called me, and I called my boys." My eyes dart from Adam's face to Brian and Terrance. "And Sauli used all _kinds_ of fun, foreign profanity when I told him he didn't have to come-"

" _Why_ would I not come?" Sauli cuts him off indignantly, because apparently they're not done discussing this. "Of course I would come!"

Adam sighs as he turns to face him. "I never said you _wouldn't_ , I just said you didn't _have_ to."

"Am I like some kind of asshole?"

"That feels like a trick question, honey." He replies teasingly, earning himself a playful (but still pretty painful looking) slap on the arm. "Ow!"

I know them well enough to know that if I don't stop them now, we could end up standing out here _forever_ while Adam continuously winds Sauli up. Once he's started, he's hard to stop; he finds himself so damn amusing. They must have fucking _awesome_ make up sex, because I swear Adam intentionally irritates him sometimes. Kinda like stoking the flames.

Taylor and I are guilty of doing the same thing, really. We both know what the other is doing, deep down. But we give in and let ourselves be provoked, because we _know_ that underneath of all of that prodding and pestering is a whole _hell_ of a lot of passion.

Fuck, I really need to _not_ think about shit like that right now. It just reminds me how screwed up things are, and that he's not here. And worst of all, it forces me to face the fact that I don't know when or even _if_ I'm ever going to be with him that way again.

"But you know what I'm meaning!" I hear Sauli protest as I turn my own thoughts off and tune my surroundings back in. "You are _always_ doing this."

Adam laughs softly, throwing his hands up in dramatic defeat. "Because you make it _so_ damn easy, baby!"

"Seriously, guys, not that it's not always fucking awesome to see you, but... _why_ are you here?"

"We're here to help." Shrugs Ashley, like it's that simple and that obvious. " _No_ questions asked."

"I appreciate the thought and everything, but... there's nothing you can really do."

"Bullshit, there's gotta be something." Brian insists.

"I'm good at washing dishes." Ashley notes hopefully. "And I fold a mean pile of laundry."

"Yeah, and Sauli grocery shops like it's an Olympic sport!" Beams Adam as he wraps a proud arm around his faintly blushing boyfriend. "You gotta see it to believe it."

Sauli nods in agreement. "I would get gold."

"And we'll do whatever the hell else needs doing." Brian offers, gesturing between himself and Terrance.

"Except yard work." Terrance corrects him. "I'm a homo who _won't_ mow. Or hoe."

"You may as well let us in and put us to work, 'cause if you don't we're just gonna stay out here and... wash your car of something." Adam tells me determinedly. "Face it, Tommy Joe, you're stuck with us."

I wouldn't say that. I'd say I'm one hell of a lucky bastard, and I don't know what I did to deserve them. I've spent the past day questioning if all of this is happening because I'm a terrible person. But if I'm such a sucky human being, why do I have such amazing friends who are willing to stick by me and wash my fucking breakfast dishes?

Even though I'm still not sure there's all that much they can do around here, I'm not about to turn them away. I didn't know how to reach out for support, or who to reach out to. But it turns out that support figured out I needed it anyway, and it's reaching out to me instead.

So I let it in.

Pam chooses this exact moment to put in an appearance, silently inspecting my friends as they file into the house. But as soon as I shut the door behind them, she speaks up.

"What's going on? Who are all these people?"

"We're his Glamily." Adam informs her unashamedly, in his usual, charming way.

"His what?"

"It's like a family, but with a little more glam and _way_ more glitter."

"They're friends of mine." I elaborate as her already sour expression somehow becomes even more disapproving, and my patience with her somehow decreases even further. "They just came by to help out."

"Well... that's very kind of them, but I don't think now is the best time for visitors."

I couldn't agree more. But since I'm stuck with her and Taylor's family "visiting" indefinitely, I think I should be allowed to have a few close friends come by without having to answer to her for it. Who the hell does she think she is, anyway? I may not officially live here, but it's still more my home than hers!

"If you don't feel up to visitors, you could always go check into a hotel." Alex points out with the same, tight, fake smile that she's wearing. "I was about to call myself a cab. I'd be more than happy to split the fare."

She practically glares at him, and it actually leaves me fighting back laughter as she turns to me with the same look of absolute disdain. "Try to keep the noise down, please. Viggo is napping."

What exactly is it she thinks I'm gonna do? Throw a party? Hold a fucking band practice in the foyer?! Just because I'm a musician, and I have a few piercing and tattoos, that doesn't mean I'm a selfish jackass with no goddamn common sense!

"Who was that _delightful_ old hag?" Terrance mutters as soon as she's out of earshot.

"Taylor's ex-mother-in-law."

"Jeez, T-Bone. You inherited one hell of an extended family!" Commiserates Brian with a look of total sympathy.

Oh, they have _no_ idea.

"So," Adam shrugs off his jacket and holds out his arms as if to say 'here I am'. "Where should we start?"

"Um... I guess, if you guys were serious about doing chores and stuff, there's a bunch of dishes in the kitchen."

"Mine!" Ashley exclaims, raising her hand in exaggerated enthusiasm.

"And there's half a shopping list on the fridge." I tell Sauli with a shrug. "Taylor started it over the weekend..."

This past weekend feels like forever ago already.

"We'll figure out the rest." Adam tells me with a supportive shoulder squeeze. It feels like he's literally trying to pull me up out of my own misery. "Why don't you get some sleep or go back to the hospital?"

"I can't, I need to pick the kids up from school in like an hour."

Terrance looks stunned. "They went to school? Even with all this going on?"

"Yeah, well... they don't really know how bad it is. I didn't know how to tell them, so... I guess I'm kinda hoping he makes a full recovery any day now so I won't have to."

None of them says anything, but I can tell from the brief glances they exchange that they think I'm crazy. And also that they have no fucking idea how I could have handled it differently. None of them knows how to take care of kids any better than I do, and they're not about to give me advice on the subject when they're just as clueless as I am.

"The kitchen's right through there, on the left." I tell them in a blatant attempt to break the silence, and they all seem as grateful for the excuse to change the subject as I do.

"Follow me." Alex tells them amiably.

Brian and Terrance follow Ashley and Sauli off across the room and through the archway that leads to the dining room, but just as I make a move to join them, Adam grabs my arm and stops me. Then he uses it to pull me into quite possibly the most suffocating hug I've ever been given, from him or _anyone_ else. It'd be stupid of me to ask what it's for, and I'd rather he didn't put it into words anyway. I didn't even realize just how fucking badly I _needed_ this until right now. It's like having him hold me so tightly is helping to keep me from falling apart.

"We love you, Tommy Joe."

It's weird how that one simple statement, that I've heard so many times before, can make me feel so much better and so much worse at the same time. It's a relief to know I'm not alone, even if deep down I was already aware of it. But he wouldn't be stood here saying it right now if all of this shitty stuff wasn't happening. I wouldn't need help holding myself together, and if for some reason I did, Taylor would be here to do it.

Suddenly that suffocating hug that felt so good really does seem like it's keeping me from breathing, and I instinctively start to squirm my way out of it. Luckily, he lets me go without a fight and he doesn't seem at all offended.

"Some of that was from Isaac, by the way." He smiles gently. "He feels like shit for not being here."

"I know. It's not his fault, though."

"Yeah, still... if the situation was reversed..."

Fuck, I don't even wanna _think_ about that. I'd never wish this on anyone, let alone my best friend. And the idea of Sophie being messed up like Taylor...

"How'd you guys even know where to find me?" I ask, taking a deep breath to ward off another wave of nausea. "I'm pretty sure I never gave anyone the address."

As soon as he turns on that angelic smile of his, I know that he's about to tell me something I'm gonna want to smack him around for. "I _might_ have called your mom."

"Adam!"

"I'm sorry! You didn't leave us with a whole lot of options, Tommy! Like you said, you didn't tell anyone the address, and none of us ever got invited over for dinner or anything."

Oh, so it's _my_ fault? I guess I shouldn't be surprised; everything usually fucking is. "Still... did you have to call my _mom_? Jesus."

"We went by your apartment first and asked Mike, but he had no idea where to find you either. Your mom didn't even have the actual address! It was like you'd gone into witness protection or been abducted by aliens or something; no one knew where the fuck to find you." He teases, and I can't help feeling kinda guilty for how cut off everyone else in my life has been from this new part of me.

I don't even think it was all that intentional on my part, but I still somehow managed to keep them all at arm's length.

Just like I kept Taylor at arm's length. More than I even realized until now.   

"Luckily your mom remembered the name of the street, and gave us a vague description of what this place looks like from the outside." He continues as I push my melancholy to the back of my mind and try to focus on what he's saying. "Thank God your car was sitting right in the driveway, otherwise we probably would just kept driving around the Hollywood Hills all day trying to find you!"

"You're all fucking crazy."

"Which is why you fit right in." He notes, draping an arm around my shoulders as we slowly make our way back towards the kitchen. "Seriously, though... I'm sorry I never made more of an effort before."

"What do you mean?" I frown in confusion. "What kind of effort."

"To get to know him." I hate the note of regret in his tone. It makes it feel like he's never gonna _get_ the chance to know Taylor. But mostly I hate it because it's my own damn fault we all have these regrets. "I should've taken more of an interest, you know?"

"You've been busy." I shrug pathetically. Excuses, excuses. "We all have."

"I shouldn't have been too busy for that though. I'm _never_ too busy for you, babe. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"And when he's out of the hospital and he's feeling up to it, Sauli and I wanna take you guys out to dinner."

"You don't have to-"

"We _want_ to." He insists before I can finish protesting. And I'm glad, 'cause I don't even know _why_ I was protesting. I never know, I just... do it. "I saw that article about you guys this morning. Some cray bitch on my twitter feed was repeatedly linking me to it, telling me what a liar my friend is. Normally I just ignore that shit, but for some reason today I clicked on it."

" What article?" I'm not sure I even want to know. I only read the Perez one, and I never went looking for any others after that.

I bet there are _plenty_ , though. Especially now.

"Maybe article isn't the right word... I guess it was more like a blog or something? Your man's a compelling writer, that's for damn sure. I can't believe I had no idea about half of the shit you guys have been through."

I have _no_ clue what he's...

Oh!

Crap, I totally forgot about the letter Taylor sent to the Huffington Post. It was the _last_ thing on my mind after everything that happened yesterday.

"So it's out there now, huh?"

"It's out there." He confirms with a sole nod. "It's a pretty amazing read."

"Yeah, well... he's a pretty amazing person."

A small, fond smile curls his lips. Actually, he kinda seems... proud. Anytime he looks at me like this, I usually feel pretty fucking good about myself. 'Cause when Adam Lambert thinks you've done something worth smiling about, it means you probably did. It doesn't even matter that I'm older than he is, I still look up to him. So when he approves of something I've done, it makes me feel ten times better about it than I did before.

"I kinda got that impression." He agrees. "But regardless of what he wrote, or who he is, _you_ love him. He's important to you, and that makes him worth knowing."

He is worth knowing. _So_ fucking worth knowing. I just hope that he comes out of this, and that he's the same person he was before. I hope he's the same guy who wrote that letter, because I've never loved anyone so much in my whole damn life, and I want to have the chance to introduce him to _every_ last person I know. I should have done it before, I had _no_ good reason not to.

I hope it's not too late.

"Tommy?"

"Huh?"

Adam smiles at me again, but this time there's a definite sadness to it. Commiseration. Fuck, I can't even look at him. "It's gonna be okay."

"Yeah." He doesn't know that, and neither do I. We can't. But I don't want to argue about it with him; that's what I have Alex for. "Thanks for being here."

"Any time."

I make a move towards the kitchen again, but _again_ he pulls me back. I'm half expecting him to wrap me in another hug, but instead he shoves his hand in the pocket of my jeans. It surprises me so much that I almost fall on my ass trying to step out of his reach, but he's already found what he was looking for anyway.

"Call your mother." He instructs me in a no-nonsense tone that he _very_ rarely uses, forcing my phone into my hand. "She's worried."

"I-"

"Call her or you're fired."

"You can't just-"

He holds up his hand and gives me his unmistakable "bitch, please" face before turning and strutting away like the diva he pretends he is from time to time. How's a guy supposed to argue with _the hand_? I guess that's the point; I'm not. I knew I should've called my mom hours ago, not even to ask for help or comfort, but just to let her know what's going on before she hears it from someone else. And now, between me having my phone off ninety-nine percent of the time and Adam calling her to find out where Taylor lives, she's probably even _more_ worried.

While I'm waiting for my iPhone to come back on, I pull Taylor's phone out of my pocket and turn it on as well. I dread to think how many texts and voicemails he probably has at this point. It was bad enough when it was just worried friends and relatives checking to see if the news about the accident was true. But now that the Huffington Post has published that letter...

Fuck, I don't even wanna think about it.

As soon as my own slew of missed calls, voicemails, and text alerts begin to pop up on the screen, I regret turning my phone on at all. There's no way in hell I can find the energy to get through even half of them, let alone reply to any of them. But just as I'm about to skip over them all and call my mom, Taylor's phone starts loading all of his message, vibrating almost fucking _constantly_. It's insane! Apparently he has eighteen new voicemails. _Eighteen_.

And that's just in the few hours since I last turned his phone on!

I try to hit the button to close the notification, but my finger slips and hits "listen" instead. His voicemail inbox loads, and the list of messages appears on the screen. Six of them are from Zac and were left within the last hour. Since Zac obviously knows that Taylor's not gonna be answering his phone, I'm assuming he was trying to contact me.

Every ten minutes for the last hour.

Shit, shit, _shit_.

My finger hovers over the "call back" button, but I'm honestly too terrified to tap on it. I feel like I'm going to throw up or pass out or something, everything is spinning and I just want to sit down on the floor in the middle of the foyer before I _fall_ down.

What if something happened?

What if he got worse? What if there was more bleeding, or more swelling? What if they needed to do another emergency surgery?

What if he...

But if that was the case, Zac would've made more of an effort to contact me... right? He would've called Pam and told her what was happening. And I know she's not my biggest fan, but I refuse to believe she's enough of a bitch to actually withhold information like that just to fucking spite me.

I guess there's only one way to find out.

I take a deep breath and hit "call back", squeezing my eyes shut and listening as the phone rings, and rings, and- "Fucking _finally_!"

"What's wrong?" I ask him, swallowing hard to try and steady my voice. "What happened?"

"I've been trying to call you for over an hour-"

"What _happened_?" I repeat impatiently.

"He's doing better, that's what happened." He tells me, and I can hear the smile in his tone. "His doctor said the most recent scans they did show no sign of bleeding, and the swelling has gone down. Not _much_ , but at least it's not getting worse."

"Are you serious?"

I can practically _see_ him roll his eyes as he laughs softly. "No. I'm bored out of my mind, so I thought it'd be _hilarious_ to call you and lie about his condition. Of course I'm serious!"

I don't know what to do with what he's just told me. It's _exactly_ what I wanted to hear. But I was so afraid he'd have bad news, that was all I'd prepared myself to hear. I feel as though this is some kind of trick or sick joke, even though he just told me that it's not.

I'm afraid to accept it in case it's snatched away as soon as I do.

"Are you still there?"

I nod, fighting back tears and clearing my throat quickly before responding. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Well don't sound _too_ relieved about all this or anything. I'd hate for you to pull an emotional muscle."

"Fuck you. I _am_ relieved, I'm just..." Totally fucking terrified to let my guard down.

"I know." He replies understandingly, even though I never said it out loud. But whether or not I said the words, I get the feeling he really _does_ know how I feel. He probably felt the same an hour ago when he first heard the news. "Listen... I feel really bad about last night, and about Pam showing up without warning and everything."

"Whatever." I shrug, even though I'm nowhere near as okay with it as I just attempted to sound. "I can deal."

"I know. And I know you _have_ been dealing with all of it, and you've barely been able to see him."

"Yeah..."

It's not like I was unaware of it, but hearing him flat out say it like that somehow makes it more real, and makes it more painful. Knowing that I've spent ten minutes with Taylor since he got out of surgery last night feels... wrong. Not being with him under normal circumstances is difficult enough, but when he's hurt it's a thousand times harder. That ache I always feel when we're apart is _so_ far beyond being an ache at this point, I don't even know how to describe it. There just isn't a word for it.

"So I was thinking, if you can just hang in there for a few more hours, I'll come back to the house after dinner and help you guys get the kids to bed. Then I can stay with them, and you can come out here. If you want." If I want? Is he _kidding_?! "And now he's starting to do better, I convinced mom and dad to go to a hotel for the night. So... he's all yours."

"What?"

"He's all yours." He tells me again, in case I didn't hear him right (because I honestly wasn't sure I did). "For five minutes an hour, anyway. But at least you won't have to share it with anyone else."

 I open my mouth to speak, to say thank you or just to double check that he's serious (and probably be mocked for it again). But nothing comes out. I just stand in the middle of the room with my mouth open, staring at the wall in front of me until my vision begins to blur.

I don't care if it is only five minutes an hour. It's five minutes and hour for the rest of the night. No Zac, no Alex, no over-protective parents or angry in-laws.

Just me and Taylor.

"You're welcome."

 


	76. Chapter 76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy Chapter.
> 
> Still on vacation, but I've been writing on my phone. I saved this chapter as a draft before I left, so I could post it from my phone if I wrote enough while I was gone. :p

  


 

 

Adam and Sauli left to go grocery shopping right after I ended my phone call with Zac. I told them to _only_ get what was on the list, and not to buy the more expensive brands if there was a generic option available. But I knew from Adam's dismissive "yeah, okay" that he wasn't going to fucking listen. His flippant hand wave as they left the house only confirmed it.

I tried to help Ashley, Terrance, and Brian with their chosen chores, because I felt like a douche just letting them wash dishes and do laundry while I stood around and watched. But they all made it clear that my help wasn't needed. In fact, I got threatened _more_ than once, and told to "get the hell out, bitch"! It was kinda insulting. But I let it slide because Brian was tangled up in the vacuum cleaner wire at the time and I was pretty sure he was more pissed off at it than he was at me.

Pam observed from a distance, but (thankfully) never said a word to me _or_ them about any of it. I gotta admit, I felt more than a little smug about the fact that she was forced to see how much support I had, how many people showed up to pitch in when it really mattered. She probably thought she'd find everything in chaos when she got here. The house would be filthy, the fridge empty, the kids miserable, and I'd be completely fucking clueless about how to handle it all. She wanted to see that she was right to try to take them away from us, that we have no idea how to take care of them.

Well fuck that, and fuck her!

I was already determined to do my best not to fuck this up, for their sake and for Taylor's. But if she's here watching my every fucking move, it just gives me even more reason to make this work. I'm not going to give her more ammunition than she thinks she already has. She's gonna see that the kids are as loved here as they would be in Tulsa, and that Taylor and I have friends and family here to help us.

She's gonna see it, because I do. Maybe I didn't before, but I do now.

I knew that Taylor loved them, and I loved them, but I kinda thought it was just us against the world, so to speak. This past month or so, it really has just been the two of us _every_ day. We get them up in the morning, get them ready for school, we make them breakfast, lunch, and dinner, we play with them, read to them, bathe them, and put them to bed... there's no one else. But seeing Jenna and Alex hanging out with the kids, and watching my friends happily working away all over the house like a bunch of fucking Disney rodents, I finally see that I was wrong.

It's not just us. We're not in this alone.

With my faith in humanity and the universe (somewhat) restored, I managed to get out of my own way long enough to call my mom and explain to her what was happening. She was just as sympathetic and supportive as I knew she would be, and I felt stupid for not calling her a hell of a lot sooner. Apparently, when Adam had called her for help tracking me down, he mentioned the whole Huffington Post thing and suggested that she take a look at it.

She told me that, even though she wasn't any happier about the fact that I'd knowingly (and repeatedly) slept with a married guy, she felt like she understood the whole situation better after reading what Taylor had written. She didn't agree with what we'd done, but she empathized with him. With both of us. She said that she'd found the whole letter incredibly moving, but that the thing about it that brought her to tears was realizing just strong his feelings for me really are.

I guess I kinda knew that she'd been growing more and more worried about me finding someone and "settling down" these past few years. The older I got without ever having a serious, long term relationship, the more nervous she became about me ending up alone. She got her hopes up with Liz, she thought that maybe I'd finally found someone to start a family with. But then that all went to shit, too. She said she'd been wondering if _she'd_ done something wrong, if my inability to have a meaningful relationship with a woman was somehow _her_ fault! I told her she was insane, and she admitted that she knew it deep down. But that didn't stop her from being afraid of me remaining a bachelor for the rest of my life.

If I'm honest... I think I was a little afraid of that, too.

Not even _afraid_ , just... resigned.

I couldn't seem to make it work, no matter how hard I tried. Because it always _felt_ like I was trying too hard, and that felt completely wrong. I didn't want to have to _try_ to want to be with someone. I wanted to meet someone I _craved_ , not someone I had to _force_ myself to spend time with. I wanted to fall in love. But I was starting to wonder if maybe I just... wouldn't. Ever.

Until I did.

After a seemingly endless string of crappy, dead end relationships, I've _finally_ found that person. That person who makes me smile whenever they call me, before I've even answered the fucking phone. That person who I actually _want_ to be with more than anyone else, even my friends. Before, I would've _always_ chosen to spend an evening with any of them over whoever I was dating. But now I'd rather just stay at home with Taylor. Whenever I used to get texts from my girlfriends while I was out with my friends, it felt like I was being badgered for information on where I was and who I was with. But I actually check my phone and wait for messages from Taylor when we're apart. I _want_ him to ask about my day, I want an excuse to talk to him, no matter who I'm with.

I don't just crave him, I'm totally fucking _addicted_ to him.

And now it's out there for everyone to see.

We had to hide what we are and how we feel about each other for so long, and it feels _so_ damn good to come clean about it all and tell everyone the truth. And after the accident yesterday, after almost losing him, I don't give even a fraction of a shit what anyone might think about us or what we did to be together. I don't care if they hate us, I don't care if I lose fans or even friends. It just doesn't fucking matter anymore.

All that matters is that he gets better and comes home to me.

To _us_.

This morning I was dreading having to pick Penny and River up from school again. Seeing Viggo and Ezra's sad faces around the house all day was hard enough, I didn't want to double the torture. But now that I have good news to share with them, I'm not so reluctant to go. Okay, so maybe I can't tell them that their dad will be home soon, or even that he can have visitors. But I can at least tell them that he's feeling a little better, and I know from personal experience that hearing that piece of information has the power to turn a totally shitty day around.

They both look tired and kinda miserable as they leave the main school building together and make their way towards the parking lot. But when River looks up from the sidewalk and sees me waiting for them, he smiles and picks up his pace, pulling Penny along with him. It's not his usual, mega-watt smile, but it's a hell of a lot better than the pout he was wearing ten seconds ago. Even Penny looks a little happier.

"You came." She notes in surprise as River throws his arms around me and hugs me tightly.

"I said I would."

"Can we go see daddy yet?" Asks River, looking up at me expectantly but still refusing to let go. "I missed him _all_ day."

"I missed him all day, too, dude." I tell him honestly, running my hand over his short, sandy-blond hair and offering him a sympathetic half-smile. "But he still needs a lot of rest."

"I'll let him rest. I'll be quiet, I promise! I just wanna see him."

"I know. And if it was up to me, I'd totally let you..."

I don't know if that's true or not.

Last night, when they told us Ezra wasn't allowed to see him, I was fucking _livid_. I thought they were being heartless jackasses. But after being in that room... I could barely handle it, so I don't see how a six-year-old is supposed to. He'd have nightmares for months.

"Doctor's orders." I shrug helplessly, because at least it's not a lie. Not really. "When they say it's okay, you'll be the first ones to see him."

He perks up a little at that. "Promise?"

"I _promise_. I'll even let you skip school if I have to, okay?"

His cautious smile becomes a gap-toothed grin in the blink of an eye, and he hugs me so hard that I almost topple over backwards. Penny watches the whole thing in silence, and I can't tell what she's thinking or feeling. She doesn't look happy _or_ sad. I think she's glad to see her little brother feeling better, and possibly even glad that I kept my promise to pick them up from school, but she's obviously wishing it had been Taylor waiting here for them instead.

Honestly, I'd give _anything_ to trade places with him right now.

I might deserve some (or all) of the gut-wrenching uncertainty of this sucky situation, but his kids don't. They don't deserve _any_ of what they've been through this year, and if I could do something to _un_ do what's happening to them right now, I would. Unfortunately, all I'm capable of doing is trying to take care of them until he's well enough to come home.

Because he _has_ to get well enough...

"What're we having for dinner?" River asks as he climbs into the minivan and I help him with his seatbelt. "I'm _starving_."

Probably because he was too depressed to eat breakfast, and I packed them a horribly unsatisfying lunch. "Uh... I don't know. What do you guys feel like?"

"I want lasagna." Penny chimes in, making my own stomach rumble. I haven't eaten since last night, and the thought of Taylor's lasagna has me almost drooling all over the steering wheel.

Only it won't _be_ Taylor's lasagna.

"We'll see."                                                        

I guess it depends if anyone back at the house knows how to make lasagna and is willing to stick around long enough to do it. My band mates have been doing housework all afternoon, so if anyone should be making dinner it's me. But... I kinda suck at cooking. I mean, I can do basic shit; I'm _really_ good at anything that comes out of a box and only requires you to add water and stir. But making lasagna from scratch? I don't think I've ever done that before.

At least, not since the time Taylor randomly showed up at my apartment and we made lasagna together. And even then, _he_ did all the work. I probably should've paid more attention to what he was doing, because he was talking me through it like he thought I was taking mental notes. But I wasn't. I was just... watching him. Watching the way his fingers held the knife, watching the way his eyes flitted from the cutting board to the stove every so often, and the way his hair hung in his face as he carefully layered the chicken and spinach into the baking dish. I listened to every word he said, because I couldn't get enough of his voice... but even though I was listening, I wasn't taking any of it in. It may as well have been gibberish.

I just liked the sound of it.

When we get back to the house, Viggo is in the middle of throwing the epic hissy fit he was just getting started on when I left to pick up his brother and sister. I suggested taking him with me, but Pam insisted that she could handle it and that he'd be "just fine". If it wasn't for the fact that he's completely fucking distraught, I'd feel a hell of a lot more vindicated. As soon as we walk into the family room, River and Penny make an excited beeline for their grandma, and Viggo makes a desperate dash across the room towards me.

I _really_ hope that we can get him to sleep before I leave tonight, because this rotating door of people coming and going all damn day has totally messed him up.

I feel like I _need_ to see Taylor; it's not just a want, it's necessary for my sanity and emotional well being.

Or what's left of them, anyway.

But I guess, if it comes down to it and there's no other way to keep Viggo calm... I'll just have to stay here. The thought of it is like having a plastic bag pulled over my head. Actually, it makes me feel the way I imagine Viggo probably does every time someone he loves leaves the house. It's like I have no control, I can't be with the person I desperately want to be with, I'm being held against my will and it's not fair!

But there's this voice in my head, steady and calm, telling me that it's okay. It's not the end of the fucking world. I can handle it. It might not be ideal, but I'll survive. I'm an adult, and I need to suck it up and act like one.

And oddly enough... that voice sounds a lot like mine.

As I expected, Adam and Sauli arrive back at the house after a couple of _hours_ of grocery shopping with enough food to feed his entire fanbase. The kids are in slightly better moods by then (except Ezra, who is still pretty much mute from what I can tell), and River, Penny and Viggo "help" unpack the large, brown paper bags littering the kitchen. And by help, I mean they root through them until they find something they like, and then they hoard it like the friggin' zombie apocalypse is coming.

I'm not surprised by the fact that Penny takes an almost instant interest in Ashley, finding everything from her hair to her shoes fascinating. River, on the other hand, gravitates more towards Brian because he "talks weird", and apparently that's cool. Under normal circumstances, I'm pretty sure that Viggo would be just as interested in all of these strangers (emphasis on the strange part) in his home. But right now he's more than content to cling to my leg and watch all of the commotion in the kitchen from the sidelines.

Despite the fact that there's now so much fucking food in the house we can't even find places to properly store it all, Adam and the others end up leaving before dinner. I try to pay him back for the groceries, but he refuses to take even the small amount of cash I have in my wallet. I guess I kinda figured he wouldn't, but I still wish I could do _something_ to show him, to show _all_ of them, how grateful I am for their support. Having them all here this afternoon helped more than I could have imagined, it made me feel less alone. I know I'm not the only one going through this; the kids, Zac, Alex, even Jenna, are _all_ worried and they _all_ want Taylor to come home. But even though we're all going through this together, it doesn't _feel_ like we are.

I was trapped in my own little bubble of grief, and my friends pulled me out of it.

Having dinner with my boyfriend's ex-mother-in-law ends up being one of _the_ most awkward experiences of my entire fucking life. When Penny told Pam that she wanted lasagna, Pam pretty much called dibs on food prep. And as much as I wanted to object just to make her life difficult, I kept my mouth shut. Because if she didn't make dinner, I would've had to. And if I'd made dinner, we would've been eating toast. But then Pam insisted that the kids sit at the table to eat, and even though I'd kinda planned to boycott the entire meal to avoid her _and_ her lasagna (which I already _knew_ wasn't gonna taste anything like Taylor's), Viggo begged me to sit next to him. I didn't want to upset him or the others, and honestly, I didn't really have enough energy left to be a dick to Pam anyway. I just wanted to get it over with, and get the kids ready for bed so that I could get back to the hospital and back to Taylor.

 _Finally_.

I think it surprises and disappoints (yay!) Pam when I beat her to giving the "bedtime" orders. I bet she thought I'd let them stay up all fucking night, watching Leno and shit like they don't have school in the morning and I have no fucking clue what is and isn't appropriate TV for kids.

She didn't expect me to have this entire routine _down_.

I know exactly where River's pajamas are when he whines that he can't find them, because they're always either behind the bedroom door or under his comforter at the bottom of the bed (and he always forgets to look in either place before declaring them lost forever). I know that Asta only likes the lullabies on her sound machine and not the nature noises, and Penny's CD needs to be put on repeat, and you have to literally stand over Viggo while he's brushing his teeth to remind him _not_ to stare at his own reflection in the mirror and chew on his toothbrush for ten minutes, and Ezra needs his Sponge Bob blanket close enough to grab in the middle of the night, because there's a good chance he'll kick his comforter onto the floor and get too cold.

In fact, _I_ end up giving _her_ directions. And even though she does her best to find ways to avoid following them while still achieving the same results, it feels fucking _glorious_ to see the look that briefly crosses her face when she realizes that some pierced, tattooed, foul-mouthed "freak" actually _knows_ her grandkids and knows what they need.

And right now, by some messed up twist of fate... they kinda seem to need _me_.

I have to read Viggo about eight different bedtime stories before he eventually relaxes and begins to fall asleep. Part of me feels guilty knowing that I've just tricked him into letting his guard down so that I can sneak out as soon as he's unconscious. But I tell myself that what he doesn't know won't hurt him. I'll come back first thing in the morning, he'll never know I was gone.

Penny, on the other hand, is totally clued into the fact that I'm leaving. And she knows exactly where I'm going, too.

"I thought you said he couldn't have visitors." She states bluntly as I press play on her CD player.

"What?"

"You're gonna go see daddy, aren't you?"

Damn, she's good. "I just... wanna let him know how much we miss him."

"So he _can_ have visitors?" She frowns in confusion.

"Not really." I sigh apologetically, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. "The hospital has some stupid rule about not having children visit. Not until he's feeling a little better."

I swear her bottom lip just wobbled; it felt like someone stuck a bigass needle in my heart. "When will he feel better?"

"Soon, I hope. His doctor said it could be a few days."

"Is he..." Tears begin to well in her eyes, and my gaze automatically drops to the patterns on her comforter for a moment. I can't look at her when she's like this, not without taking a second to brace myself against it. "He's not gonna die... is he?"

" _No_." I assure her sincerely, because I truly _believe_ he'll survive this now. It's the best feeling I've had in days. "He's gonna be fine, it's just... gonna take a while, that's all."

"Can you tell him something for me?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Tell him I'm not mad anymore. About... him loving you more than my mommy. I just want him to come home."

Fuck. Who knew a seven-year-old girl could break your heart? "I'll tell him."

She snuggles down into her pillows, pulling her comforter up higher around her chin and sighing a sleepy "goodnight". I don't even think twice before leaning down and kissing her lightly on the forehead, not until I start to pull away. That's when it hits me that I've never done it before. I've hugged her, plenty of times, but I've never kissed her goodbye or goodnight until now. It _felt_ like something I'd done every night for years, though. And she doesn't seem at all weirded out by it, so I do my best not to second guess myself as I carefully stand from the bed and make my way out into the hall.

As soon as all the kids are asleep, Zac takes Pam off to whatever hotel it is she's staying at, and I swear that I feel ten times less tense when the door closes behind them. I'm all set to leave things in Jenna's very capable hands and get the hell out of the house, when Ezra surprises us both by appearing in the foyer just as I open the front door.

"I thought you were asleep." I frown in concern, closing the door again and turning to face him. He shakes his head, because apparently he only faked sleep to get his grandma out of the room. "You okay?"

"I'm not tired."

"Okay... well..." What am I supposed to do here? It's not like I can offer him sleeping pills. "Do you wanna watch a movie or something?"

"I'll watch with you." Offers Jenna, probably sensing how desperate I am to get back to Taylor. I'm sure it's blatantly obvious, and I feel bad for it, but there's nothing I can do to disguise it. It's pretty fucking impossible to hide at this point! "I'll make us some hot chocolate."

"Okay." He mumbles less than enthusiastically as she disappears into the kitchen.

"Zac'll be back soon, okay?" I tell him with a small, reassuring smile. "And I'll be home in the morning."

"Wait." He calls out when I make a move to leave again. "Can... can he hear you?"

"What do you mean?" I ask in confusion, watching while he fidgets awkwardly with something in his hands and struggles to figure out what he wants to say.

"When you talk to him... to my dad... can he hear you?"

"I don't know. The doctors said probably not, but... I talk to him anyway."

Ezra nods, spending another moment or two staring at his bare feet before looking up at me with sorrowful brown eyes. Even though Taylor's eyes are blue, Ezra's still look _just_ like his. Alex was right; just because the kids all got their mom's eye color, that doesn't mean they don't have Taylor's eyes.

"Will you read this to him?" He holds out a folded up piece of paper, and I'm so taken aback by it that I can't even make myself move to reach for it. "It's just... some stuff..."

"Stuff?" I ask dumbly, taking the note from him and turning it over between my fingers as though I've never seen paper before in my whole damn life.

"Stuff I need him to know... in case..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, but I'm pretty sure I know what he meant anyway. He wants me to read this letter to Taylor in case he never gets the chance to say all of these things face to face. In case Taylor doesn't make it.

But that's _not_ gonna happen.

"It'll be okay, Ez." I shake my head, trying to pass the note back to him. "Whatever it says, you can tell him when he comes home."

"He might not."

"He _will_."

"She didn't." He points out, his voice quiet and weak. Broken. "I was mad at her when I went to bed. She said it was River's turn to pick what movie we watched, but it wasn't."

"Ezra-"

"I went to my room. And when she came to say goodnight after the movie, I pretended I was asleep." He cries ashamedly. "She said she loved me, but I-I didn't say it back. And when I woke up in the morning... sh-she wasn't there anymore."

"You didn't know what was gonna happen."

"I should've told her I loved her."

"She knew."

"No she didn't."

When I reach out to him, he pushes my arm away. It's not harsh, and I don't even think it's a matter of him not _wanting_ me to touch him right now. It's about him thinking he doesn't _deserve_ to be comforted.

"You know... there are _a lot_ of stupid things I said to my dad when I was a kid, and I wish I could take them all back or apologize for them. But it doesn't really matter if I get to tell him I'm sorry, 'cause I know he knew it anyway. He knew I was just being a jerk, and I didn't mean any of it. He knew I loved him, and your mom knew you loved her."

"But what about him?" He sniffs, wiping furiously at his damp face. "What about my dad? He doesn't know it, does he? He thinks I _hate_ him! I was s-so mad when my mom died. I was mad at _everyone_. I...I was mad at Asta for being born, and I was mad at my mom and dad for having her. I was mad at Penny, and River, and Viggo... and I was mad at _me_ because I was mad at them. And I just kept getting madder and madder... I-I just wanted them to all go away and leave me alone so that I didn't have anyone to be mad at anymore. But... I was still mad at me, even when they weren't around. I was mad _all_ the time!"

This time when I try to pull him into a hug, he doesn't resist. He's not fighting me the way he did yesterday at the hospital; I think he's too worn out to fight. He's been doing it for months, almost a year. It's like something took him over the day his mom died, and ever since then he's been trapped in a body he had no control over, watching while this rage he couldn't rein in lashed out at everyone he loved. The longer it went on, the worse it got, and the more powerless he felt to make it stop.

But when Taylor pushed him out of the way of that SUV, something changed. It's like he pushed him so hard, he forced the anger right out of him.

Or maybe it shattered the second his dad took that hit.

Maybe knowing that Taylor still loves him enough to risk his life for him, _seeing_ it, even after everything he's said and done to him this year, was the only thing powerful enough to wipe out all of the anger and resentment he'd been harboring.


	77. Chapter 77

  


 

 

It took a little while to calm Ezra down, but it's not like I was in some mad rush to leave the house by that point, anyway. As badly as I wanted to be with Taylor, I wasn't about to hand Ezra over to Jenna at the earliest possibility just so I could go. I might not know much about child rearing, but I _do_ know that you don't ditch an emotionally fucked up ten-year-old when they're in the middle of a potentially significant break down!

So I didn't. I let him cry into my shirt until he eventually pulled away and wiped at his puffy, red eyes. Then I asked him if he wanted me to stay, but he shook his head and told me he was fine. No way was he "fine", but I'm pretty sure that he won't be fine until Taylor wakes up.

We have that in common.

He and Jenna settled in the family room with their mugs of hot chocolate and started trying to decide which movie to watch. He wasn't much help, but I could tell he was putting as much effort in as he could. He didn't seem to feel up to doing more than shrugging at every suggestion she made, for the most part.

After feeling nothing but dread whenever I had to come to the hospital over the past two days, being _eager_ to get back here is a weird and refreshing change of pace. I still fucking _detest_ the whole place, it makes my skin crawl, but I'm too thankful that I get to be with Taylor to care. Even when I'm greeted by a couple of stalkerazzi shitheads right outside the entrance, I walk right by them like I can't hear a single one of their shamelessly insensitive questions.

If they _seriously_ think I'm gonna stop and feed them every fucking detail of what happened to Taylor and how he's doing now, they should probably make their way over to the psych ward and check themselves in. I'm not even going to waste my time and energy flipping those fuckers off, I'm _way_ too eager to get up to the ICU.

That is, until I actually _get_ to the waiting room and see Walker sitting there.

I literally stop dead in my tracks. I don't know whether to be angry or crushed right now, but either way I just want to _break_ things. I'm so frustrated! Zac _told_ me that I'd get Taylor all to myself tonight, I'd been waiting for this all fucking afternoon. And now I find out I'm gonna have to spend the night hanging out with his quasi-homophobic parents, splitting his visiting time three ways instead of getting it all to myself?

Goddamnit, this _sucks_! Not to sound like a fucking five-year-old, but it's _my_ turn! They've been here _all_ damn day, they were supposed to fucking _leave_.

"Tommy."

Walker's greeting snaps me out of my internal ranting, and I realize that I've just been standing in the middle of the waiting room like an idiot for who the fuck knows how long. "Hey..."

"Zac said you'd be coming by tonight."

Zac also said you _wouldn't_ be. "Yeah."

"Don't worry." He smiles faintly, tiredly, and there's something understanding in his dark brown eyes. "We were just about to head out."

"Oh..." Now I feel like  an asshole. Obviously he could tell I was disappointed that they're still here, even though he doesn't seem offended by it. "I didn't..." I did want them to go. "You don't have to... I mean, if you wanna stay..."

Shut _up_ , Tommy.

"It's okay, we both need to try and get at least a few hours of sleep. Diana just wanted to say goodnight to him before we go."

"Sure."

I'm sure there's something else I should be saying or doing right now, but fuck if I know what it is. What do you say to the father of your comatose boyfriend, who was recently so against your relationship that he suggested his son get brainwashed rather than be with you? I know Zac said not to hold a grudge, and I don't... not really. I mean, I get that they're from a part of the country where most people want to burn gays at the stake or throw them in jail for "crimes against nature". They were raised with stupid, ignorant beliefs, and it's hard to just shrug all that off because one of your kids announces that they're gay. They were shocked, and scared, and handled it _really_ fucking badly.

It's not like I can hold that against them; I'm the king of handling things badly!

They're trying now. Taylor said they want to be okay with the fact that he's gay, and they're trying to accept that we're together. I know that being a dick to them isn't gonna make things easier for them _or_ us...

But that doesn't mean I know how to talk to them _at all_.

I sit opposite Walker in uncomfortable silence for a few more minutes until Diana returns. I thought sitting opposite him would be less weird than sitting next to him, and seem less rude than sitting one seat away from him like he's a fucking leper. But no. It's probably _worse_. I never thought I'd be relieved to see Taylor's mom, but as soon as she appears in the waiting room a voice in my head cries "Praise Satan!"

She offers me the same, small smile her husband did when I first arrived, and I try not to think too much about whether or not hers seemed more or less sincere than his. Even if it was less sincere, it doesn't mean it's 'cause she hates my guts. And even if she does, it's not like I care all that much. I mean, yeah, it'd be nice if they wouldn't judge me without getting to know me first, but I'm kinda used to shit like that at this point. People do it all the damn time, they have been my whole life.

Right now, it's not even a big enough problem to warrant a second thought.

"How are the children?" She asks, and I'm not even surprised that she doesn't ask how I am first. Who cares? "Zac said you've been with them almost the whole time since it happened."

"Oh... yeah, well... someone needed to be. And I didn't know Pam was gonna be coming out, so..."

"We know that must be difficult for you, given the current situation." Walker shakes his head almost sympathetically. "We didn't mean to spring it on you, we honestly had no idea she was going to come until the very last minute."

"It's fine." No, it's not. But I don't get any say in it, so it's as fine as it's gonna get. "The kids were happy to see her."

"Do they know what's happening?" Questions Diana worriedly. "Did you tell them?"

"I told them he had an accident and he's gonna be in hospital for a while, but that's it." I shrug helplessly, hoping I handled the situation well enough to meet their approval. Not that I need their approval, but I also don't need to get reamed the fuck out for not doing a good enough job, either. "They all miss him, but they seemed to get that he can't have visitors for a few days."

She nods, her brow still furrowed in concern. "Good... I think that's all they need to know for now. They're too young to understand the rest."

"Ezra knows more, 'cause he was there when it all happened. He's..." A mess. "I think he'll be okay."

"We hope so." Sighs Walker sadly. "That poor kid has been through hell this year. They _all_ have."

"Yeah..."

"Thank you for being with them today." Diana tells me, and if it wasn't for how completely heartfelt her tone was, I'd probably wonder if she was being sarcastic or something. "I'm sure you would have rather been here with Taylor. It can't have been easy."

"I... w-I just..." Use full sentences, Tommy. "I mean..." What _do_ I mean? "You know." No, they don't. Because that wasn't an intelligible statement! "Yeah, I wanted to be here. But I wanted to make sure they were okay, too, so..."

Walker smiles, and this time it's more than just a semi-forced attempt. "We appreciate it."

"We'll go by and spend some time with them in the morning." Adds Diana. "Maybe help Pam and Zac get them ready for school."

"Oh..." I figured I was gonna be the one doing that. "I told them I'd be there when they woke up."

"We can explain it to them." She assures me. "We don't expect you to single-handedly take care of five children."

Don't expect me to, or don't _want_ me to? "I don't mind. I don't wanna upset any of them, they're already freaked out enough."

"Well, we can figure it out in the morning." Walker intervenes tiredly. "We don't need to decide everything right now. Zac has your number, right?"

"No, but I have Taylor's phone."

"Okay, we'll give you a call if there are any problems."

"And _please_ call us if there's any change." Diana pleads as Walker wraps an arm around her shoulders and gives her a comforting squeeze. "The nurses said they'd let us know as soon as possible if anything happened, but I know they're busy with other things."

"Yeah, of course."

"Thank you."

It's pretty obvious that Walker has to practically drag Diana out of the ICU, she keeps glancing over her shoulder anxiously. I feel like I should tell them to come back, but I already _said_ they didn't have to go. Besides, _I_ didn't want to leave either of the times I have so far, but I felt I had no other choice.

I wonder if I have to wait another hour before going to Taylor's room?

I know Diana was just in there, but maybe she didn't use the whole five minutes? Are we allowed to share visiting times? Maybe the nurses will take pity on me and let me just stand outside the room for thirty seconds, just so I can _see_ him. That'd be enough for now.

Everyone at the nurse's station is busy, so I try to be patient while I watch them flipping through charts, answering phones, and speed walking all over the damn place like they're all desperate to pee or something. Eventually, someone asks me if I need something, and for a moment I can't really remember what it was I was going to ask for.

'Cause the nurse I'm talking to is a _dude_.

I've never met a guy nurse before. I don't have a problem with it or anything, I'm just... used to talking to female nurses.

"Uh... I'm here to visit a patient, but I think they just had a visitor, so I don't know if I have to like wait, or..."

"What's the patient's name?" He asks with a sympathetic smile.

"T... Jordan Hanson."

"He just had a visitor." One of the nearby nurses interrupts to inform us both before returning to her phone call. It takes a hell of a lot of effort for me to _not_ to pick up a nearby pen and throw it at the back of her head.

"Sorry." The guy nurse shrugs helplessly. "Only one visit-"

"Per hour." I sigh in defeat. "I get it. But... I mean, if I could just see him for a second-"

He looks over at his nosey co-worker, like he's thinking about maybe cutting me some slack. But when he turns back to me again, he's shaking his head. "ICU policy. Sorry."

"Yeah." It's a stupid fucking policy. And this is a stupid fucking hospital. "Thanks."

I sulkily retreat to a corner of the waiting room, muttering profanity to myself in an attempt to dispel some of my frustration before I punch a hole in the fucking wall. I really, _really_ hate this place. Like being here isn't fucking torture enough, then they have to inflict more cruelty on you with their dumbass, inconsiderate "policies". They're just on a freaking power trip, _that's_ what it is. They probably sit around thinking shit like, "Holding people's lives in our hands doesn't make us feel godlike enough. How can we make them even _more_ aware of their insig-fucking-nificance?"! It's pretty obvious that all their "first do no harm" bullshit only applies to the people they get to cut open, not the people stuck sitting in the waiting rooms.

 _That_ explains the fucking parking!

"Excuse me?"

I look up at the person who just addressed me, and they instantly look like they regret coming within ten feet of me. I guess I should stop scowling. "What?"

"Uh..." The male nurse guy clears his throat and, again, looks over at his busy group of all-female co-workers. "I was just about to change Jordan's IV."

"And?" Jesus, Tommy, quit being a dick!

"I thought that you might like to come with me?"

"To watch you change his IV?" I frown, pushing myself out of my chair anyway because no way am I passing up the chance to see Taylor. "That's not against 'ICU policy' or whatever?"

"Oh, no, it is." He smiles mischievously as he leads me down the hallway towards Taylor's room. "But he's not scheduled for any scans or tests right now, and if I'm in the room it's not likely anyone else is going to come by."

When we get to the room, he stands aside to let me go in first. I almost hesitate, because it feels like some kind of trick. I don't know why he'd go out of his way and risk getting his ass handed to him by his boss just to do this for me. But he _seems_ genuine enough...

Maybe the universe is still trying to restore my faith in humanity or something.

I take a seat beside Taylor's bed, searching for some difference, some _sign_ that he's actually doing better than he was this morning. But I can't see one. I guess I knew I wouldn't be able to, I just _wish_ I could. Because he still looks totally messed up, and it's still frightening as hell, even if the doctors said his condition is improving. He's scratched up, and bruised, and bandaged, and... lifeless. _That's_ the worst part. Even his breathing isn't real, it's mechanical. I've spent enough time resting against his chest as it rises and falls to know that he doesn't breathe like this normally, not even when he's sleeping.

It's slow.

And not in a calm way, but in a scary, are-you- _sure_ -my-boyfriend-is-getting-enough-oxygen way!

"How come the ventilator thing doesn't make him breathe like he normally does?"

"It breathes for him as much as he needs it to." Mister Nurse replies simply, never taking his eyes off of Taylor's IV as he carefully fiddles with it. "Don't worry. Everything's being monitored _extremely_ closely."

"You realize that telling a person not to worry when someone they love is in a _coma_ is a total waste of time, right?"

He smirks, casting a brief glance my way. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." I sigh heavily. "I don't mean to be such an asshole, I'm just... _exhausted_. I haven't slept in days, and all this crap keeps coming up... I'm _so_ fucking out of my depth."

"I think everyone who has a loved one in the ICU feels the same."

Not to sound self-pitying or anything, but unless everyone who has a loved one in the ICU also has to deal with taking care of their loved ones five kids, _and_ fending off the bad attitude of their loved one's ex-mother-in -law, then I don't think they feel _exactly_ the same.

"I hope this isn't entirely inappropriate," He begins, which automatically puts me on edge. "But I have to admit... this is probably the weirdest experience I've had since I started nursing."

"What is?" I ask curiously.

"Treating Taylor Hanson" His smile as he stares down at Taylor's expressionless face strikes me as sad, and kinda nostalgic. "He was probably the first guy I ever really had a crush on."

Wait...

So...

"You're gay?"

"You're surprised?" He teases lightly. "Most people automatically assume I'm gay when they find out I'm a nurse."

"Yeah, well most people are dicks like that. People always assume I'm gay, too."

I can feel him looking at me, and I'm sure he wants to come right out and say "well, aren't you?". But for whatever reason, he just lets it go.

"I guess I don't help matters by perpetuating the stereotype."

"You shouldn't have to worry about shit like that, though. You should be able to be a nurse if you wanna be without feeling guilty for falling into some stupid stereotypical category or whatever."

"I don't feel guilty." He shrugs. "I did, once, but it wasn't because of that. My dad's a doctor, and he wanted me to be one, too. And I planned to be... but I ended up here instead. He wasn't exactly happy about it, he felt like I was choosing the 'easy' option. But he got over it, eventually."

"Oh, I know _all_ about people disapproving of your career choice." I laugh softly, tiredly. "Most of my family thought I was an idiot for skipping college and focusing on music. My parents were pretty supportive and everything, but even they kept 'suggesting' that I pursue something more 'stable'."

"But you didn't, right? And now you're happy."

"Yeah..." I mumble, watching my fingers as they gently trace the small tattoo on the inside of Taylor's wrist. "I'm _giddy_."

I still remember the night he got it done _so_ clearly. I don't think I'd ever felt so loved in my entire fucking life. He was _so_ sure about his feelings for me that he wanted to have a symbol of them permanently inked into his skin. He was so happy, and free, and _alive_.

And now...

The nurse carries on fiddling with tubes and wires, and I try to refrain from constantly yelling "be careful with that" at him, because it's obvious that he knows what he's doing and I have no clue. I'm just scared. I'm scared that something is going to happen to mess everything up even more, that the small amount of progress Taylor has made today is going to be reversed somehow.

"Okay..." He eventually sighs. "I'm all done here."

I guess that means I am, too. At least for another forty-five minutes. "Okay."

"Sorry. If I could let you stay a little longer, I would."

"It's fine." I lie as I reluctantly get out of my seat, holding onto Taylor's hand until I'm forced to let it go in order to move away from the bed. "Thanks for sneaking me in here."

"You're welcome. If I were you, I'd want someone to do the same thing for me."

"I'm Tommy, by the way." I finally introduce myself, holding out my hand to shake as we make our way back down the hall.

"Yeah, I kinda knew that." He admits with a sheepish smile. "My boyfriend is an incurable tabloid junkie. Those pictures of you and Taylor were pretty much _all_ he could talk about last week."

"Right." Of course.

"I'm Holden."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

Once we're back in the waiting room, he disappears to do whatever else it is he's supposed to be doing that doesn't involve breaking any rules. And I grudgingly find another chair to sit in. As much as I want to be here, I hate that I spend ninety-percent of my time doing fuck all. I feel useless. Just sitting in a chair for fifty-five minutes at a time isn't doing anyone any damn good, especially not me. But I can't do anything about it. I'm either here being useless, or I'm at home and I don't get to see him at all.

I spend the next few hours desperately trying _not_ to go insane. Running down the battery on my iPhone playing shitty little games that I haven't looked at in months but are now my only distraction. Aside from that, the only source of entertainment available to me is bunch of tattered magazines that are about six months out of date and mostly aimed at women. At first I don't so much as consider flipping through one, but once my iPhone battery gets down to three percent, I develop a sudden interest in finding out how to tighten my tummy and firm up my pelvic floor.

Or... whatever.

Women are _weird_!

No wonder I'm happier with a man than I ever was with one of these crazy people.

My third five minute visit with Taylor is rudely interrupted by Doctor Campbel, Holden, and some other nurse. Doctor Campbell apologizes distractedly for cutting my visit short and tells me that they need me to fucking leave. I _can't_ leave, though, because I'm too busy watching as they go about messing with machines and wires, all the while failing to tell me any-fucking-thing about what they're doing to him!

"Is he okay?" I ask anxiously, getting out of my seat as the other nurse steps right in front of me and blocks my view of Taylor entirely. "What're you doing to him?"

"We're taking him for a CT scan." Holden explains calmly, guiding me over to the door. "It's okay, it's normal."

"How long will it take?"

"An hour or so."

I don't care if it's normal, I don't like it. I don't like the idea of anyone touching him or moving him or doing _anything_ that might hurt him. I don't care who they are or how many years of training they have, I just want them to be fucking _careful_ with him!

"It'll be fine." I hear Holden assure me confidently, giving me another gentle push towards the hallway. "Doctor Campbell will come and find you when they have the results, okay?"

I nod numbly, still staring past him as they continue prepping Taylor to leave the room. I wish they'd let me go with him, but I know there's no fucking chance. They'll barely let me be with him when he's just lying in a room by himself, so I highly doubt they'll let me tag along for an hour long scan. There's nothing I can do but stand back and watch as they slowly wheel his bed out of the room and down the hallway towards an elevator. And then he's gone. And I'm alone.

Again.

God, I fucking _hate_ this!

I can't just go back to sitting in the waiting room for the next hour, so I turn to pacing to pass the time instead. There's no one here to be annoyed by it, and even though it kinda annoys _me_ , I don't know what else to do. I can't leave the ICU, I want to make sure I'm here as soon as they bring him back. I want to talk to Doctor Campbell the _second_ she has the results of this scan. I _need_ to know, whether it's good news or bad.

As soon as I look up and see Doctor Campbell walking towards me over an hour later, I come to a complete standstill. It's like I'm literally frozen or paralyzed or something. She's deep in discussion with another nurse, scribbling something on a clipboard before handing it to them and turning her attention to me. I'm holding my breath, waiting for her to give me some small sign about how the scan went and what the results were.

And then she smiles.

 


	78. Chapter 78

  


 

 

"I have good news."

It'd probably be completely inappropriate (not to mention stupid) for me to ask her to pinch me right now. But since I'm not entirely convinced that this is actually happening, and that I haven't just fallen asleep in the ridiculously uncomfortable waiting room chair, I think I _need_ someone to pinch me. Or slap me. Hell, they can even fucking kick me in the nads if they want to! I just need proof that this is real.

That this good news, whatever it is, is _real_.

"Taylor's latest scans show further improvement from the ones we did earlier today."

"What does that mean?" I ask anxiously, wishing there was something nearby for me to hold onto. Not because I think I might fall down, but because I'm so on edge that I feel the desperate need to grip _something_. I'm _this_ close to reaching out and grabbing Doctor Campbell by the arms and shaking an answer out of her! "Can you wake him up soon?"

Fuck it, Tommy, _why_ do you have to ask questions like that? You know the answer is gonna be "no", and then you're gonna be disappointed. It's like you _enjoy_ it, you masochistic motherfucker!

"Yes." Wait... what? "Given the steady improvement in his condition since last night, I feel comfortable reducing the dose of Propofol he's currently receiving."

"And then he'll wake up?"

"He should begin to regain consciousness, yes." She nods, still smiling enthusiastically. "Once he's responsive, we'll be able to assess his level of function better."

I feel like I should be smiling, too, but I'm too shocked. And honestly, I think I'm kinda terrified as well. This is what we've all been waiting for, but now that it's actually happening, I realize that it's just as scary as everything else has been so far. This isn't the end, there's still no finish line in sight here. We're just moving on to the next part of this fucked up journey, and we have no clue where it'll take us.

"How long?" I finally manage to ask her, my mouth suddenly so incredibly dry that it feels as though I have to force the words out. "Once you start taking him off the drugs, how long will it take him to come around?"

"It could take up to an hour or so for him to show signs of consciousness once we decrease the dose of the sedative. It all depends on how quickly his body metabolizes the Propofol."

Again, I ask a question I'm pretty sure I'm going to get a disappointing answer to. But even though I know better than to ask it, it's one I can't _not_ ask. "Can I be with him?"

"I-"

"Please? He had to go for that scan in the middle of my last visit, and it's been over an hour now..."

She sighs deeply, and I can tell that giving her my best kicked-and-starved-and-forced-to-live-outside-in-the-rain puppy eyes is actually working...

"I'm sorry, I can't let you be with him once we start bringing him out of the coma. I understand why you want to be there, but as soon as he begins to regain consciousness we'll need to clear the room of all visitors so that we can properly evaluate his condition."

Fuck it. "Right."

"But I can give you a few minutes right now."

" _Thank_ _you_."

I follow her back across the waiting room and down the hall to his room, where Holden and another nurse are busy doing something that involves playing around with various wires and monitors. Honestly it almost seems pointless, like they're just _trying_ to look busy. I'm sure that's not the case at all, I'm sure every last little thing they're doing is vitally important. But to an uneducated observer, it looks very similar to what I do to pass the time at sound check while Adam is busy trying to convince the sound techs that he actually knows what the fuck he's talking about.

It's called fiddling.

Doctor Campbell wordlessly nods her head towards the door, and they both drop whatever it is they're doing and leave the room. "We'll wait at the nurse's station. Let us know when you're ready, okay?"

Let them know when I'm ready.

Seems like a simple enough request.

Why wouldn't I be ready for them to bring the guy I love out of a coma that none of us wanted him to be in to start with? Maybe because of all of the unanswered questions about what he'll be like when they do.

Part of me wants him back more than anything...

But part of me is afraid I'm not going to _get_ him back.  And the longer he stays like this, the longer I can avoid finding out for sure.

It's weird to think that it's only been twenty-four hours since the first time they brought me into this room to see him. And I've only been in here half a dozen times since then. But somehow it feels familiar now... routine. Like it's been weeks, and I do this all day, every damn day. I'm not so afraid of bumping a machine or pulling on a wire anymore. I don't feel so stupid sitting here, basically talking to myself.

I don't know if that's a good thing or not.

"Okay, so... I guess this is it." I tell him, taking a long, uneasy breath as my hand automatically reaches for his. Holding his hand is kinda like opening the lines of communication or something. I feel like doing it makes it more likely that he'll hear me. Maybe. "They're gonna wake you up soon. Then it's all up to you, okay? Not to like... put pressure on you or anything. I know this sucks more for you than any of us, and I know it's gonna keep sucking for a while, but... I'm gonna be here. I promise. Whatever happens, whatever you need... I'm right here."

Not that it'll matter all that much if he doesn't know who I am.

"Um... just in case you..." I pause uncertainly, squeezing his hand a little tighter, my eyes drifting from his fingers to his face. "I'm Tommy. Just... remember that, okay? I'm Tommy, I'm twenty-nine... and a couple of years, I play guitar... I like movies, and I like to drink. Maybe too much. Sometimes I think you think so, but... you smoke, so it's not like you've got any right to judge." I attempt to joke, but the breath of laughter I exhale sounds completely fake. "Shit... I don't know..." What details are worth trying to drive home before he opens his eyes? "We met two years ago, in a bar in New York, and... I know this is totally fucking cheesy, but... I felt like I already knew you. It was like... I remembered you, you know? Even though we'd never been in the same room before. And it wasn't just 'cause I'd seen your face in magazines or whatever, I felt like I _knew_ you. So... I figure, if I can remember you without ever meeting you, you have no fucking right to forget me after _everything_ we've been through. I don't care if you got hit by an SUV, I don't care if you got hit by a fucking MAC truck... I _need_ you to know me."

There's nothing else I can think of to say.

I could sit here for the next hour and walk him step by step through our entire relationship. But the terrifying truth is, it won't make a damn bit of difference. He's either gonna remember or he's not, and trying to force feed him personal details when there's a good chance he can't even hear me _won't_ change that. All that's left to do now is let go.

Let go of his hand, and let go of my fear, and let them wake him up.

Easier said than done.

After giving Doctor Campbell the go ahead to bring him round, I try to distract myself by calling Zac and telling him what's going on. Unfortunately, that phone call doesn't end up lasting very long (and I never thought a shorter than expected phone call with Zac would be unfortunate in my mind). He's so eager to call their parents and get back down here that he all but hangs up on me once I've filled him in on everything I know. And then there's nothing for me to do but wait. And pace. I swear I've done more walking today than I have in months, even if most of it was simply going back and forth over the same ten feet of space.

It's weird how nothing seems different. Everyone around me carries on doing whatever they were doing before, going about their jobs as though I'm not here and my life might not change completely at _any_ minute now. It's so crazy how something can be so important to you, and so insignificant to most of the rest of the world. You never think about it until things like this happen.

My pacing comes to a sudden stop when something across the other side of the waiting room catches my attention. It's Holden. He's walking from the nurse's station towards the patient's rooms, which isn't unusual. It's his job to be with his patients. But something about his stride keeps my eyes glued to him, and with every step he takes I become more and more convinced that he's not going to see just any patient. He's going to see Taylor. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm so desperate to believe something has happened that I'm imagining things. Or maybe my sleep deprivation is starting to kick in and I'm losing my fucking mind. No matter what the reason is for this gut feeling, it's enough to pull me forward. I know I'm not supposed to be in there when he wakes up, I'm supposed to wait out here...

But I _can't_.

I follow Holden down the hallway at a distance, and no one really gives me a second glance as I pass them. Other visitors are too consumed with what's happening to their own loved ones, and other nurses and doctors seem to assume I'm not breaking any rules. Apparently I don't look lost or guilty enough to raise any concerns, and no one stops me.

What _does_ stop me is the sight I'm greeted with when I reach Taylor's room.

Holden has joined another nurse, and the two of them are bustling around his bed while Doctor Campbell stands close beside him, talking to him in a remarkably calm and even tone. _He's_ not calm, though. One of the monitors is making frantic beeping noises, and every last one leaves my heart pounding so hard that I have to grab the doorframe to steady myself against the nausea.

"I know this is scary, Taylor." Doctor Campbell assures him, pinning his hand down against the bed when he tries to move it.

The beeping continues, but as loud as it seemed before, it's not loud enough to conceal the sound _he_ makes as his eyes dart anxiously around the room. Honestly, I think that if there was a perfect sound to sum up the feeling in my chest right now, _that_ one would be it. I don't know that there's even a word for it. It's not quite a whimper, or a whine, or a sob. It's all of them and none of them.

I _never_ want to hear him make that sound again.

"I need you to try to calm down for me, okay?" She continues, apparently so used to all of this that is doesn't faze her at all. I wish I could say the same. "Can you squeeze my hand?"

My eyes follow her gaze as she glances down and watches his fingers squeeze hers. And even though it's a small, almost meaningless movement, it makes my heart jump.

"Good! That's very good. We're going to see about getting you off of that ventilator as soon as we can, okay?" He squeezes her hand again, and she smiles and nods in approval. "Taylor, my name is Doctor Campbell. You're in the Neuro-ICU at Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles."

I can _feel_ him start to panic again, just as he'd barely started to settle down, and this time I have to grip the doorframe to stop myself from barging into the room and taking his other hand in mine. I don't want them to kick me out, not now. I need to know what's happening to him. I need to _see_ it for myself. I can't stay out in that fucking waiting room alone anymore.

"You're okay." She tells him evenly, in the same way Lisa sometimes talks to Bridget when she's throwing a fit for no reason. But I think Taylor has a pretty damn good reason to be freaking out right now! "You were in an accident, but we're going to take good care of you. You're going to be just fine."

Her words do absolutely nothing to soothe him, they only seem to make him worse. She tries repeating herself, asking him if he remembers what happened, telling him to squeeze her hand if he understands what she's saying. But he's oblivious to her. He's looking for something, someone. He feels trapped and helpless, I can _see_ it from all the way over here.

I know exactly what it is he needs right now, and I can't just stand by and keep it from him. It's _cruel_.

"It's okay." I hear my own, wavering voice say. It didn't seem loud enough to be heard above all of the commotion in the room, but I can tell from the way his eyes instantly dart in my direction that he's listening to me. "The kids are fine, none of them are hurt, I promise."

Doctor Campbell sighs and shakes her head at me. "You can't be in here-"

"You're _scaring_ him." I snap at her defiantly, walking quickly over to his bedside before Holden or the other nurse in the room can intervene and force me back out into the hall. "He just needs to know his kids are alright."

She doesn't seem any happier about me being in the room than she was a second ago, but I think she's pretty much willing to try anything to calm Taylor down so that she won't have to resort to pumping him full of sedatives all over again just to stop him from having a fucking aneurism! I reach out and place my hand comfortingly over his, noticing the way his wide, worried eyes flit down in an attempt to see what I'm doing.

And trying like hell to pretend that I _don't_ notice, or care, that his fingers _barely_ grasp mine in return.

"They're safe, I promise." I assure him again, doing my best to smile for him. "They're at home with Jenna and Zac."

The beeping gradually becomes less and less frequent, and I hold his stare as he searches my eyes for the truth. At least... I think that's what he's searching for. Eventually, I see a flash of relief cross his face, and he squeezes his eyes shut as a single tear rolls over his cheek. When I instinctively reach out to wipe it away with the back of my index finger, his eyes quickly open and he looks up at me again, his brow creased in concern.

Confusion.

"It's me." I tell him, my own voice sounding as foreign to me as it apparently does to him. "It's Tommy..."

"Okay, I think that's enough for now." Doctor Campbell interrupts quietly. "He's still foggy from the -Propofol. We need to-"

"Squeeze my hand if you know who I am." I instruct him as firmly as I can. But all I feel is a slight twitch of his fingers between my own. "Please-"

When I feel strong hands on my upper arms, trying to pull me away, my whole body flinches and jerks out of their grasp. But they're on me again within seconds, and I hear Holden telling me that I need to calm down and that I can't be in the room right now. Well _fuck_ him! I bet if it was his boyfriend in that bed, if it was his boyfriend who was looking at him without a trace of fucking recognition, he wouldn't want some nurse dragging him out of the room!

But I guess some part of me is too weak to care, or maybe he's just that strong, because I can see Taylor getting further away. I can feel his hand slide out of my grip, and before I know it he's out of my sight entirely.

I can't breathe.

Fuck it, I can't fucking _breathe_!

"You need to take a breath." Holden informs me, like I don't already fucking _know_. "Look at me."

"Fuck you!" I somehow manage to gasp.

"I know this feels really shitty, okay, but passing out if _not_ gonna help." Oh _really_?! And here I was thinking it would solve _all_ my fucking problems! "Just breathe in deep, okay? Like me..."

I watch him take a long breath and then exhale it just as slowly and steadily. And despite the fact that I kinda just want to kick him in the face right now, my basic, natural instincts kick in and I find myself struggling to copy his deep inhales and slow exhales. It takes me a few tries before the hallway finally stops spinning round me, but eventually I begin to feel somewhat "normal" again, and I shrug his hands off of my shoulders irritably. I don't care if he did just stop me from having a full blown panic attack, he's still the reason I'm not holding Taylor's hand anymore.

"Better?" He asks cautiously.

"Yeah, fucking _awesome_." I mutter, turning on shaky legs and walking back towards the waiting room. "Taylor just looked at me like some freak who wandered into his hospital room and held his hand for no goddamn reason. Couldn't be better."

"It doesn't mean he doesn't know who you are."

Is he kidding? "Bullshit. I was _there_ , it was written all over his face!"

"He only _just_ woke up, Tommy." He tries to reason with me in a tone that sounds completely condescending to my paranoid, petrified mind. "He's basically been under anesthesia for the last twenty-four hours. Of course he's gonna be a little disoriented-"

"There's a difference between being 'a little disoriented' and not fucking recognizing people! He knew he had kids, he remembers them, but he doesn't remember _me_. How is _that_ being a little fucking disoriented?"

"Give him some time." Holden insists as I drop down miserably into the first chair I come to and let my tired, heavy head fall into my hands. "The doctor's will look him over, and if there's anything to be concerned about they'll do whatever they can to fix it. But until then you need to try to stay positive, okay? There's a good chance that he's totally fine. He'll probably be a little confused for a couple of days, but it'll fade. We see this kind of thing _all_ the time. Families freak out thinking that patients have memory loss and all kinds of other problems when they first wake up, but it's usually just the amount of medication they've been given."

"Usually... but not always?"

"There's never an _always_ with this stuff-"

"Then don't tell me he's gonna be fine like you know for sure. 'Cause you _don't_ fucking know, and I can't handle anything else right now, okay? I'm at the end of my fucking rope here, and if you promise me he's gonna be fine, and then he's _not_..."

That statement doesn't even have a conclusion.

Because I don't _know_ what I'm gonna do if Taylor isn't okay. I don't know what it's going to do to me. I thought I was prepared, I've been trying to be realistic and not get my hopes up, I've been coaching myself for the worst case scenario. But what happened back there made is frighteningly clear just how little difference all of my pessimism has made. It doesn't matter how much I focus on all the things that _might_ go wrong. When they actually _do_ go wrong, I'm a total fucking mess.

I _can't_ handle it.

Holden takes a seat beside me, and this time when he reaches out and tries to comfort me, I let him. I don't have the strength to shrug him off and be an asshole about it, and really, it's not like I _want_ to be alone right now anyway. I wish I knew who to call or what to do, but I don't. I seriously don't think I've felt _this_ lost since this whole thing started. I can't get it out of my head, the way he looked at me... he's _never_ looked at me like that before. It doesn't matter what else is happening, what's going on between us, he feels something when he looks at me, I can _see_ it. I've always, _always_ been able to see it, ever since that first night at the bar.

But I didn't see it back in that hospital room. I didn't see _anything_.

When Doctor Campbell eventually comes to find us, Holden gets out of his seat like some kind of soldier standing to attention. Doctor Campbell gives him instructions so quietly that it makes it obvious I'm not supposed to hear what's being said, and even though part of me feels like I should put more effort into eavesdropping, I just... can't. All of my effort is going into functioning on a basic, human level. Breathing, seeing, moving _at all_. Things I wouldn't normally need to think about are things I have to _try_ to do.

"He's stable, but we've sedated him-"

"You put him back under?" I ask in surprise, though I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or not.

Maybe if they put him into the coma again, next time he wakes up he'll know me.

Kinda like a do-over?

God, that's the dumbest thought _anyone_ has _ever_ had!

"No, he's wake, but he's very drowsy." She explains, perching on the edge of the seat opposite mine. "Doctor Martinez will come and examine him as soon as he can, and determine whether or not to take the endotracheal tube out. Until then, it's less distressing for Taylor if he's sedated while it's still in place."

I nod slowly, trying to let her words sink in and make some kind of sense. "So... after you guys take the tube out, does that mean you'll stop sedating him?"

"Unless we feel the need to continue, which is unlikely."

"And once he's not sedated anymore, he'll be normal?" I ask worriedly. "Like... whatever he's like when he wakes up properly... that's what he's gonna be like? Whatever he remembers... that's..."

"There really is no way to say with any certainty." She shakes her head apologetically. "I'm sorry, I know this is incredibly difficult, and I wish there was a black and white answer that I could give you. But the truth is, when it comes to the human brain, we know _so_ little. It's constantly surprising us. I've seen patients brought in with injuries that they technically shouldn't have survived, and they've walked out of here within a matter of weeks like nothing ever happened."

"Do you think Taylor's gonna be one of those people?"

"I don't know. I _hope_ so." Me too. "I think a person's will to survive and heal sometimes plays an very important role in how fast and how fully they recover. So the most important thing you can do right now is simply be here to support and encourage him. I know you've been waiting for him to wake up, but that's just one, small part of the process. The next part could take weeks or months, maybe longer. You need to keep in mind that nothing is set in stone at this point. _If_ there is any kind of mental deficit, it may only be temporary. It could rectify itself over the next couple of days, or it could require further treatment. And the best thing you can do for him is to be patient and try to remain calm."

"Right..."

Calm.

That's not a joke at all.


	79. Chapter 79

  


 

 

I guess Zac must've picked his parents up at their hotel on his way over, because they all show up in the ICU at the exact same time. And they all start interrogating me at the exact same fucking time, too, which kinda just makes me wanna crawl under my chair and cover my ears until they give up and go away. But that's probably not a very adult or appropriate response, so instead I just sit in silence until they realize how damn irritating they're being and shut up.

"Is he awake?" Diana asks once they've all paused long enough to take a breath (and let me do the same). "Did he wake up?"

I nod slowly, meeting Zac's stare for a second but almost immediately looking away. I can see the suspicion and scrutiny in his eyes, he already knows something isn't right. Looking at him and not telling them what happened just makes me feel guilty, like I'm lying. I'm not, though, I just don't wanna talk about it. Besides, none of them specifically _asked_ whether or not he remembers anything or any one...

Any of us.

"How is he?" Walker presses gently, hopefully. "Have you seen him yet?"

"I... um..." May I please be excused? "I saw him for a second."

"And?" Prompts Diana as Walker takes her hand and holds it tightly.

I'm so sick of having to give people shitty news. It doesn't matter if it's a kid or an adult on the receiving end, I still feel like an asshole.

"He still has that tube in his throat to help him breathe, so... he couldn't say anything." I stall, trying to find new and exciting ways to be honest while still not telling them the whole truth. "But he understood what the doctor was saying to him. He squeezed her hand when she asked him to."

I hear Diana breathe a sigh of relief, and it makes me feel even worse for not tacking a "but" onto the end of that oh so positive progress report.

"That's good, right?" She asks, but I'm pretty sure she's talking to her husband and son, not me, so I gladly keep my mouth shut. "He woke up, and he can move, and he can understand what's being said. That's _good_!"

"Yeah, it's great." Zac replies unenthusiastically. I can still _feel_ him staring at me, studying me. I'm backed into a corner, and I can't get out. "So why do you look so miserable?"

"I'm not."

"What's going on? What aren't you saying?"

"Nothing." I lie, shrugging and forcing myself to glance up at him, just for a second. "I'm just tired. I haven't slept in like two days-"

"Bullshit."

"Zac!" Diana snaps at him, just like my mom snaps at me whenever I use profanity in her presence. "There's no need to-"

"He's lying about something."

I wonder if there'll ever come a time when I'll go more than two hours without wanting to knock his teeth out with a guitar? Every time I think I might be able to see my way to _not_ hating his guts, he says or does something that makes me feel uncharacteristically violent. There are several key scenes from some of my favorite movies that I'd like to reenact with him.

Most of them involve me wielding some kind of sharp object or over-powered gun...

"It's been a _very_ long couple of days," Begins Walker, almost sounding too worn out to put any effort into getting Zac off of my case. Or maybe he just doesn't care enough to. "Snapping at each other isn't going to make any of this any easier."

"Neither is lying to each other." Zac mutters.

Asshole.

Luckily for him, and all of us, Doctor Martinez decides to put in an appearance just as I'm about to lose the battle to keep my mouth shut and _not_ tell him where he can stick his snarky little comments. The doctor has a similar look on his face to the one Doctor Campbell had when she brought Taylor back from his tests earlier, but unlike before, it doesn't leave me feeling hopeful. I _want_ to be, but after what happened last time, I'm afraid that good test results aren't going to mean shit when it comes to how he _really_ is once you get in a room with him.

"Mister and Misses Hanson." He smiles warmly, shaking their hands quickly as we all stand to give him our full attention. "I'm glad you're both here, I have some good news."

"Thank God." Laughs Diana softly, nervously. "We've had just about all the bad news we can stand."

"We took Taylor off of the ventilator, and he was able to breathe well enough on his own that we felt comfortable removing the breathing tube completely. He'll feel some lingering discomfort for a couple of days, but he's able to talk now, and he should be able to eat and drink on his own soon."

Diana's hand immediately flies to her chest, clutching at her heart like it just exploded with happiness. She says "thank you", but I seriously can't tell if she's thanking Doctor Martinez or god. It could go either way.

"I had the chance to do a preliminary examination of Taylor's cognitive and motor functions, and so far everything it looking pretty good. I'll have to do a more extensive examination once he's been taken off of the sedative entirely, but for now he's where we'd hope for him to be. He passed his mental status exam, which means that he's aware of who he is, where he is, and so on."

He knows _all_ of that, but he doesn't know me?

I fucking _hate_ this.

"So there's _no_ memory loss?"

"He did struggle a little with recalling the date. But that was basically the only thing he couldn't tell us, and I'm honestly not too concerned by that at this point. As I said, I'll need to do a more in depth neurological examination in a day or two, and there may be concerns that he has between now and then, or things that you notice that might warrant further assessment. Obviously, you all know him much better than we do, and so you're more likely to notice possible problems that we would overlook, especially with regards to personality and behavioral changes."

"Do you think there's a chance that he'll be... different?" Frowns Walker worriedly. "Is that a real possibility in his case?"

"It is a possibility, yes. But it's also possible that there won't be any changes at all, or that they'll be minor. It's impossible to say for sure at this stage; that's something we'll have to look for over time."

"Can we see him?" Zac finally asks.

"Of course." Doctor Martinez nods. "For now, we still need to keep it to one visitor at a time. But since I know you've all been waiting for him to wake up, we'll allow each of you to visit him now rather than waiting an hour between visits."

I should be happy about this, but I'm not. I should _want_ to go back in there as soon as I can... but I don't.

Not after last time.

"Before you see him, he did ask me to ask you about something."

I think it's safe to say we're all surprised by this information, but I can't tell if Zac and his parents feel the same sense of dread that I do. I'm so fucking _angry_ that I'm this cynical right now. He's awake! It's a _good_ thing. I shouldn't be suspicious and pessimistic, I should be hopeful. Maybe it's good news? Maybe he asked about me?

A guy can dream.

"What is it?" Diana inquires expectantly.

"Does the name Natalie mean anything to you?"

What the...

I chance a look at Zac, and his first instinct was apparently to look at me, too. He seems about as confused as I feel, but I'm willing to bet his heart didn't just plummet as hard and as fast as mine did.

Natalie.

He asked for _Natalie_?

"Natalie is... well, she _was_ his wife." Walker explains apprehensively as he and Diana exchange uneasy glances. "She passed away earlier this year."

"Oh, I'm sorry..."

Doctor Martinez draws in a long, thoughtful breath. He doesn't really look too troubled by the fact that his patient is talking about a dead person, but he does seem a little bewildered just like the rest of us. Well, the rest of _them_. I'm not really bewildered, I'm more... resigned to this feeling of disappointment, I guess. I keep waiting for it to go away, but it only gets stronger.

"Why do you ask?" Questions Diana curiously. "Did he say something about her?"

The doctor hesitates for a few seconds, but then he forces a reassuring smile and shakes his head unconcernedly. "He asked where she was, that's all. But he was just waking up at the time. Some disorientation is completely normal."

Normal?

It's normal for a guy to wake up after suffering a serious head injury and ask for his _dead_ wife? It's normal for him to look at the guy he fucking _proposed_ to a month ago like he's never seen him before in his life?

That's _normal_?

Fuck that!

 _None_ of this is normal. Nothing that has happened in the last few hours, or the last few days, is _my_ idea of normal. And I'm someone who can tolerate a whole hell of a lot of _ab_ normal, but I _can't_ tolerate this. I can't take another fucking _second_ of this. It _hurts_.

It's pretty fucking obvious what's going on, isn't it? I mean, it all adds up. He doesn't remember me, but he does remember his kids. He doesn't know what the date is, and he's asking for his  dead wife. He must have some kind of amnesia or something. It's like his memory has been reset back to sometime before she died.

Before we ever met.

Everything we are and everything we've been through together is just... _gone_.

I can't fucking _deal_ with this.

I just want my goddamn life back! I want things back the way they were before, I want _Taylor_ back the way he was before.

Yeah, I know that sounds selfish and childish, but guess what? I don't fucking _care_! I'm so over being the grown up in this shitty situation. I'm done pretending to be strong, because I'm not strong. I'm tired, and I'm weak, and I'm fucking _crushed_. And I just want to _be_ those things. I want it to be fucking _okay_ for me to be broken. I don't want to have to hold everything together while I'm falling apart. I don't want to be mature and responsible and adult about this anymore, I just want to be _done_. Done with this hell hole hospital, and this cold waiting room, and these dumbass doctors, and _all_ of this endless bullshit.

I've  tried to get back up every time this thing has knocked me down, but I don't have it in me to do it again.

Not after this; it's the last fucking straw.

With everyone else still busy questioning the doctor about how much longer Taylor will be in the ICU, and what comes next now that he's awake, no one notices me turn and leave. Not at first, at least. And by the time I hear Zac calling my name, I'm already standing in the elevator across the other side of the room and the doors are closing between us. And I'm _glad_. I feel like I can breathe better in this tiny little box than I could in that fucking abyss of a waiting room. I've been back and forth from this place so many times in the last twenty-four-hours, but this is the first time it's actually been a relief to get out of here. It's the first time it's been for me, for my sake, because _I_ needed to leave.

But now that I'm walking away, I have to figure out where the fuck I'm going.

I'm being pulled in a dozen different directions by my conscience and my gut, my head and my heart. I _really_ want to go to the nearest bar and get _completely_ fucked up. Like _seriously_. To the point where the next time I come back here it's in an ambulance of my own. But I won't, because deep down I know that won't help me, or him, or the kids, or anyone. And despite how messed up everything is, it's not like I suddenly stopped caring about them. I _can't_. Which is why I should probably just go back to the house so that Jenna isn't completely alone with all five of them, and so that Pam doesn't have free fucking rein tomorrow morning when she shows up at the ass crack of dawn to make them breakfast or whatever.

But I don't want to.

I know I shouldn't get a break from this; that's not what I signed up for. But how am I supposed to go in there and act like everything's fine when I feel even more hopeless now than I did before? They might be kids, but they're not fucking stupid. They'll see it, they'll feel it. They'll know something isn't right, and it'll totally freak them out. They're better off with Jenna and Pam. They're better off _without_ me.

Or maybe that's just what I need to tell myself to quiet the guilt enough that I can go to my apartment instead of going back to the house.

It feels like forever since I've been here, even though it's only been a few days. But since the past few days have been the longest of my entire fucking life, I guess it's not all that surprising. Everything feels... strange. Or maybe that's just me. Something is different. I don't belong here. I have a key, and I can let myself in, and I know where everything is... those are my posters on the walls, and my DVDs on the shelves by the TV... but I just feel... empty. Standing here, staring through the darkness, it's like I'm completely detached from everything around me. I'm almost convinced that if I reach out and try to touch something, my hand will pass right through it.

Thankfully, that turns out not to be true. My hand doesn't pass right through the bottle of Absolut when I pull it out of the freezer. Maybe I shelved my plan to drink myself into a hospital bed, but I _never_ scratched drinking myself unconscious off of the list of possible ways to spend my night.

I take the icy cold bottle to my room, kicking off my shoes on my way over to the bed and falling down onto it in the least graceful way imaginable. And the first thought that enters my mind as my body bounces slightly on the mattress and I try to get comfortable, is that I miss Taylor's bed. I miss our bed, the one we picked out together only a few days ago. Fuck, I _love_ that thing. It's better than any bed in any five star hotel I've ever stayed in. But I don't want to sleep in it without him. I couldn't even bring myself to fucking _sit_ on the damn thing when I was over there yesterday, I barely wanted to be in that room alone.

Is that what I am now?

Alone.

I don't want to believe it, but that's how it feels. And in some fucked up way... it's fitting. It seems appropriate. I had these thoughts before, when he first got hurt, and I tried to tell myself I was just being morbid and stupid. But they keep coming back to me. I keep coming back to the same conclusion: I had this coming. I tried to steal a married guy away from his wife and kids. Then she fucking _died_. I got to have him because she was gone, I gained from other people's loss. I didn't deserve him, I didn't deserve to get what I wanted, but somehow I did. I got him, and those kids, and that house, and it was all too fucking good to be true.

And then karma woke the fuck up and started paying attention, and she was like "What the fuck? How did this selfish motherfucker slip under my radar?!"

She's a bitch alright.

I feel a pang of guilt shoot through me as I listen to the scraping sound that the metal cap makes against the frosty glass as I unscrew it, and it just makes me even angrier. I don't want to feel guilty for doing this, I never have before. Drowning my sorrows in alcohol is a tried and trusted method of coping for me, I've been doing it since I was a teenager. And never once have I felt guilty about it. At least, not before I've so much as taken one sip.

How is _that_ fair?

Can't I just have this one fucking thing? Just _one_?!

In a very grown-up act of defiance against my own feelings, I tip the bottle to my mouth and take a ridiculously long swig. More like a chug, really. It's so long that it's probably the one and only drink I should have tonight, it's more than enough to get me wasted. But as soon as the burning in the back of my throat begins to subside, I take another.

Why?

Because _fuck_ feeling guilty about this, that's why.

Fuck _every_ -fucking-thing!

Next thing I know, I'm being mercilessly shaken by some inconsiderate asshole. I try to swat them away, but they retaliate by slapping me in the fucking face and irritably demanding that I "wake the fuck up".

" _What_?" I grumble, burying my face in my pillow and doing my best to go back to that complete lack of _anything_ that I was just enjoying so much.

"You have a visitor."

Shit. It's probably Alex. I can't deal with him right now. "Tell them to fuck off."

" _You_ tell them to fuck off."

"Jesus, Mike-"

"It's six o'clock in the fucking morning, Tommy! I'm not your goddamn butler or whatever, I'm not here to answer your door and deal with your unwanted guests! I was _asleep_ -"

"So was I!"

"Well now we're both awake." He mutters, and I can tell from the sound of his voice that he's leaving. Finally. "They're waiting in the living room, but I'm gonna tell them to come in here if you don't get your ass out of bed in the next sixty seconds."

Damnit. "Fuck you, dude."

"You're welcome."

I really don't want to get off of this bed, I'm not even sure I _can_. It's like I have a brain, but it's not connected to the rest of my body. I think about moving my arm, but I don't know if I actually do it. I guess I could open my eyes and look, but as soon as I try to I have to clamp them shut again.

Motherfucking _ow_!

I really miss being unconscious.

It takes me a good ten seconds to get my eyes open, and keep them open, and then another thirty seconds or so to roll over and face the door. No fucking way am I gonna be able to get off of this bed and out into the living room in twenty seconds. Twenty minutes, _maybe_. I somehow manage to sit up, and then stand up (without falling back onto the bed again), and shuffle my way over to the door. But as soon as I open it, I want to close it and go right back to bed.

I _wish_ it was Alex standing in my living room right now.

I'd take his crap over Zac's _any_ day of the week.

Although, I'm sure I have that jack ass to thank for my least favorite guy in the world being stood in the middle of my fucking apartment at six am. Fuck, I hate them _both_.

"What're you doing here?" I sigh glumly.

"What do you think?" He snaps impatiently, and not at all quietly. I think my brain might be seeping out of my ears, that's what I fucking think. "You just up and _left_. You didn't tell us where you were going-"

"I didn't realize you cared so much."

"I care when my brother's boyfriend abandons him when he needs him most."

He doesn't need me. He doesn't even fucking _know_ me. "Whatever."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He asks in complete contempt as he follows me over to the kitchen. "For a minute there, I thought you were actually a decent guy. You seemed like you really cared about him and the kids-"

"I _do_." I protest irritably, yanking the fridge door open and silently praying that there's some orange juice left.

But there isn't.

Fuck my life.

"So then why are you here instead of at the hospital or at the house?"

"Because I needed a fucking break, alright? I didn't realize I needed your fucking permission to spend the night in my own apartment!"

"Those kids are depending on you! You can't pull crap like this, not now. You don't get a 'break'-"

"Oh, save it." I yell at him. And I instantly regret it, because I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who feels worse as a result of my raised voice. "I don't need another lecture about what it means to be a good dad from _you_ , of all people. You're a fucking hypocrite." His mouth falls open in outrage, and I can tell he's about to lay into me and tell me how wrong I am. I've had enough of his crap to last me a lifetime, though. I don't wanna hear any more of it. "Where are _your_ kids, Zac, huh? When was the last time you saw them? Face it: _you_ ran away, too. Your marriage was going to shit, and you couldn't handle it, so you _ran_."

"You don't know what you're talking about." He mutters, but I know I hit a nerve. It's obvious.

"And neither do you. You show up here, bitching me out for doing the same thing you did-"

"It's _not_ the same! Not that my marital problems are any of your damn business, but what's going on between me and Kate is complicated, and it's hard, and I've been trying to fix it for _months_. I needed a few days to breathe so I could keep fighting for my marriage. I didn't just give up and walk away out of petty insecurity."

"What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You're jealous of a dead woman!" He retorts indignantly, proving that he has no fucking idea what I'm thinking or feeling. "So he woke up and asked for Natalie, so what?! Are you really _so_ childish that you're gonna give up on him because of that? After _everything_?"

"You know what? Fuck you! You have no fucking clue. I'm _not_ jealous of Natalie, or you, or Alex, or _anyone_ else. I honestly couldn't give a shit. I didn't leave the goddamn hospital because I was jealous, I left because I didn't want to go back in that room and have him look at me the way he did before."

Zac frowns at me in complete and utter bewilderment, like the moron he is. "What're you talking about?"

Fuck.

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that bullshit." He insists as I busy myself with randomly opening and closing cupboard doors, pretending to look for something just so I _don't_ have to look at him. " _You_ just said you didn't want him to look at you the way he did before. Before what? How did he look at you?" Jesus fucking Christ, doesn't this asshole know when to fucking quit? What do I have to do to get him off my fucking back?! "If you don't tell me what happened, I'm just gonna start guessing until I either get it right or you-"

"I was there the first time they woke him up, okay? I was right there, in the room, and he had _no_ idea who I was. _That's_ why I'm not at the hospital. _That's_ why I needed a break. And _fuck_ you for coming here and fucking _ruining_ it!"

I'm expecting him to argue with me, because that's exactly what I _don't_ want him to do. But instead he's silent. Maybe I actually managed to make him shut the hell up for once. I just wish I could've done it without telling him the truth, because he's the _last_ person I want to be spilling my guts to. I don't want to share with him, I don't want to have any more awkward bonding moments. I'd be more than happy to never talk to him again.

If only that was a fucking option.

"God, you're an _idiot_." He finally says, leaving my fingers twitching at my sides, fighting the overwhelming urge I have to grab the dirty frying pan out of the sink beside me and hurl it at his damn head! " _That's_ why you left? _That's_ why you're hiding in your bedroom and drinking yourself even stupider than you already were?"

"Just get the fuck out."

"He was doped up, you moron! They'd been pumping him full of drugs for twenty-four-hours straight! Of course he didn't know who the hell you were! He probably didn't know who anyone was, or where he was, or what the fuck was going on! Hell, he probably thought you had three heads and a tail! He was still totally out of it when we went in to see him after you ran off; he was convinced that dad's moustache was _alive_ at one point!"

"But did he know who you were?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Then he wasn't _that_ out of it, was he." I tell him angrily, stalking across the kitchen with every intention of locking myself in my room until he leaves.

"He knows who you are, too, dumbass!"

I don't want to stop, but my body automatically comes to a halt in the middle of my livid march through the living room. There's a voice in my head asking if this is real, if it's true. And another one telling me that it's a trick, and that Zac's just trying to manipulate me into coming back to the hospital with him, or babysitting for him and his parents while they sit at Taylor's bedside all day like they did yesterday.

But it's that hopeful voice that wins out, that forces me to turn around and face him.

"How do you know?"

He rolls his eyes, throwing his hands up like the answer is so fucking obvious that I must be completely stupid if I don't already know. "Because all he's done since you up and left is ask where you are!"

"He... he asked for me?"

"Yes."

" _Me_?" I question weakly. "Like... h-he knows my name?"

"For God's sake, _yes_!" He exclaims in exasperation. "I told him you weren't there because you were with the kids. I figured that was better than telling him that the guy he put _everything_ on the line for bailed on him when things got too rough."

"I _didn't_ bail."

"Uh... yeah, you kinda did."

"I was gonna come back!" I argue adamantly, because I was. I'm sure I was. I wouldn't have been able to stay away; I never fucking could. "I just needed-"

"A break." Zac nods impatiently. "Well, now you've had one. So why don't you do us all a favor and put your big boy pants on, and go see him. Before he annoys mom and dad so much by asking about you that one of them strangles him with his own IV!"

I resent being told to put my big boy pants on, but I'm gonna let it slide because bickering with him about it is only gonna waste time. And I've done _way_ too much of that already. I'm such a fucking _idiot_! What was I _thinking_? Taylor's been awake for _hours_ , waiting for me, and I've been passed out on my fucking bed because I tried to drink myself into nothingness over something that never even fucking happened?

He never forgot about me. He never left me.

Pity I can't say the same.


	80. Chapter 80

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back?! TAYLOR CHAPTER!!!

  


 

 

So... apparently I got hit by an SUV?

Feels more like I got hit by a fucking train, honestly. Or a tour bus or something. Something _big_. The doctor said I broke my leg and cracked a few ribs, but I'm pretty sure I broke my _everything_. It hurts to breathe, it even hurts to nod my head.

Although, I guess I have the "traumatic brain injury" to thank for that.

I wonder if the "traumatic" part comes from the patient finding out that they had their head hacked into and spent an entire day unconscious? Because being told about that wasn't the best news I've ever received, that's for sure! It sounded _so_ totally insane, I kinda wanted to laugh out loud. Good thing I was still too sedated to actually do it, 'cause I'm pretty sure it would've hurt like hell.

But really... how else are you supposed to react to something like that?

You wake up in a strange place, surrounded by strange people, seeing two of everything like you're completely drunk, and you start thinking things like "where am I?" and "what happened?" and "where are my kids?" (and "how much did I drink?!"). And then some guy in a white coat starts shining a light in your eyes and asking you if you know your own name. And then he tells you that you had _brain surgery_. I mean, you've gotta laugh, right?

If you _can_ , anyway.

It feels like someone is pulling the most elaborate, twisted prank _ever_. You're convinced you're being Punk'd or something, and you don't want to take it seriously because Ashton Kutcher is gonna show up any minute and make you look like a total fool. But no matter how crazy it all sounds, it _feels_ real. It hurts badly enough that you know it's not a hoax. You _are_ in hospital, you _did_ have surgery, and you _were_ in a fucking coma.

That's right about the time it stops being amusing _at all_ , and you start freaking out.

The doctor told me to calm down, like it was _that_ simple. If I'd felt capable of lifting my arm more than an inch off of the bed, I probably would have punched him. He started asking me more questions, like did I know who was president, did I know what year it was, did I remember the accident, what was the last thing I _could_ remember?

Up until he asked me that question, I'd been too upset to think straight. But suddenly my mind began to clear, and I _did_ remember something. I remembered it _so_ distinctly. And even though there was a voice in my head telling me not to say it out loud, that I'd sound crazy, I heard myself blurt it out anyway.

"Natalie." I told him, my eyes darting around the room, searching for her. "Where's Natalie?"

"Who is Natalie?" He asked with a frown, glancing up at one of the nurses standing by the foot of my bed. But she merely gave a clueless shrug.

"She was here." I murmured, my head pounding as I tried to make sense of my own muddled thoughts. "I... I saw her..."

"Maybe she was a visitor?" Suggested the nurse as the doctor continued to stare down at me attentively.

"Your family are out in the waiting room." He assured me with a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I'm going to go and let them know that you're awake, and doing well, and I'll be sure to ask them about Natalie, okay?"

I wanted to say, "No, _don't_ ask them, they'll have me put on a psych ward!" but instead I heard myself say, "Okay."

It was like I was just too worn out to protest at all. Or too out of it to even understand what it was I was agreeing too. In fact, by the time he'd finished poking, prodding, and questioning me, and he and the nurses had left the room, I couldn't even really remember anything that had just happened. I just wanted to close my eyes, because my head hurt a little less when my eyes were closed.

But it seemed as though I'd only _just_ closed my eyes and taken a breath when my mother came into the room, weeping and grasping at my hand, and telling me how scared she'd been and how much she loved me. I was more than a little surprised to see her; I guess it didn't occur to my fuzzy mind that my parents would have come out to Los Angeles to be with me. And I didn't have the time (or the mental capacity) to really process that realization because I was too overwhelmed by how emotional she was. I knew it was serious; you don't have brain surgery for nothing, and doctors don't _put_ you in a coma just for kicks. But seeing how relieved she was, and feeling how tightly she was holding on to me... I'd never seen her like that before in my life. And I think that was what made it all real for me.

That was when I started to understand how bad it must have been, and how afraid it had left my family.

And suddenly _all_ I wanted was Tommy.

But ever since I first asked to see him, everyone's been acting really _weird_. I don't really know how to explain it... maybe I'm imagining it. It's just that every time I mention Tommy, all I get is fake smiles and reassurances that he'll be here "soon". Then my mom will suddenly find a wrinkle in my bed sheets that she needs to fix, or my dad will decide it's much too cold in the room and insist on finding a nurse to ask if anything can be done about the temperature. And Zac...

If anyone's behavior is a dead giveaway that something isn't right, it's his. Not because he's bad at hiding things (he's actually a pro), but I know him well enough to see right through him. I know when he's lying to my face, and I'm pretty damn sure he's done it every time he's told me that Tommy is at home with the kids.

But then again, maybe that's exactly where he is. It makes sense that he would be. Or it did at first, anyway. I just assumed he'd come to the hospital when he found out that I'm awake and asking for him. Jenna's in town to help take care of the kids, and I'm sure that Zac or one of my parents could go over there and "relieve" him so that he can come and see me. I don't want to suggest it, though, because I don't want them thinking I don't want them here. I _do_ want them here, the fact that they flew here to be by my side like this means _so_ much after everything we've been through these last few months. But...

I want Tommy.

And I desperately want to see my kids, too. For their sake as much as my own. But apparently they're not allowed to come to the ICU _at all_ , which makes me wish I could just discharge myself right now and go home. But since I can barely move my pinky without it exhausting me and leaving my whole body aching, I don't think leaving right now would be a good idea. The doctor said that there's a chance I can be moved out of the ICU in a couple of days _if_ I keep improving, and maybe my kids can visit me then. So I guess the best thing I can do, the only thing, is just try to focus on getting better faster, so they can see me sooner.

I don't even want to think about what this must be doing to them. Especially after what happened to Natalie...

Maybe that's why Tommy hasn't been to visit? Maybe they're so upset over this that they won't let him leave the house! God, I hope he's holding up okay. There's no doubt in my mind that he _can_ do this, but I'm sure that he isn't as confident in his ability to hold things together as I am. Zac said things were "fine", but he said it in this fidgety little mumble while refusing to look me in the eyes, which didn't do a whole hell of a lot to help calm my fears.

Nothing about this situation helps to calm my _anything_.

Ever since I woke up, God knows how long ago, I've been drifting in and out of unconsciousness. Sometimes I wake up alone, sometimes I'll wake up to find a nurse by my bed, and sometimes it's my mom, or dad, or Zac. And when it's them, I try as hard as I can to stay awake and focus on what they're saying... but I get the feeling I'm missing bits and pieces. Either I'm not remembering things, or I'm falling asleep in the middle of conversations. Everything is just... patchy. Apparently that's normal, even though it doesn't feel normal _at all_. The doctor said it'll get better over time.

I hope so, because I don't see how I'm supposed to live my life if so much of it keeps going missing. It's like a phone call that's constantly breaking up. I'm missing important information, and I don't know what or _how_ to think without it.

I don't even know what time of day it is. There's no window in here, I can't see if it's light out or not, and I keep forgetting to ask. It's like it drops off of my list of priorities entirely whenever someone else is in the room with me, but as soon as I'm alone again it's one of my main concerns. I don't really know why, it doesn't make a whole lot of difference if it's morning, noon, or night. I think it just bugs me that I don't know. It's one more thing I'm in the dark about.

I can already tell that being stuck in here indefinitely is going to drive me _nuts_.

Especially when I'm less groggy and I stop falling asleep every five minutes. It's not good for people like me to be inactive. Over-thinkers don't do well when they have too much time to do what they do best. I need to be up and busy, I need distractions to keep me out of my own head. There's a damn good reason I've never willingly stopped or slowed down at any point in my life.

I'm too afraid of what'll happen to me if I have to spend too much time _with_ me!

Annnd I'm falling asleep again.

Awesome.

I try to fight it, even though I know from hours of experience that it's a lost cause. I _can't_ keep my eyes open. I can't keep my mind from becoming even more foggy than it is when I'm awake. And when I finally relent and let it pull me under, I have the _weirdest_ dreams. I'm pretty sure I had them almost constantly while I was in that coma, because they're all I can remember.

They're so vivid, almost frighteningly so. I _feel_ them so intensely. You know how sometimes you'll be stuck in a dream and you just _know_ it's a dream? I don't know that it's a dream until it's over, and even then it takes a few minutes for it to sink in that none of it ever actually happened. It's almost like I'm not asleep, I'm just... astral projecting or something.

This time, I've "astral projected" to my own back yard. That's new. I hear laughter and gleeful screaming coming from behind me, and I turn around just in time to see Penny, River, and Viggo running across the freshly mowed grass towards me. They're smiling, _grinning_ , and I crouch down with open arms to catch them all. But they run right by me like I'm not even here. I guess that means this is one of those dreams where no one can see me, and right now I really wish it wasn't. I'd give _anything_ to hold them, it _hurts_ that I can't.

But it stops hurting when I see who it is that's chasing them.

I'm too surprised by it to feel anything at all. It's like everything is suddenly happening in crazy, Matrix-style slow motion. I can see Ezra, right in front of me, but I can't seem to accept that it's really him. I can't believe it because he's smiling, and I don't remember when I last saw him _beaming_ from ear to ear this way. _Laughing_. I just want to put this moment on pause and leave it here forever, so that it will _never_ change.

"Not what you were expecting?" Says a familiar voice beside me, and I'm not at all surprised to hear it.

She's been in every last one of these insane little "trips" my mind has taken. Whether they're happy or sad, terrifying or enlightening. A flicker of a face in the crowd or my constant companion, she's always there in some way.

My eyes continue following my children as they play tag together, darting back and forth across the lawn, racing around us in circles as though they're aware of our presence somehow, even though they show no signs of it.

"I don't understand." I tell her in an dumbfounded murmur. "Is this really happening?"

"No."

My hurt aches, and even though nothing about our surroundings changes, it's as though a dark cloud descends over the scene before us. "He's never gonna be the same again, is he?"

"Never say never..." She remarks knowingly, and when I turn to look at her, I find her smiling as she watches Ezra breathlessly pursuing his younger siblings around the back yard.

"Figures you'd know." I shake my head, a small smile playing on my lips. "You _always_ know."

"You know, too."

"That's news to me." She doesn't reply, she doesn't even look at me. "Can't you give me a hint about how I'm supposed to fix things?" Nothing. "I _need_ to help him, Nat." Nada. " _Please_?"

This time she turns and looks me right in the eyes, with that meaningful little smirk still curling the corners of her mouth, but she doesn't say a word. It's driving me crazy, because it's obvious she knows. She knows what I have to do to fix our kid, but she won't fucking _tell_ me, and it's not funny anymore!

"You have to tell me what to do!"

"No, I don't."

"Natalie-"

"I don't have to tell you." She insists sincerely, holding my stare until it _finally_ dawns on me what it is she's really saying.

"If I already know, how come it feels like I have no idea?" I ask helplessly, begging her for some kind of answer.

But she seems to believe I already have it.

With a shrug, she turns back to watching our children, a wistful look on her delicate face. She's beautiful. She looks exactly the way she always did, but there's something different about her now... the only word I can think of to describe her, as cliché as it may be, is ethereal.

As I stare at her, I notice everything else begin to fade around us. Slowly, at first, then faster and faster. It's like a fog beginning to dissipate, allowing you to see what's beyond it as clear as day (except for that pesky double vision that I can't seem to shake).

Until suddenly she's gone, and he's right here.

In my mind, anyway. He's never real. Every time he appears in front of me like this, my heart skips a beat and my hopes soar. But whenever I reach out to him, he'll flicker like a hologram failing, or he'll vanish completely. Or something about his appearance will be so different that I just know he's not _my_ Tommy. Like right now, for instance, I've _never_ seen him so unkempt. I've seen him first thing in the morning, I've seen him unshaven, and unmade-up, but this is beyond that. It's like he hasn't seen a mirror in _weeks_. He's just _not_ Tommy.

Either I'm still dreaming or I'm hallucinating.

But at least he's here. Real or not, that's better than nothing.

He lingers in the doorway of my hospital room, gazing at me across the distance between us like it's an enormous chasm, not a mere few feet. A nurse passes behind him on her way into the room, murmuring an apology to him when she accidentally bumps into him. He takes a stumbling step forward, briefly glancing her way as she comes over to my bedside and begins doing something with the IV in my arm. I'm not watching what she's doing, but I can feel it.

Wait...

I can _feel_ it.

"Are you real?" I blurt out dumbly, trying to rein in my hopeful heart as the smallest of smiles tugs at the corner of his mouth. Just for a split second. And then he nods. "Are you okay...?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"What's my name?" He asks in response to my question, and I can't help but laugh softly. I instantly regret it, though. It feels like someone just cracked my skull open.

" _What_?"

He takes another step closer as the nurse finishes up her task and exits the room again, leaving us alone. The closer he gets the more clearly I can see his expression, the look in his eyes... the _fear_.

"Just... say my name."

I no longer care how strange the request seems. It's obvious he _needs_ me to say it for some reason, so I'll say it. "Tommy."

With a cautiously relieved inhale, he takes yet another step towards me. But he's still not close enough for me to reach out and grab onto. Not that I'm even capable of something like that right now.

"You really know who I am?" He questions nervously, that terror still making his brown eyes even darker than usual. I'd give anything to make it go away.

" _Of course_ I know." I assure him, my hand slumping uselessly against the bed sheets when I attempt to lift it, to hold it out for him to take. I think I'm starting to understand what it is he's so scared of, and it's breaking my heart that any part of him would ever have to be afraid of something like that. "Your name is Tommy Joe Ratliff. You're thirty-one, and you hate it. You were born and raised in Burbank, and you hate that, too. Your mom's name is Dia, your sister's name is Lisa, and your niece, Bridget, is probably your favorite person in the world. Your favorite color is black, and-"

"Okay, but _how_ do you know me?"

"We met in a bar in New York, right by Grand Central. It was just before midnight, I think, and you sat down beside me and ordered a beer... a Blue Moon. I remember, because I liked the way it sounded when you said it. I looked at you, and... I _had_ to say hello to you. I'd never felt the way I felt when I looked at you, not once in my _whole_ life. I _needed_ to know you-"

Suddenly he's not only near enough to touch, he's near enough to kiss. And the second I feel his lips against mine it's as though I can feel _everything_ he's feeling, all of the anxiety and the apprehension, the distress and the despair, the longing and the loneliness. On top of everything I was already feeling, it's entirely overwhelming. I can't breathe because of it, I'm drowning in it, but I don't care. I hear him gasp for air as our mouths barely part, and I try to do the same but the sob stuck in my throat makes it impossible.

"I missed you." He practically whimpers through our kisses, his hands gently cupping my jaw. "I know it was just a day, but fuck, I _missed_ you."

His thumbs glide tenderly across my skin, effortlessly and unintentionally wiping away stray tears in their path and sending a shiver through my broken body.

It's the best thing I've felt since I woke up.

"I'm sorry." I manage to choke out, my voice now as weak as the rest of me. But I manage to find the strength to lift my hand, to curl my fingers around his wrist as tightly as I can, and hold him close. "I'm _so_ sorry."

"I thought I lost you. I thought..." His words falter, and he shakes his head, the tip of that insanely perfect nose of his brushing against mine.

"You didn't."

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to accept that it's true. "I know."

"I'm right here. I'm okay."

"Liar."

A smile breaks through my tears and I roll my eyes. It kind of hurts to do it, like the sharp pang of a persistent headache. But no amount of pain is any match for what he makes me feel. "I'm gonna be okay."

"You'd damn well better be."

As he pulls back a little, just far enough to properly take in every little detail of my face, I feel myself relax against the pillows. His hands are still carefully cradling my face, and my eyes drift shut as a feeling of contentment settles over me for the first time in hours. Even though things aren't anywhere close to being perfect, they're a damn sight better than they were when he wasn't here

"Do I look like shit?" I ask him, not really caring too much one way or the other. I'm pretty sure I still have two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, so it can't be _too_ bad.

"No." He tells me sincerely, stroking his thumb lightly over what I assume must be a bruise or a cut of some kind. His touch is feather light, but the smallest amount of pressure still stings. "You look good."

"Now who's lying?"

"You're awake, and you're talking, and you haven't totally forgotten who I am." He continues to insist as his eyes meet mine again. "You look _amazing_ compared to twenty-four-hours ago."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment." I concede, noting the way he still hasn't stopped touching me. It's like he can't, and I'm definitely not complaining. "It's weird that it was only a day. It feels like it's be nlonger since I saw you."

" _You_ were in a fucking coma." He replies indignantly. "You basically slept through it. If it felt long to you, imagine how it felt having to be awake the _whole_ damn time. It was hands down the _worst_ day and a half of my entire life. It felt _endless_..." Tears sting my eyes as I watch him shake his head hopelessly. I can't even begin to imagine what it was like to be on his side of things. I don't _want_ to. "You know, after all this, I'm starting to think that if there _is_ a hell, it's not all blood and fire. It's being stuck in your worst nightmare for all fucking eternity. And the past couple of days were _definitely_ my own private hell. I mean, it was bad enough when we didn't know if you were even gonna wake up, or what you'd be like if you did, but when you couldn't remember who I was-"

"Wait, what?" I frown in complete confusion. "What're you talking about?"

He sighs sadly, tiredly, his hands finally falling from my face as he slowly sinks into the chair beside my bed. "When you woke up, you didn't recognize me."

"But you weren't even _here_ when I woke up!" I protest anxiously, my heart already hammering in my chest with panic over the very suggestion that I might have ever forgotten him for even a second. "It was just the doctor and some nurses. My parents and Zac came in after that, but this is the first time I've seen you since before this all happened."

"No." He shakes his head, and my hammering heart sinks. "They woke you up before, when you still had the breathing tube in and everything. You were scared and I tried to calm you down... and I could just tell from the way you looked at me that you had _no_ fucking idea who I was. When I touched you, it was like you flinched... like you didn't want me near you."

"I..." I don't remember that. Why don't remember _any_ of that? And what the fuck was so wrong with me that I would _ever_ not want him to touch me?! "I'm so sorry, Tommy. I... I don't..."

"No, _I'm_ sorry."

" _Why_? You didn't do anything-"

"I did." He sounds so guilty, ashamed, and even though his fingers are entwined with mine, he won't look at me. "I freaked out."

"You had every right to!"

He gives another sad shake of his head, keeping his eyes trained on our hands. "I _promised_ you I wouldn't leave. I said I'd be here. I said I'd be here no matter what, but I ran the fuck away. _Again_."

"Tommy-"

"I thought I lost you." He repeats, only this time it doesn't sound like a statement of fact or fear. It sounds like a plea for forgiveness. "I tried to tell myself it'd be okay, that you'd remember me when they woke you up again. I told myself it was just the meds, and when you came out of it you'd be yourself. But when you asked for Natalie, I just... I lost it. I felt like whatever the fuck twist of fate gave you back to me was taking you away again. You, and the kids, and _everything_..." His voice falters, I can _hear_ the tears gathering in his eyes as my own vision begins to blur. "I'm sorry. I was scared. I was so scared and so, _so_ fucking tired... I _swear_ , I didn't mean to give up on you like that, I never should've left you... _fuck_ , I'm _so_ sorry, baby."

I've never seen him like this before, so broken, so defenseless. Not even the night we said what we thought was our last goodbye. It leaves me speechless and almost too taken aback to react at all. But when his shoulders begin to shake, and his forehead falls against our tightly clasped hands, I can't just lay here and watch him shatter. It takes more effort than it seems like it should to lift the hand that he's not holding onto for dear life, but it's worth it. Any pain or fatigue it causes me is completely overruled by the need to offer him some kind of comfort.

My fingers comb unsteadily through his soft, messy hair, over and over, and I tell him again and again that it's okay. I can feel the tension begin to fade from his body, his head becomes heavier on top of our hands, and his uneven breathing slows and settles more and more with each pass of my trembling fingers through his tousled locks. Eventually, he turns his face to look up at me, his big, brown eyes filled with more sadness than I think I've _ever_ seen in them. I can't help wondering how ruined he would have been if I hadn't woken up, or if I really hadn't been able to remember him.

It's one thing to hear someone tell you how much they need you, it's another thing entirely to be able to _see_ it.

I thought I knew, but I had _no_ idea.

"I love you." I tell him quietly, stroking his bangs away from his face as he nuzzles against my hand and slowly closes his eyes.

"I love you, too." He replies, his voice still thick with emotion. " _So_ fucking much."

"I know."


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor chapter again! :)

  


 

 

It wasn't long after our emotionally charged "reunion" that Tommy fell asleep, right there by my hospital bed, with his head still resting on our hands. I watched his eyelids gradually become heavier and heavier as I soothingly stroked my fingers through his hair, my thoughts drifting back and forth between marveling over how much less stressed I was with him beside me, and how long his hair was getting.

I think I must still be a little foggy, because my ability to focus on one thing for more than ten seconds at a time is nowhere to be found. Or maybe I'm just too overwhelmed by it all, there's too much to think about and take in. My busy mind is racing from one thought to the next, and I can't keep up.

Just as I'm about to let go and allow myself to fall asleep with him, the nurse comes back into the room. She gives us a look that strikes me as incredibly maternal. At least, it's the look my mom always gave me when I was a kid and she caught me doing something I wasn't supposed to do (but I was being far too cute for her to be all that upset about it). She places her hands on her hips and scowls in a way that makes it clear that she's not really mad at all, shaking her head in feigned disapproval.

"I'm sure his five minutes were over a good ten minutes ago." She points out, and I feel my lower lip begin to edge manipulatively out from beneath its counterpart.

"He's tired." I tell her in my most pitiful, pleading voice. "He's been so worried about me, and he's been taking care of my kids the whole time..." Her eyes shift from my face to his slumbering form, and I notice her lips twist in contemplation. " _Please_ don't make him leave. Not yet."

"Rounds are in half an hour." She informs me, struggling to keep the smirk off of her face. "I'll be back to wake him up in twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Nurse...?"

"Megan."

"I love that name."

"Uh-huh." With a soft chuckle and a roll of her eyes, she scribbles something on a chart and leaves the room again.

And I breathe a sigh of relief, because I get to keep him a little longer. And even though I can already tell that I won't be conscious enough to fully appreciate his presence, just knowing that he's here makes me feel better. It makes it easier to relax. I don't try to fight sleep the way I have every other time I've felt it creeping up on me, it's not a burden or a hindrance this time. I want to fall asleep beside him more than anything.

Unfortunately, he's gone when I wake up again.

I guess I knew he would be, but it still makes me want to close my eyes and sleep until he comes back. The doctors have other ideas, though, and I'm treated to various degrees of poking and prodding while being questioned about all kinds of personal details. Having them shine a light in my eyes really makes the whole thing feel like some kind of interrogation, but they seem satisfied enough with my answers to eventually stop.

"You're doing good, Taylor." Doctor Martinez (at least, I think that's what he said his name is) tells me with a smile, handing something off to one of the nurses and murmuring something to her that I'm apparently not supposed to hear. "Your vitals are within the normal range, and your cognitive function appears to be improving nicely."

"Does that mean I can leave the ICU soon?" I ask hopefully. "I _really_ need to see my kids."

"I know. We don't want to rush anything, though. You're making good progress, but you haven't even been awake for a full twelve hours yet." He places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a commiserative pat. "I want you to rest, and we'll see how things are looking at the end of the day. Alright?"

Do I have a choice? "Yeah, okay."

"The nurse is going to give you something for the pain, it might make you a little drowsy." Too late; I'm already a little drowsy. "If you experience any nausea at all, we can adjust the dosage or possibly try something else."

"Thanks."

"I know it's hard, but the important thing is that you take your time and heal. You'll go home to your family soon enough, and we want to make sure we get you back to them in the best shape possible." He chastises me playfully on his way over to the door. "Try to enjoy the down time."

But I _hate_ down time! I honestly think I'm allergic to it. Is it possible to be allergic to doing absolutely nothing?

I feel itchy already...

Once the doctor has gone, the nurse comes back into the room to prod at me some more. She gives me the new medication he mentioned, which thankfully doesn't make me want to throw up, but having her change my catheter bag kinda does. It isn't the most pleasant experience ever, even though I don't really feel it at all. I try not to watch her do it, but just _knowing_ that I'm peeing into a bag and that another adult has to deal with my bodily functions, like I'm a helpless baby or something... it's not my finest moment.

I guess I should get used to it, though. If I have a broken leg, _and_ broken ribs, using crutches is probably going to be out of the question for a while. It hurts to _breathe_ , so I don't see how hobbling around on sticks is going to result in anything besides constant pain and profanity. Which means that I'm going to need help with pretty much _everything_ , possibly for weeks. Or months.

Oh God...

As if peeing in a bag wasn't bad enough. Having someone _help_ me pee is going to be worse. Maybe they can just help me into the bathroom, prop me up near the toilet, and then leave until I'm done? I do _not_ want Tommy in the room for that! I know I'm the one who told him that couples have to see each other do gross stuff sometimes, but I only meant like... puking or picking their noses. You know, _above_ the waist stuff!

Showering could be fun, though...

Or it _would_ be if the prospect of being aroused wasn't so scary. If how I'm feeling right now is anything to go by, I'm guessing that having an orgasm will probably be _way_ more painful than pleasurable.

This next month is gonna _suck_!

I know, I know. I'm alive, that's the important part. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that my injuries aren't as bad as they easily could have been, and I'm _beyond_ grateful that Ezra is okay, too. I'd go through this a thousand times over, or live with this pain and these problems for the rest of my life in order to save his if I had to. _No_ question.

But the idea of not being able to be with Tommy...

How am I supposed to be around him and _not_ want him? And how am I supposed to want him and _not_ act on it?!

I am _so_ screwed.

Only _not_.

Maybe they can just put me back in a coma until my ribs heal?

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty." I look up at the door, my melancholy mood evaporating instantly when I see Alex's bright smile. "Finally decided to wake up, huh?"

"They drugged me." I exclaim as he walks over to the bed and takes a seat beside me. "It wasn't my fault!"

"Of course not."

"Be nice! I have broken bones and a tube in my brain!"

He narrows his eyes at me skeptically. "Nuh-uh. Is that _seriously_ what that thing up there is for?"

"I don't know. I'm kind of afraid to ask."

"Dude... that's nasty."

"Dude, _everything_ about me is nasty right now. I have tubes going in, tubes coming out, various bodily fluids accumulating in various bags-"

"Are you _trying_ to turn me on?" He teases with his usual, flirtatious smirk. "Seriously, though, all things considered, you're still gorgeous. In a... mummified Frankenstein's monster kind of way."

"Gee, thanks."

"Anytime." He reaches out and wraps his hand around mine tightly, and even though he doesn't say a word, it _feels_ entirely sincere. It's as though it communicates everything he might possibly say to me right now if he weren't too afraid to stop cracking jokes and let his guard down. "You kinda completely scared the shit outta everyone. You know that, right?"

"I know."  I tell him apologetically, even though we both know it really wasn't my fault. "It wasn't intentional."

"Never is with you." He notes with a faint smile. "You're a magnet for trouble."

"Must be why I can't get rid of you."

The small curl of his lips spreads into a wide grin as he laughs softly and nods in agreement. "Must be."

"I promise I'll try not to get hit by a car again anytime soon."

" _Ever_." He counters uncompromisingly.

"Deal."

His thumb grazes lightly back and forth over the backs of my fingers, and I almost want to tell him to stop because it's so soothing that it'll probably put me to sleep all over again. But I don't say a word, because I think he needs this. I get the feeling they all do. My parents and Tommy, even Zac, they all had to hold on to me in some way for the entire duration of their too-short visits. They didn't want to let go. _Couldn't_. And honestly, I didn't want them to let go, either. I've spent a day and a half in a series of crazy dreams where nothing made sense, and nothing felt right, and I didn't think I was ever going to escape. Even when the people I love made cameos, I couldn't talk to them or touch them most of the time.

Now that I'm awake and I have them all back, I don't want to be without them again.

"Are my parents still in the waiting room?" I ask him eventually, after we've sat (and laid) in comfortable silence for what will probably end up being the majority of his five minutes with me.

I can't _wait_ to get out of the ICU and be done with these stupid visitor restrictions!

"Yeah, I doubt they're going anywhere for a while."

"Good."

"Tommy left a little while ago, though." He smiles knowingly as soon as the obvious and unconcealed frown appears on my face. "He told the kids he'd be home to take them to school, he didn't wanna upset them. He'll be back in a couple of hours."

I don't know how to feel about this news. I guess it doesn't matter _too_ much, because it probably wouldn't have been his "turn" to see me for another few hours anyway. And the fact that he left because he wanted to keep his word to the kids is _definitely_ nothing to be sad about. In fact, it makes me feel something I've only gotten flashes and hints of before. Seeing him with them always makes my heart swell, seeing how naturally caring for them comes to him, no matter how unsure of his abilities he might be. And seeing how quickly they've come to trust him and accept his presence in their day-to-day lives. He just fits, and it feels more right to me than anything _ever_ has.

"You really got yourself a keeper there." Alex tells me, interrupting my introspection and leaving me staring at him in question. "You picked one of the good ones. And it doesn't hurt that he's nice to look at."

"Thanks." I chuckle bemusedly. "But I kinda already knew that."

"I kinda did, too. But he _really_ stepped up these last couple of days. I feel bad that I ever had any doubts. I mean, I know he loves you and everything, but he hasn't always done the best job of handling the deep and difficult stuff, you know? When it comes down to fight or flight, he tends to take off. I guess I kept waiting for him to get too overwhelmed by it all and throw his hands up, but he didn't."

"Yeah, well... things have been different lately."

"What do you mean?"

My shoulders shrug faintly as a wistful smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I can't help _but_ smile when I think of the shift I've felt in our relationship over the past few weeks. "I don't know how to explain it, exactly. Something just... changed. It was like we both kept freaking out over stupid stuff, we were so paranoid about things falling apart that we were totally on edge all the time."

"Preparing for the worst instead of hoping for the best?" He asks in amusement.

"Exactly."

"Yeah. He's been doing a lot of that since you got hurt. I told him it was pointless, but you know what he's like."

"That's just it, though. The fact that he was so afraid, and so sure everything was going to hell, and he _still_ stuck around... _that's_ the difference." I tell him, trying to put these changes I've been seeing and feeling into words. "Before, I was _so_ afraid of him leaving that, any time I thought he might even be considering it, I completely lost it. And whenever he got scared that he couldn't handle all the big relationship stuff, like living together and being a 'step-dad', he'd get all crazy and irrational... but lately I haven't been afraid of him leaving. I'm still afraid of losing him, I don't think I'll ever stop being terrified of that. But it's like I _know_ now that, if it happens, it won't be his choice. I know he's not gonna choose to leave. And I think he's starting to see that staying isn't so scary, and that he _can_ do this."

"Well, if he hasn't figured that out after all this, he never will." Chuckles Alex. "You shoulda seen how he talked to Pam yesterday-"

"Pam?" I ask uncertainly, noting the way his face immediately pales and takes on a decidedly 'uh-oh' expression. "Did she call?"

"Uh... no one mentioned her to you?" He questions warily, and I slowly shake my head with increasing trepidation. "Awesome."

"What's going on? She's not trying to take the kids 'cause I'm stuck in here, is she?"

"No. I mean, I don't think so. It's not like she's packing their bags or anything. She says she's just here to help-"

"Wait, she's _here_?!"

As soon as I try to push myself up further in the bed my entire body _screams_ at me. Every muscle tenses, it's as though I'm paralyzed by pain for a moment, I can't even breathe through it. All I can do is let myself fall back against the pillows as I grasp the sheets tightly and grit my teeth in an attempt to stop myself from crying out.

God _damnit_!

I _need_ to get the fuck out of here!

"Hey, it's okay." He assures me, already out of his seat and gently holding me down in case I stupidly try to get out of bed again. "Just relax."

"I can't relax." I snap breathlessly, still winded from merely trying to sit up forty-five degrees straighter that I already was! "She's with my kids, Alex! She's suing me for custody, and she's with my kids _right now_ , and I can't do _anything_ about it!"

"I know, but it's gonna be alright. Tommy's with them, and Jenna's there. And if it'll make you feel any better, I'll go back over there, too. We're all gonna make sure they're okay, I promise. Besides, I honestly don't think she's gonna try anything. She didn't come out here to take them away, she just thought they needed someone to take care of them."

"They _have_ people to take care of them."

"I know that, and you know that. And you know what? Maybe, after being here to see it for herself, _she'll_ know it, too."

I wish I could believe that. I wish it was that simple. But I really don't believe that anything she sees here is going to send her home with a change of heart. Tommy could take better care of them than anyone else _ever_ has, and all she'll see when she looks at him is the guy that her son-in-law cheated on her daughter with.

A _gay_ guy raising her grandkids.

I don't think anything either of us says or does it going to make that okay in her mind. _Ever_.

Not long after my mini-panic attack, a nurse comes into the room and politely asks Alex to head back to the waiting room. Well, I think she was _trying_ to be polite, but I don't think it'll ever feel anything but intrusive and insensitive. I try to understand and tell myself that it's their job, and that they have their reasons, but it doesn't make me feel much better to watch the people I love being shooed out of my hospital room. And I know it doesn't make them feel better to leave me.

Just as Alex promised, Tommy comes back to the hospital a couple of hours later, and I almost feel guilty for being happier to see him walking into the room come visiting time than I ever am when it's one of my parents. I'm so grateful to have them here, and right now is one of those times when I actually don't mind letting my mom fuss over and mother me the way she loves to do. And my dad pretty much always has a miraculously calming effect on me. At least, he did until recently. And now that things are getting better between us, that feeling is slowly returning. I just feel safe, like even if something goes wrong he'll know how to make it right. He always does.

But having Tommy here makes me feel that and more. I can't really put it into words, it's just... fullness. I see him and I breathe a sigh of relief, even if I wasn't all that worried or tense before he walked into the room. It's instant solace.

"Did the kids get to school okay?" I ask him as he takes his seat by my bed and automatically reaches for my hand. "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

"They were fine." He tells me with a reassuring squeeze of my fingers. "They're still bummed out about not being able to visit, and they didn't _want_ to go to school. But no kid in their right mind _wants_ to go to school."

I know he's trying to make me feel better, but I still feel terrible that they're going through this. And once again, I'm not there for them. No, it's not my fault. And yes, I'm only in here because I jumped in front of a car for one of them. But for some reason, that doesn't make me feel any less shitty about breaking my promise not to leave them again.

"They're okay." He insists gently, pulling me out of the staring match I was having with the cast on my leg. "They miss you, but they're okay."

"I guess I should just be grateful that I wasn't in a coma for a year or something." I sigh, doing my best to focus on how lucky I am and not on how much this all sucks. It really could have been _so_ much worse. "One day is nothing, really. And hopefully I'm only gonna be stuck here for a couple of weeks at most, right? So I won't miss much."

He starts to nod in agreement, but then I notice something in his eyes. It's not that they widen, exactly, but I still get the same feeling from the look in them that I would've gotten if his face had just taken on a blatant "oh crap" expression. And suddenly that sense of solace he brings to me is shattered, and I feel panic begin to replace it.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask anxiously. "You look like you just remembered that you left Asta out in the car or something."

"No, it's nothing like that." He smiles faintly in an attempt to settle my nerves, but there's something sad about it that does nothing to ease my concerns. "It's just... something happened yesterday. I forgot about it until now 'cause of everything else that's been going on."

"What happened? Are they okay?"

"Yeah, they're _honestly_ totally fine. It's not a bad thing, really. I mean, it's an _awesome_ thing, but..."

"But?" I frown, wondering why he seems so melancholy about something that's apparently so awesome.

Rather than answering me verbally, he reaches somewhat reluctantly into his pocket and pulls out his phone. I watch him closely as he taps the screen a couple of times to pull up whatever it is that he has to show me, and then he heaves a deep sigh as he gets out of his chair and shifts even closer to me. When he holds the phone out for me to take, my first instinct is to refuse it. I have no idea what this is about, but his demeanor has me more than a little nervous, and I don't know how much more I can handle right now. After a moment or two  my curiosity gets the better of me, though, so I carefully take it out of his hand and allow him to reach over and press play on the video he's cued up.

The footage is shaky at first, it takes a second for me to figure out where it was filmed. I think my heart stops when I realize it's Asta's nursery, and deep down I know what I'm about to see on this screen before the camera even focuses on my baby girl.

" _Okay, Asta._ " Comes Tommy's apprehensive voice. " _Let's do this thing._ "

The fingers of the hand not holding the phone curl in the bed sheets in anticipation as I watch her little foot shuffle forward a few inches, and my breath catches in my throat when she wobbles precariously. But instead of falling over, she finds her balance long enough to take one more tiny step before inevitably plopping down onto her bottom on the hardwood floor of her bedroom.

" _You did it!_ " Tommy tells her, his voice tinged with laughter and amazement " _You did **so** awesome!_ "

Part of me wants to drop the phone into my lap and just bawl. But the video continues playing, so I'm powerless to do anything but watch. Watch my little girl determinedly push herself up off of the ground, patiently waiting for her balance to catch up before she takes another brave step. And then another. And _another_.

I can feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, and somehow I can feel Tommy's eyes glued to me just like my own are glued to the screen. The camera shakes as Asta topples forward, and I assume Tommy must have caught her because suddenly all I can see is the wall, and then the ceiling, and it's obvious he wasn't paying attention to what he was filming anymore.

" _Dada!_ " Chirps Asta excitedly.

And I _break_.

I practically force the phone back into the hand that Tommy was cradling my own with while I watched the video, struggling to stop myself from crying because crying hurts like _hell_. But if it's possible, this hurts more. And at the same time, it feels amazing. My baby girl took her first steps. That's _incredible_. And Tommy was there to see it, and she called him "Dada", and those are two of the best things I've heard since I woke up. Since _before_ that, even.

But I missed it.

I wasn't there to share it with her _or_ with him. I didn't know I could miss _so_ much  by being unconscious for one god damn day! And suddenly two weeks in this hospital doesn't seem so manageable at all, it feels like a prison sentence. I already missed a major milestone in my child's life, I don't want to think about what else I could miss before they let me go home! And even when I do go home, am I going to be bedridden for weeks? Or wheelchair bound? Asta is going to be walking, and I'm not going to be able to keep up with her! I'm not going to be able to drive my kids to school, or cook them dinner, or swim in the pool with them...

 _Fuck_.

Viggo's birthday is in less than two weeks! Am I even going to be _there_ for it?!

I can't breathe.

I need to get out of  here right now! I need to be with my children right _now_!

"Taylor, _stop_!" I hear Tommy command me fearfully, reaching out and grabbing at my hand. It's only then that I realize that I've thrown off my sheets and pulled my IV out. "Shit, what did you do?"

I don't know.

I don't know what I did or where I thought I was going to go in this state; I can't even fucking stand up on my own. But apparently that wasn't an issue for me, it wasn't going to stop me from getting out of bed and going home to my family. The reality of the situation begins to sink in all over again, along with the physical and emotional _agony_ , and all I can do is collapse against my pillows and _sob_.

Tommy frantically fumbles for the call button to get a nurse in here to fix whatever damage I just did to myself, but I kinda want to tell him not to. I don't want them coming in here and forcing him out. I just want them to leave us alone. I resent being tethered to this place by a bunch of tubes and wires, even though rationally I know how necessary they all are.

Rational is not something I'm capable of being at the moment.

"I want to go home. I _need_ to." I choke out helplessly as Tommy gently takes my face in his hands and soothingly wipes the tears from my cheeks. "I promised I wouldn't leave them, Tommy. I _promised_!"

"I know." He commiserates, his own voice heavy with emotion. "I know you did."

I feel his lips against my forehead, and they linger there even after he's kissed me. I can tell he's afraid of holding me too closely, or too tightly, nervous about pulling another wire out or hurting me somehow. But not so afraid that he's going to keep his distance when he can tell I'm in pain. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath, letting his murmured words and gentle touches slowly bring me back from the brink of a total meltdown. When the nurse hurries into the room, I'm vaguely aware of her presence. I'm also vaguely aware of her telling Tommy it would be best if he returned to the waiting room.

And I'm entirely aware of his firm and forthright response.

"Do what you gotta do. I'm staying."


	82. Chapter 82

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY!CHAPTER!!! 
> 
> I know Taylor is awake now, but I didn't feel right ditching Tommy's POV entirely after everything we just went through with him. He still has a lot of FEELINGS. lol I'll be switching back and forth between the two of them every couple of chapters for a little while. Just giving you warning!

  


 

 

I thought I'd feel different when he woke up. I figured I wouldn't be so useless anymore, you know? I wouldn't be sitting next to his unresponsive body for five minutes an hour, unable to make any difference or change what he was going through.

But even though he's awake, and by some miracle he seems to still be himself, _I'm_ still useless. I _still_ can't make a difference or change what he's going through.

I can't make this stupid hospital change it's stupid rules so that his kids can visit him, and I can't make his doctors change their minds about keeping him in the ICU. I get that there's a reason for all of it, but when I'm watching him rip his IV out and almost fall the fuck out of bed trying to escape, it's hard to remember that this is all (apparently) for his own good. He's in pain, and I'm not even sure if his physical pain is worse than his emotional pain at this point. He feels helpless, and miserable, and guilty. And there's nothing that he, or I, or anyone else can do about it. I've tried telling him that he shouldn't be so hard on himself, and that his kids understand that he didn't mean to break his promise to them. But I don't think he's capable of really hearing that right now. He nods like he's accepting it, but I can see from the empty look in his eyes that it hasn't made a damn bit of difference.

After his break down over the video of Asta taking her first steps, I was even less okay about obeying the dumb ICU rules than usual. When the nurse came to put his IV back in, I told her I wasn't going anywhere. I guess she could tell that I meant it, because other than scowling at me, she didn't make a stink about me staying. She just went right to work replacing Taylor's IV. I tried not to watch what she was doing, but it was kinda like a car wreck. Morbid curiosity or whatever. It's funny how squeamish I am whenever it comes to seeing Taylor hurt at all. I mean, I can watch people getting hacked into pieces in movies and not give a shit, but watching a nurse stick a needle into his arm made me queasy. He barely even flinched, he didn't seem to care, but I felt myself cringe and grip his hand a little more tightly.

I think it soothed _me_ more than him, honestly.

He passed out again pretty soon after she left the room, and even though I didn't want to let go, I knew I should probably let him rest and give his family a chance to be with him, too.

I hate coming back out into this waiting room, everything is so weird and awkward. It was bad enough last night, when everyone was actually trying to be civil to me. Then I had to go and fuck everything up by disappearing like a jerk, and now I can just _tell_ that they don't trust me. They think I'm some selfish, irresponsible asshole who isn't gonna be there for Taylor when he needs me. And maybe they're right about the first part, but they're _completely_ wrong about that last part. Yeah, I screwed up. I freaked out, and I ran away. But I came back!

That's gotta count for something, right?

Part of me just wants to go back to the house again, even though I was there only an hour ago. I know it would make Viggo feel better, and it'd make _me_ feel better to know that Pam isn't basically alone with the kids. I mean, I know Jenna's there, and she's great and everything, but she and Pam actually get along. And I'm honestly not convinced that she'd know how to stop her if Pam announced that she was gonna take Asta and Viggo out of the house. I probably shouldn't be so opposed to her taking them to the park or whatever if she wants to, but I _am_.

I'm opposed to her in general.

"How's he doing?" Asks Alex as I rejoin them all in the little corner of the waiting room that they've claimed in the name of the Hanson clan for today. "Still groggy?"

"Yeah, kinda. I think the pain meds are making it worse, but..."

He nods understandingly. "Necessary evil."

"Yeah."

"You were in there for a while." Zac notes, almost as though he wants me to reveal my secret to getting longer visitation (but he's not willing to flat out ask for it). "Didn't anyone come by?"

"A nurse came in." I shrug, taking a seat beside Alex. "Taylor kinda... pulled his IV out."

"What?" Frowns Diana, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. "What happened? Was it not in properly?"

"It wasn't an accident, he _pulled_ it out."

Walker frowns in concern. "On purpose?"

"He was upset about not being with his kids, I don't think he really knew what he was doing." I sigh, slumping in my chair as that feeling of futility settles over me again like a giant fucking cloud. "I hope they get him out of this place soon, before it drives him crazy."

"He's only been awake for a few hours." Diana notes anxiously. "They shouldn't rush anything. If he's not ready to be moved, I'd rather they keep him here."

"I know, and I don't want them moving him until he's really ready, either. I just... wish I could help him."

I happen to catch Walker's eye for a second or two before my gaze drops to my hands, and I _think_ the look on his face is one of empathy and understanding. Maybe even appreciation. I don't know whether to feel good that he might actually believe I care about his kid, or to snap "well _duh_!" at him, because _of_ course I fucking care.

The latter probably won't help my case much.

While we sit in mopey silence together, and I rack my brain trying to think of something I can do for Taylor to cheer him up, I notice a repetitive movement out of the corner of my eye. At first it's just irritating, but as I open my mouth to ask Zac to _please_ stop throwing his fucking phone back and forth between his hands, an idea finally strikes me.

"FaceTime!" I announce abruptly, clearly surprising (and confusing) everyone present. "He can FaceTime with the kids on his phone."

Zac is already shaking his head. Of course. "The WIFI in this part of the hospital sucks. I tried to FaceTime with _my_ kids yesterday and I had to go all the way down to the lobby."

"Well..." Fuck. "He could still call them, right? That's something."

"And you could always have him record a video message for them, and vice versa." Shrugs Alex, offering me an encouraging smile. "That way they'd at least get to see each other, even if it's not real time."

"That's not a bad idea!" Walker agrees enthusiastically. "I think the kids would like that."

"Okay, so... I guess we can have him record something now, and then I can go pick the kids up from school later, and show it to them, and have them record one for him?" I suggest, glancing around at everyone to make sure that no one has a problem with the plan.

Not that it really matters if they do. I don't need their permission.

"And then perhaps he can call them to say goodnight before they go to bed?" Diana adds, smiling at me in a way I'm not sure she ever has. "Walker and I can go by the house and have dinner with them, and make sure they're all still awake when he calls."

"That works." I nod gratefully.

I just hope it actually _does_ work, and that it makes him feel better and not worse somehow.

The next few hours pass _w_ aytoo slowly.  For the most part, everyone is in their own little world. Walker and Diana talk between themselves so quietly that nothing they say is intelligible to me. Sometimes they include Zac in their conversations, but he spends the majority of his time texting back and forth with someone. I'm guessing it's his wife, and I can't help wondering how it's going. But I refuse to actually _ask_ him, because that would be too much like showing an interest. I'm _not_ interested.

Just before noon, Alex offers to go and pick up lunch for everyone, and I very eagerly offer to assist him. I'd do just about _anything_ to get out of here, even just for a few minutes. But he's a jerk, and he practically pushes me back into my seat and insists that he can handle it.

I hate him.

Almost as soon as he leaves the waiting room, Zac heads off towards Taylor's room to take his turn visiting. I know it's only fair that everyone gets the chance to spend time with him, but I still resent having to share. At least I know I'm going to get to see him at some point within the next two hours, because I have to leave to pick the kids up from school and we haven't made the video yet. Walker mentioned the whole thing to him during his last visit and he said Taylor seemed really excited about it, so at least I know he's into the idea.

Speaking of Walker, when I look up from playing Plants vs. Zombies on my phone I find that he's not even here anymore. Which means that I'm alone with Taylor's mom. And, of course, as soon as that thought crosses my mind I can't help but look over at her. And, of course, she's already looking at me, and goddamnit now I'm gonna look like a total shithead if I just ignore her and go back to playing my stupid game.

_Fuck._

I know I have to say something, I can _feel_ the expectation lingering in the air. But _what_? What the hell do you say to your boyfriend's mom, who probably hates your guts, while you sit awkwardly together in an ICU waiting room?

I swear, if I open my mouth and something totally dumbassy like "how's it going?" comes out, I'm gonna throw myself off of the roof.

"You okay?" I hear myself ask her.

"I'm... better than I was yesterday." She smiles wearily. "He's awake, I'm just trying to focus on that for now."

"Yeah."

"How about you?" She asks, her small smile fading even further, her question sounding a little more critical than concerned. Then again, maybe that's just my guilty conscience. "Are you doing better now?"

Her real question is "are you done running away like a little pussy and leaving my son asking for you for hours on end while you drink yourself unconscious like a total jackass?" And the answer is...

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"We were worried about you before."

No they weren't, they were pissed at me. There's a difference. "Sorry... I just... needed a break."

She frowns slightly, as though she doesn't understand how anyone could take a break at a time like this, no matter how badly they might need one. "I know the past couple of days have been difficult, and you've obviously had a lot to deal with, taking care of the children at a time like this. But Taylor needs you-"

"I know." I cut her off quickly. "I know he does, and he has me. I'm right here."

"You weren't before. No one knew _where_ you were."

"I was stupid, I know that, but... there was a lot going on, okay? I handled things badly, and I let him down. I'm sure _you_ can understand that." Damnnit, Tommy! _Why_ are you trying to antagonize her?! "I mean-"

"I know what you meant." She tells me, her face unreadable for the longest time. But eventually, she sighs and shakes her head sadly, and I get the feeling that she's actually more upset at herself than she is at me. "And you're right. We've handled things badly, to say the least. We hurt Taylor, and maybe we even hurt you, too. And I'm truly sorry for that. You must think we're terrible people, terrible _parents_ , but we're not."

"I know." I assure her sincerely, offering her a small smile. "I get that it was totally out of the blue for you guys, and you're all into God or whatever, and you think being gay is wrong and everything."

"Taylor tells me that your family is Christian, too?"

"Catholic." I elaborate, unable to keep a distinct note of disdain out of my voice as I say the word. "For the most part."

She nods slowly, trying to piece this information together. Probably in an attempt to figure out who the hell it is her son has fallen for. "But _you_ don't believe in God?"

"Nope. It never made enough sense to me. I had way too many questions and no one had enough answers."

"I see."

Was that insulting? It wasn't meant to be. "I mean... more power to anyone who can just put their faith in something _without_ question, but that's not how I work."

"So you've never believed that homosexuality is wrong?" She asks carefully. Usually a question like that would set me off on a rant, but she sounds so genuinely curious that it actually doesn't annoy me _too_ much.

"I never believed it was wrong to be who you are or to love another person, no matter who _they_ are. As long as you're not hurting anyone else, I don't get why the rest of the world thinks they need to have a say in it."

"Some people believe that God wants them to try to steer others away from sin, when possible. I was raised to believe that standing by and watching another person turn from God, without trying to help them find their way back, is equal to the sin that person is committing."

I'm not surprised. I've had _plenty_ of people try to 'steer' me back to God. All they ever succeeded in doing is driving me further and further away. "Do you still believe that?"

"To an extent..." She replies, obviously struggling with whatever it is she's feeling. "I think we have an obligation to help others in any way we can, and I do believe sometimes that includes guiding them back to God when they're lost. But I don't claim to know what it is God wants for every last soul on this Earth, or how he plans for us to get where he wants us to go. All I _know_ is that... I love my son. And he swears to me that he _can't_ be happy living the life that our religion says he should lead. I can't force him to do something that would cause him pain of any kind, that feels wrong to _me_ on a fundamental level.  I want him to be happy, and he says that he's happy with you. I have to believe that, for whatever reason, this is what God has planned for him. So I'm trying _very_ hard to find a way to make peace with who he is and who he chooses to love."

"He didn't choose to love me."

"No?" She frowns in confusion.

"The only choice he ever made was to pretend to be someone he wasn't. I mean, yeah, eventually he chose to _stop_ pretending... but saying he chose to be gay is like saying that _you_ chose to be straight, you know? You didn't, you just _are_. You fell in love with someone who happened to be a guy, and... so did Taylor. It wasn't like it was a conscious choice on your part, and it wasn't on his, either. If it was a choice, he never would have chosen this. He would have chosen to be the person you wanted him to be, the person he spent his whole life _trying_ to be. But... he couldn't."

I wasn't really expecting her to give much thought to what I'd said, 'cause I wasn't expecting it to be anything she hadn't already heard. But either no one has phrased it that way before, or she's feeling more open-minded than usual today (or maybe she's just too tired to be judgmental), because she really seems to be taking me seriously.

Eventually, she looks up at me again, and the soft smile on her face feels a lot more genuine than before. "This is probably going to sound incredibly condescending, not to mention incredibly rude, but I have to admit... you're much smarter than I thought."

"You're right." I laugh softly, unable to decide how to take that comment, and too drained to care. "That _was_ totally condescending."

"And rude."

I shrug indifferently. "I'm rude."

"Well then, we have something in common."

"Oh?" Asks Walker, his eyebrow raised in curiosity as he reappears beside Diana and takes a seat. "And what's that?"

She pats him on the arm reassuringly before pecking him on the cheek. "Nothing, honey."

"You had to be there." I add, leaving him even more baffled than before.

When it's finally my turn to see Taylor again, and I walk into his hospital room, he's asleep. It's still a little disturbing to come in here and see him unconscious. If it wasn't for the fact that the breathing tube is gone now, I'd wonder if everything that's happened today was just a dream. After taking a couple of seconds to breathe and remind myself that he's okay, I quietly approach his bed and take his hand gently in mine. He stirs a little as I lace our fingers, and when I lean in and place a soft kiss to his lower lip, he makes a faint "mmm" noise and slowly opens his eyes.

"Hey." He smiles, tugging on my hand to silently demand another kiss.

"Hey yourself." I murmur as I gladly lean in to him again. "Sorry I woke you up."

"Don't be. Honestly, I'm kinda worried that I'm not gonna be able to sleep _at all_ tonight if I don't stop falling asleep now." He sighs. "Not that it matters, I guess. I mean, it's not like I even know what time it is right now, anyway."

"It's time for your close up." I try to smile in an attempt to lift his spirits a little. And when I take my phone out of my pocket and hold it up for him to see, he smiles back. "You still wanna do this?"

"Yeah, I guess. But..."

"But?"

Whatever it is that's making him unsure of himself, it's obvious he's embarrassed to admit it out loud. But he's going to have to, 'cause I'm not a fucking mind reader.

"Do I... look okay?" He eventually asks, unable to look me in the eyes. "I mean, _honestly_? I still have no clue how bad it is."

"You look fine."

"Tommy-"

"I mean it." I insist sincerely, squeezing his hand like that's gonna prove it to him somehow. "Yeah, you're a little beat up, but it's nothing permanent. In a couple of weeks, you probably won't even be able to see most of it anymore."

"But the kids won't know that. I don't wanna upset them."

"I'll explain it to them before I let them watch, okay?"

He stares at my phone thoughtfully for another moment or two before taking a deep breath and nodding in agreement. "Okay, just... try not to film any of the machines or the bandages and stuff. I know it's kinda hard to avoid it, but-"

"I'll zoom right in until your face fills the _whole_ screen if I have to."

"God, _please_ don't." He chuckles quietly, but I notice that he instantly cringes and clenches his jaw.

I really _hate_ that it hurts him to laugh.

I love making him laugh. I love the sound of it, I love the way he smiles and the way his eyes actually fucking _light up_ when he's happy. And now that light is constantly being chased away by pain. I know it's only temporary, just like the cuts and bruises on his face and the bandages and casts on his body. But that doesn't make it any easier to see him suffer every time I tease him. I don't want to hurt him, but I don't know how to stop myself from trying to make him laugh or smile. It feels totally unnatural.

He watches me somewhat anxiously as I perch carefully on the edge of his bed and turn my phone on. Once I've navigated my way to the video app, I hold it up and glance at him over the top of the screen.

"Just let me know when you're ready, and I'll start."

"I don't know what to say." He admits almost sadly. "I mean... what do I tell them?"

I shrug one shoulder, wishing I had any idea what to suggest. "I guess just... pretend you're on tour or whatever, you know? Talk to them like you would if you were on Skype or something."

"Right."

"Ready?"

"I think so..."

I hold the phone up, trying to keep is steady and make sure that there are no obvious pieces of medical equipment in the shot. It's impossible to avoid filming the dressing around his head without cutting out everything above his forehead, which would just look awkward. But at least I manage not to film the drain thing protruding _from_ the bandages. Honestly, I think my mind actually makes a conscious effort not to acknowledge its existence whenever I'm in here, it's like I don't even see it. I don't _want_ to.

"Okay." I nod to let him know I've hit the record button, and he takes a deep breath before forcing a wide smile.

"Hey, guys. Um..." He falters, and my finger hovers over the flashing red dot on the screen because I'm half expecting him to quit and tell me to start over. But I should've known better; he doesn't quit. "I know the last couple of days have _really_ sucked, and I miss you all so, _so_ much. But I want you to know that I'm okay. I'm trying _really_ hard to get better as fast as I can, and I think the doctors might let me move to a different part of the hospital soon so you can come and see me. I can't wait to see you and give you a _huge_ hug..."

His voice wavers slightly, and even though it's not so noticeable on screen, I can see tears welling in his eyes as he swallows hard and tries to compose himself. It leaves _me_ fighting back tears of my own to know how badly he misses them, and how long it's going to be before he can really be with them and do all of the things he wants to do for them.

"I'm _so_ sorry I broke my promise. I know I said I wasn't gonna leave again, and if I could come home _right_ now, I would. I love you guys more than _anything_ , I hope you know that." The tears in his eyes begin to roll down his cheek. But he keeps talking, so I keep filming. "I need you guys to take care of each other. And I want you to be good for Jenna and Tommy, okay? And... Nana Pam. They all love  you, too, and they're gonna take good care of you until I come home. Everything will be okay, I _promise_. I'll _make_ it okay. We're gonna be fine..."

I can tell he's losing any kind of grasp he ever had on his emotions, and as soon as he's done uttering a broken "I'll see you soon", I stop recording and set the phone down at the foot of the bed. When I carefully wrap my arms around him, he buries his face in my shirt and reaches up to grasp my arm so fucking tightly that I have to bite my lip to suppress a sound of discomfort. But no matter how much his grip hurts me, I know that whatever he must be feeling in order to hold onto me this way must be _so_ much worse.

"I can't do this." He chokes out, struggling to breathe through the pain. "I _can't_."

"Yes you can."

"I haven't even been awake for a whole fucking _day_ yet and I'm already dying to get the hell out of here!"

"You will." I reassure him. "You're gonna be fine, but you need to give it time."

"Tommy-"

"I know it sucks, and I know it feels impossible right now, but ... you're _alive_. You're alive, and you're _you_ , and that's _all_ that fucking matters, okay?"

He tries to take a deep breath, to calm down, and even though I hear him whimper as a result of how much it hurts him to do so, I also feel him nod against my chest. "Okay."

"We're gonna get through this. In a few months, it's gonna be like it never even happened."

That's a lie.

Even if he's completely healed physically in a few months, I doubt either of us will ever forget these past few days. For better or worse, they'll stay with us forever. Hell, who knows, maybe it really _is_ for better. I never would've thought something like this could lead to anything good, but maybe I was wrong. It sure as hell wouldn't be the first time.

"I love you." He tells me, his voice still so weak that he barely sounds like himself. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You're not gonna get the chance to find out."

His fingers close around my bicep, holding on so tightly that I'd swear he doesn't believe a word of what I've just said. It's like he thinks he risks losing me if he lets go.

But he doesn't.

"I wanna marry you."

I feel him _freeze_ in my arms, too stunned to so much as breathe. And he's not alone; I'm holding my breath, too. I don't know if it's because I just surprised myself, or if I'm afraid of how he's going to react. It wasn't something I planned on doing, but it's not necessarily something I _regret_ doing... I don't think.

I don't know, it just came out!

But... it was what I wanted, right? I mean, when he was in that damn coma, and I was blubbering to Alex about how badly I'd fucked everything up, and how I'd missed my chance, I told him I should've said yes when Taylor asked me to marry him. I _said_ it was what I wanted.

It _is_ what I want. I want him. I want this, _us_ , for the rest of my life.

"Did... did you just say...?"

"Yeah... I did." I nod as confidently as I can, even though he's not looking at me to see it. "So... I mean... like... will you?"

He slowly pulls back, gazing up at me in confusion, searching my eyes uncertainly, disbelievingly...

And then he shakes his head.

"No."


	83. Chapter 83

  


 

 

 

No?

 _Seriously_?!

"What the fuck?" This probably isn't the mature way to handle rejection, but fuck that! This is how it's being handled! "What do you mean ' _no_ '?"

He sighs tiredly, sadly, carefully settling back against his pillows as I stand up from the bed. "Tommy-"

" _You_ asked me to marry you, remember?"

"Vividly. And _you_ said no, remember?"

"So this is some kind of pay back?" I ask in offense, even though rationally I _know_ he wouldn't turn me down like this just to make a point or get back at me. "I don't get it. I thought you wanted this."

"I want to be with you." He insists wholeheartedly, reaching for my hand. And I resist the urge to spitefully yank it out of his grasp. "And I _do_ want to marry you. But I don't want it to be like this."

"Like what?"

" _This_." He gestures weakly to our surroundings with his free hand. "I don't want you asking me something like that while I'm in here. And I definitely don't want you doing it for the wrong reason."

"Who says I am? I love you-"

"Yeah, and that was true a month ago, wasn't it? But you still said no when I asked you."

"Because I was a total dumbass!" I exclaim, desperately wishing I could go back in time and punch month-ago-me in the fucking face for screwing this whole thing up by being too afraid to admit what I really wanted.

"No, you were right."

"I wasn't!"

"You _were_. You said we had no reason to rush, and that was true. It still is."

Is he fucking kidding?! "How the hell can you _say_ that after the last couple of days? You almost fucking _died_ -"

"And being engaged to you, or even married to you, wouldn't have changed that. And it won't change anything that's going to happen to us from now on, either." He reasons calmly, patiently, giving my hand a gentle squeeze that practically screams 'you _know_ I'm right'. But he's not! "Admit it, if this hadn't happened, you wouldn't be asking me to marry you right now. You're not asking me because you're ready and you feel like it's the right time for us-"

"I-"

"You're asking me because some part of you is desperately trying to find a way to hold on to me. And I _get_ that, Tommy. I _completely_ understand that feeling, because I've felt that way about you for as long as I can remember. But you were right when you said that us getting married isn't going to make that feeling go away. It's not gonna make the possibility of us losing each other go away, and it's not going to make it any less scary, either."

I want to argue with him, but aside from the fact that he's actually making valid points (and using my own words to fucking do it!), I know nothing I say is going to convince him that this isn't just some impulsive attempt on my part to feel more secure in our relationship. And maybe he's right. Maybe it is partly that. I accused him of trying to cram our entire future into our first few months together, and now I'm doing the same thing. He was afraid of me leaving, he was trying to keep me, and I'm trying to do the same thing to him.

The difference is, he was worried about me _choosing_ to leave him. And I've been trying to be less of an immature fuck up lately so that he has no reason to think that's gonna happen. But I'm not afraid of him walking away from me. I'm afraid of him being taken from me. Whether it's by an accident, or an illness... I'm completely fucking _terrified_ that he'll be snatched away somehow.

And there's _nothing_ that he, or I, or anyone can do to quell those fears.

Especially not after everything that's just happened.

"Whatever." I mumble glumly, allowing him to pull me back down onto the edge of the bed. "I still wanna marry you."

"Okay." He smiles faintly, treading his fingers between mine. "Then ask me again sometime. Preferably when I'm fully functional and I can properly commemorate the occasion with you afterwards."

Fuck him for saying shit like that.

How can I _not_ smile now? "You're _so_ fucking on."

We say our goodbyes, which shouldn't be so difficult when we both know that I'll be back later this evening. It doesn't matter how long I've been here or how soon I'll be back, though, it still feels wrong leaving him, even if it is for all the right reasons. But at least when I come back I'll have a video of his kids to cheer him up.

I head back to the waiting room to tell everyone else that I'm leaving, 'cause lord knows I don't wanna be accused of disappearing again. Alex starts to volunteer to come back to the house with me, but Walker and Diana seem to have other ideas. _They_ want to come back to the house with me instead. And by "with me", I do mean in _my_ car.

Which means I'll have to be alone with them the whole way there.

 _And_ I'm gonna have to try to drive like I actually deserve to have a license!

I'm honestly not sure which is gonna be more of a challenge for me.

It doesn't end up being so horrible, I guess. The walk from the hospital to the car is the worst part. No one says anything, so I start trying to break the awkward silence by complaining about how far away I had to park because of the stupid hospital parking lot time limits. They sympathize, kind of, but that topic is pretty much dead on arrival. I forget that I left my music _blaring_ when I turned the engine off this morning. Music is my therapy, and sometimes having it cranked up as high as it will go helps to drown _everything_ else out. It makes me feel free.

But I get the feeling it made them feel like their ears were bleeding in the two seconds it took me to fumble with the volume knob and turn the damn stereo off. I apologized, and they forced smiles and tried to pretend that they hadn't just heard some incredibly angry guy screaming obscenities at them through the speakers. And _I_ tried to resist the urge to assure them that I _don't_ listen to that kind of stuff when I'm with their grandkids.

After a couple of miles, Diana started asking me where I live, and where I grew up, and about my parents and stuff, and that helped beat the uncomfortable quiet for most of the rest of the drive. At first it was still strained, but at least it didn't feel like I was being interrogated, or that they were just looking for something to disapprove of. They both seemed genuinely interested in my upbringing, and my family and how I ended up working for Adam. It was like they actually wanted to get to know me better. Diana even made some comment about potentially meeting my mom at some point while they're in town, but I managed to avoid committing to anything. It's not that I'm against all of the "in-laws" having dinner or whatever, but I'm in no hurry to set it up _or_ attend.

At least not until Taylor is out of the hospital and capable of partaking, 'cause no way in _hell_ am I taking that bullet alone!

They both seem pretty blown away by the house, even just seeing it from the outside. I guess they weren't on good enough terms with Taylor to have seen pictures or anything yet, and they need a moment to stand in the drive way and take it all in before following me over to the front door. As soon as I take out my keys and start to unlock it, Walker (somewhat) casually asks if I live here, too, or if I just have my own key. I offer him a small smile over my shoulder as I simply reply "half and half". And even as the words leave my mouth I realize that, now more than ever, I want that to change.

I don't just want to "half" live here anymore.

This _is_ my home.

Coming here feels more like coming home than going back to the apartment I share with Mike, or even going to my mom's. Everything about it is familiar now, in the most comforting way imaginable. A way I never even really knew was possible. I know exactly what I'm going to see when I walk in the door. And I know I'm probably going to hear the sound of cartoons or a superhero movie coming from the family room, and I'll either hear squeals of excitement or petty bickering, depending on how nicely the kids are playing together at the time. I'll breathe in and I'll smell the cinnamon apple air freshener that's plugged in behind the hall table, and fabric softener if someone's just done laundry (which, in this house, is pretty much an hourly occurrence). And when Taylor is here, if it's the right time of day, there'll be some drool inducing smell coming from the kitchen, or wafting indoors from the grill out on the patio.

Even if I wasn't already hungry at all when I opened the door, my stomach always starts growling at me, demanding that I seek out and devour whatever it is that he's cooking!

Viggo's like a dog with hyper-sensitive hearing, and I haven't even had chance to close the door behind us before he comes bounding into the foyer, repeatedly calling out my name. That is, until he sees his grandparents. He comes to a sudden stop, and I swear his eyes are so fucking wide they're about to fall out of his head. Then he gasps and charges at them, somehow managing to wrap one arm around Diana's left leg and one arm around Walker's right, almost sending them both stumbling to the ground. Jenna's not far behind, hurrying to see what all the commotion is about, and while they're all busy enjoying their surprise reunion, I slip away to find the keys to the minivan and check in on Asta.

That turns out to be a mistake, because Pam is already in the nursery with her. I really wish she'd just go home. I don't care if she only just got here, Taylor's awake now and the rest of us have everything under control. All she's doing at this point is pissing me off, and that's no help to anyone.

"Yes?" She asks impatiently, like I need to have an excuse for coming in here.

"Just wanted to see how Asta's doing before I go pick the others up." I tell her, trying my hardest not to glare at her.

Not that she's putting much effort into _not_ scowling at me. "She's fine. She just woke up from her nap."

"Okay."

Asta looks up from the blocks she's playing with on the rug in the middle of the room, and when her eyes land on me she grins. She holds up one of her toys (though whether she's offering it to me or merely showing it to me is anyone's guess), and despite how annoyed I am at her grandma, I can't keep myself from smiling right back. Asta takes that as her cue to abandon her block tower entirely and begin crawling towards me, but she's barely made it a few feet before Pam quickly scoops her up off of the floor.

"You should probably get going or you'll be late."

Bitch. "I'll be back in a little while."

If I wasn't so concerned with trying to keep some small semblance of peace, and avoid giving her any more perceived ammo for this bullshit custody case, I'd go in there and take Asta from her. But I don't wanna start something, especially not with Walker and Diana in the house. It's not worth it, and it's not gonna make anything any better for anyone.

But I _am_ taking Viggo with me, 'cause there's no fucking point in leaving him here and letting him get all worked up like he did before.

The kids are in much better moods than they were when I picked them up yesterday. Probably because I sent them off to school this morning with the news that their dad is doing a lot better than before. And hopefully the video message from him, and the planned phone call before bed tonight, will help to lift their spirits even more.

I've barely even opened the car door to let his siblings in when Viggo announces to them all that their grandparents are at the house. River seems exited about seeing them, but Penny seems a little anxious about the news, like she thinks _more_ family members showing up unexpectedly must mean that Taylor is getting worse or something. But I promise her he's still doing well, and that he sent something for me to show them, and she perks right up again.

Ezra, on the other hand, is still basically unresponsive to anything anyone says, good or bad. It's not like he doesn't care, I _know_ he does... I kinda get the feeling he's not even really hearing half of what's going on around him. He's present in body only, his mind is completely elsewhere. And I wouldn't be surprised if some part of him is afraid. Afraid that he'll get blamed if anyone finds out what really happened, why Taylor got hit by a car. Maybe even afraid that Taylor will be the one who blames him. I keep telling him that it's not his fault, but I'm pretty sure he feels too guilty to believe me.

Like father, like son.

By the time we get back to the house, River, Penny and Viggo are practically hanging off of me, demanding to see what it is that their dad sent them, or at least be _told_ what it is. But I don't want to tell them about it in the driveway! I think it's the kind of thing you should be sitting down and focusing all of your attention on. Besides, I have to explain a few things to them first so that they're not too freaked out by how he looks to hear anything he's saying to them.

"What's going on?" Asks Pam as I walk into the family room with the kids all following close behind, chattering excitedly over one another and trying to guess what their surprise is.

"Nothing." I reply dismissively, because it's none of her damn business.

When the kids see Walker and Diana sitting on the couch and playing with Asta, they momentarily forget about me and dive on their grandparents instead. While they're distracted, I take my phone out of my pocket and double check that the video is still saved to my camera roll (and that it actually works). 

Unfortunately, Pam manages to catch a glimpse of it over my shoulder before I can turn the screen off.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Was that Taylor?"

I wish it was okay to punch old ladies.

Hearing someone say their dad's name, all four of the kids turn to look at us expectantly. And, being the overly observant little monsters they are, they immediately notice the phone in my hands (and probably notice their idiot grandmother staring at it), and start jumping to conclusions.

"Is daddy on the phone?" Ask Penny hopefully, scrambling off of the couch and hurrying back over to me. "Can I talk to him?!"

"It's not him." I tell her apologetically. "But he is gonna call you guys later to say goodnight, okay?"

River gasps with delight. "We get to talk to him? For _real_?"

"Yup."

God, it feels good to see them all _really_ smiling. It feels like it's been weeks since they were this happy. I never would've guessed that it could hurt so much to know that _they_ were hurting. I mean, I knew I cared about them, but I guess I didn't realize that their emotions could impact mine _so_ much. All I want to do is keep those smiles on their faces indefinitely.

"And that's not all." I interrupt their cheering and excited shouting, their enthusiasm rubbing off on me. "He made you a video-"

"You can't show them that!" Pam cuts me off indignantly.

"Um... yeah, I can." I snap back in annoyance. "No one asked you."

"Kids, why don't you go and play in your rooms?" Walker suggests, forcing a smile as he lifts Viggo off of his lap and sets him on the floor. "We'll just be a minute."

"But I wanna see daddy's video!" Protests River miserably.

"I know, sweetheart." Diana apologizes sympathetically. "We'll figure it out as fast as we can, okay?"

He mumbles a defeated "okay" before he and his brothers and sister traipse obediently out of the room, their moods definitely a lot less jubilant than they were ten seconds ago. And all I really wanna do is turn to Pam and scream obscenities in her face for wiping the giddy expressions off of theirs.

" _What_ is your problem?" I all but growl at her as soon as they're out of earshot. "They were happy-"

"That video isn't appropriate for them!" She argues immediately. "It will only upset them more."

"You didn't even see it!"

"I saw enough! They don't need to see their father looking like that!" She insists, shaking her head at me in disgust. "And it was completely irresponsible of you to tell them they could see it without asking us first. Not that I'm surprised."

"For the last fucking time, I don't _need_ to ask you. Taylor is their legal guardian and _he_ wants them to see it. And they knew about it, anyway," I point to Walker and Diana, enjoying the way Pam's mouth drops open in outrage. "So _you're_ the only one making a big deal about it."

"Did you really know they were doing this?" Pam asks them, apparently shocked and wounded that they'd side with me over her. "How could you-"

"Pam-" Walker tries to interrupt, but Pam won't shut up long enough.

"Did you even _watch_ it? What if it's too upsetting for the children? What if it scares them? They could have nightmares-"

"They already do!" I snap at her impatiently. "They're already upset and scared. They just want to see their _dad_ , for fucks sake! And he's gonna be beat up and stuck in a hospital bed for a while yet, so unless you think it's a good idea to keep them away from him until he's completely healed, they're gonna have to see that stuff sooner or later."

"I want to see it."

"What?"

"The video. Before we let the children see it, I want to watch it." She demands, hands on her hips like that makes her more intimidating or something.

"No. He didn't make it for you, he made it for them. I was there, I know what he said, and there's nothing wrong with any of it."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it? Because obviously I can trust _your_ opinion on what is and isn't suitable for them to be exposed to!"

"Let's just... watch the video." Diana relents in an effort to end the arguing. "I'm sure it's fine, but if it'll put everyone's minds at ease, we may as well see it."

Great. So now I'm out-fucking-numbered?

Technically, I can still veto them all. The video is on _my_ damn phone, I don't have to let any of them see it if I don't want to. And I don't have to ask their permission to let the kids see it, either. But if I go that route, I'm just gonna make them all hate me. And while I don't give a shit if Pam wants me dead, I don't particularly want to screw things up with Taylor's parents. Not when they finally seem to be willing to give me a real chance.

I grudgingly restart the video and hand it to Diana, and Pam hurries to watch over her shoulder. I don't, though. I don't need to. I was there when it was filmed, I can still almost see every last second of it playing in my head as I listen to his voice drift out of the small iPhone speaker. And yeah, it breaks my heart to hear each little tremor in his voice, and that inevitable loss of control over his emotions. But I still don't think it's too much for the kids to cope with. They've been through worse this year, and I'm sure they'd rather see their dad shed a few tears than not see him at all.

"I still say it will be too overwhelming for them." Pam concludes as soon as the video ends. "I'm sorry, I know you think I'm just trying to be difficult, but I'm honestly only thinking about what's best for the children. Viggo isn't even four-years-old yet, he shouldn't see something like that!"

"He _has_ seen something like that." I protest in frustration. "You think he's been oblivious to everything going on around him this year? You think he didn't see people crying when his mom died-"

"Don't you _dare_ bring my daughter into this. You, of all people, have _no_ right to talk about her."

"I'm just saying, this isn't the worst thing he's ever seen. He'll be okay, I'll talk to him-"

"I don't like it." Pam insists, folding her arms across her chest in a very 'that's final' kind of way.

It's _not_ final, though, because she's only one of four people making this decision. And luckily, Walker and Diana don't seem to be as against it as she is.

"I think, as long as we talk to them about it beforehand and make sure they're prepared, they'll be okay." Diana says as she hands my phone back to me, and I try not to smile too smugly over the fact that they actually sided with _me_ instead of Pam. "Yes, they're young, and yes, it's difficult to watch. But... Tommy's right. They've been through a lot worse this past year, and I think it would do them good to be able to see their dad and _see_ that he's 'okay'."

"I agree." Walker concurs. "I'm sorry, Pam, but I just don't think it's as bad as you're making it seem."

Without a word, she turns and leaves the family room. I don't know where she's going, and I don't really give a damn. Away, I hope. Far, _far_ away. Is it bad that I hear the Wicked Witch music from 'The Wizard of Oz' in my head whenever she enters or leaves a room? I swear, every time she looks at me, I half expect a bunch of flying monkeys to swoop in and attack me!

"I wish she wouldn't make everything into such a battle." Diana sighs tiredly, and I turn around to find Walker trying to comfort her as she shakes her head sadly. "I know she thinks it _is_ , but it doesn't have to be."

"She's got her defenses up." Walker explains helplessly. "She feels like everyone's fighting against her."

"But we're _not_."

"I know." He nods, putting an arm around her shoulders and holding her close.

They both look completely exhausted. And honestly, if I think about it too much, I realize just how tired I am, too. Which is why I've been trying so hard _not_ to think about it. But the truth is, none of us have gotten more than a few hours of sleep (or alcohol induced oblivion, in my case) in days. And all this bickering back and forth isn't making anyone feel better. It's a waste of time and energy, and suddenly I feel guilty for having any part in it.

"I'm sorry." I tell them regretfully. "I shouldn't have been such an jerk about the video. I'll apologize..."

Not that she'll listen.

"It's not your fault." Diana assures me. "It's not really anyone's fault...  she really does just want what's best for the children."

"So do I."

Walker smiles, and I get the feeling that he might actually believe me. I'm not the devil. I'm not here to fuck their lives up for fun. I'm not leading their perfect son astray or brainwashing their grandkids against every good Christian value they were raised to believe in. I'm just a guy who genuinely cares about them.

 _Loves_ them.

"We're all on the same side, then."


	84. Chapter 84

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with Taylor for the next 2 chapters. I'll let you know when it's Tommy's turn again. ;)

  


 

 

I love good food.

It doesn't have to be gourmet cuisine, it can be a burger from a drive-thru restaurant, a taco from a roadside truck, or even a funnel cake at a fair. If it tastes good, in my opinion, it _is_ good. But I haven't tasted _any_ of the "food" I've eaten so far today, because none of it entered my body via my mouth. I don't even know what it is they've been "feeding" me, and honestly... I'm not sure I really want to know. Whatever it was, it kept me from feeling hungry. But I still feel as though I should be eating.

I've missed eating!

Chewing, tasting, _savoring_. It's not just a basic human need, not to me. Yes, eating is necessary to stay alive, but it's also an opportunity to _be_ alive. To _feel_ it. I've never passed up one of those. Ever since I was a teenager, I've sought out and clung to any little thing I could find that might make me appreciate life in any little way. When merely being alive became too much, I'd try to break it down into its smallest, most seemingly meaningless parts. And then I'd try to make those insignificant things significant in some way. Worth living for.

I don't have that problem anymore; I'm no longer drowning in my own existence, desperately searching for some little piece of driftwood to keep me afloat. Focusing on those reasons to be thankful that I'm alive stopped being an absolute necessity. But somewhere along the line some of those reasons became habits, hobbies, things that I dedicate my time and attention to because I _want_ to, not because I need to.

And right now, I really want to eat!

The doctor came in a few hours ago to do yet another "assessment" of my "level of function" or whatever. I understand now more than ever why they call them exams, because I'm definitely aware that I'm being "graded", and all I want is to pass. But I have no idea what the right answers are, I wasn't given a study guide, I don't even know what the any of the questions will be until I'm asked them! Thankfully, though, I seem to be meeting whatever expectations they have for me. Enough that I get to put actual food in my mouth for the first time all day, at least. I don't even care that it's hospital food, I'm just glad it's not some mystery liquid.

I was given a menu to order from, almost like I was getting room service at a hotel. And the food on the menu was definitely more like what I would've expected to find at a hotel rather than a hospital, too. At first I was excited, I was spoiled for choice. But then I remembered where I was, and I was almost afraid to order half of the things listed because I wasn't sure what they'd taste like. If I was at a restaurant, or staying in a hotel, I wouldn't have hesitated to order the pork chop and apple sauce, or the crab cake salad. But in a hospital?

I wussed out and went with the mac and cheese.

"Room service." A voice announces playfully, pulling my attention from the heart monitor by my bed. I'm met by a friendly smile on an unfamiliar face. "Dinner is served."

"Thanks." I smile back at the guy who just walked into the room.

He looks like he's probably my age, maybe a little younger. I'm assuming he's not a doctor, because I doubt it's in their job description to bring meals to patients. But it takes me a moment to accept that he might be a nurse because... well... he's a guy. I'm not used to male nurses. I know they exist, but I've never interacted with one (that I'm aware of). The two nurses who have been in and out of my room all day were both female.

"Are you a nurse?" I blurt out thoughtlessly as he sets the tray of food down on a table at the foot of the bed and wheels it closer to me.

"Yeah. I'm one of _your_ nurses, actually." He tells me almost proudly. "It's good to see you're doing better than you were last night."

"You were here last night?"

He nods, still carefully uncovering food and unwrapping utensils for me. "My shift ended right after they took  you off the vent this morning. I was honestly kinda disappointed I wasn't there."

"Don't be." I chuckle softly, wincing in pain almost as soon as I start. "I wasn't really 'there', either."

"That's not uncommon."

"So are you like... the night nurse or something?"

"Basically." He smiles at me again, and I notice how it immediately puts me at ease. I wasn't even aware that I was on edge at all. He just has one of those smiles that makes you feel comfortable and secure. "I'm Holden."

"Taylor." I reply, making the best attempt I can to hold my hand out for him to shake. It takes _way_ more energy  and results in _way_ more pain than it should.

I don't know if my expression makes it obvious how much it hurt, or if he just knows that whatever injuries I have make moving uncomfortable. But rather than shaking my hand, he gently lowers it back down to the bed and gives it a reassuring pat.

"I know who you are."

"Right." Duh. "You probably know more about me than I do; I don't even know my own blood type."

"It's A positive." He informs me with a smirk. "But I don't just know your name because you're my patient. I was a pretty big fan of yours when I was younger."

"Oh yeah? I gotta admit, I'm not used to meeting guy fans who liked our earlier stuff. Most of our fans back then were girls."

"Yeah, well, according to most of the guys I went to high school with, I was a girl."

"I didn't go to high school, but I can definitely relate." I sympathize sincerely. "You're talking to the chick from Hanson. I was the _original_ pop princess."

He laughs out loud at that, and it makes me feel almost proud. I don't think I've made any of the other nurses laugh today. It's good to know my sense of humor is in better shape than the rest of me. "It's cool that you can joke about it like that."

"You have to, you know? Everyone else does."

"Very true."

After straightening the items on the tray in front of me, like presentation actually matters to a guy who hasn't eaten in twenty-four-hours, he turns to the machines by my bed and studies each one carefully. I watch while he fiddles with switches and dials, and I momentarily marvel over the fact that I'm not really concerned with what they're for or what he's doing. I just assume it's for my own good, and I trust him to fix whatever needs fixing.

"How would you rate your pain?" He asks in genuine concern. "Is it bearable?"

"It could be worse."

"Well, don't hesitate to let one of us know if it actually _does_ get worse, okay?"

"Oh, believe me, that's not gonna be a problem. I don't feel the need to be macho about this; if I need more pain killers, you'll be the first to know."

"Good." He smiles approvingly, glancing around the room for some sign of something he might have forgotten. "Okay, I think you're all set. If you need anything, just press your call button."

"Being in the ICU is starting to feel more and more like being on an airplane." I muse, leaving him laughing quietly to himself while he scribbles something down on my chart. "The service is better here, though."

"And there's more leg room."

I snort as I look past my mac and cheese to my broken leg. "I guess I'll be needing a lot of that for a while."

"A few broken bones is cake compared to what could've happened. They'll heal before you know it." He reminds me with pointed look, and I nod in absolute agreement. "Would you like me to send one of your family members in, or do you want to wait until you're done eating?"

"No, please send them in!" I answer eagerly.

"You got it. I'll be back to check on you in a little while, okay?"

"Thanks, Holden."

Once he's left the room, I start inspecting the food he brought me. It looks a lot better than I expected it to. The mac and cheese doesn't look like it came out of a box, or like it's been reheated half a dozen times, and the side salad isn't wilted or drenched in dressing. Even the vanilla pudding looks appetizing! I might have to reassess my opinion of hospital food if this all tastes as good as it looks. Unfortunately, tasting it is going to be a challenge, because merely prodding my fork into the bowl and raising a bite of pasta to my mouth leaves me _drained_. As soon as I set the fork down after my first mouthful, I realize that I'm actually kind of breathless, like I've over-exerted myself somehow. And when I look at the glass of water in the corner of the tray, I almost want to cry thinking about how much effort it'll take to pick it up.

"Ooh, food!" Zac chirps over-enthusiastically, walking right over to my bed and peering at my meal. "What're we having?"

" _I_ am having dinner. _You_ can go find a vending machine or something." I tease him, and after giving me a wounded pout, he turns his back on me and starts walking away again. "Wait, don't go! I need you!"

"For what?" He asks, already back at my side.

"I..." Fuck, this is embarrassing. I know he's my brother, and after everything we've been through together this is minor. But still... nothing makes you feel more like a helpless baby than asking your little brother to feed you. "I can't eat."

"Why?" A worried frown creases his brow. "Does your throat still hurt from the breathing tube or something?"

"No. Well, yeah, a little. But it's not that."

"Do your ribs hurt when you eat?"

"Kind of. I mean, they hurt when I lift my arm." I sigh, staring glumly at my food. "But mostly it's just that I'm so fucking wiped out. I took _one_ bite and now I'm exhausted."

Without a word (but with a _very_ apparent smirk), he reaches out and picks up the fork from the bowl. He pokes a few pieces of macaroni onto the prongs, and then carefully lifts it up and aims it at my mouth.

"Open wide! Here comes the airplane!"

"Shut up."

He doesn't shut up, though. He makes very loud and animated airplane noises as he swoops and glides the fork through the air towards me, and I glare at him before grudgingly opening my mouth and letting him place the food inside.

"Good boy!" He coos condescendingly, helping himself to a bite and then loading up another "plane" full for me. "That's actually not bad."

"I know. I thought it was gonna be inedible, but it's pretty good."

"You should get hit by SUVs more often. I could get used to this."

"I'm gonna tell mom you said that." I threaten playfully, accepting the second bite of food that he offers me.

"Speaking of mom, she called a little while ago. She wanted me to tell you that everything's going good at home."

"Did the kids watch the video?"

He nods, taking another small bite of pasta for himself. "She said they were really excited about it. They got a little upset when you got upset, but Tommy explained that it was just 'cause you missed them, and they understood. They were okay, mostly, just worried about you."

"I miss them, too." I sigh heavily, no longer feeling all that hungry. "The doctor said they'll probably be able to get me out of intensive care tomorrow, but I still have to have this drainage tube thing in for a couple of days yet. And as much as I wanna see them... I don't know if letting them see me like this is a good idea."

I notice his eyes automatically dart up to the tube that every non-medically trained person who comes in here always does their best _not_ to look at. It's like some kind of hideous deformity that I've developed, and no one wants to be caught staring at it. And if adults can barely stand to see it, how is my four-year-old son supposed to deal with it?

"Yeah... it might be a good idea to hold off until it's... out." He agrees sadly, shaking his head a little as he looks away, like he's trying to etch-a-sketch erase it from his mind. "I know it's killing you not to be with them, but at the end of the day, it's about what's best for them, right?"

"Right."

"And... maybe what's best for them is to not see all this junk." He gestures to all of the monitors and machines cluttering up the room. "Even if it means not seeing you for a few more days."

I'd pretty much already come to that conclusion on my own, but I was hoping he'd tell me that I was being stupid, that it wasn't a big deal. Hearing him confirm my own thoughts only reinforces them. There's a reason kids aren't allowed in the ICU, and it's not because everyone who works here is heartless and uncaring. It's the opposite. And even once I'm out of the ICU, that doesn't mean that all of those reasons disappear. Until I'm in better shape, my kids shouldn't have to see me. I know they think they want to, but they're too young to understand what seeing me this way could make them feel. _I'm_ not. I get it. And no matter how much it hurts to have to admit it, I _can't_ let them come here.

"Not to add insult to serious injury, but..." Zac begins hesitantly, avoiding my eyes as he unwraps a straw sitting on the tray and places it in my water glass. "I um... I've been thinking _a lot_ , and... not that you're awake and doing better and everything... I'm gonna go back to Tulsa."

I think I knew that, too. But again, I was hoping I was wrong. Realistically, I _know_ he has to go back there. His kids are there, he can't just stay here indefinitely and act like he hasn't left his whole life in another state. That doesn't mean I'm not going to miss him, though.

"I'll be back." He assures me quickly. "I don't know when, exactly, but I'm not just gonna up and leave you like this."

"It's okay. I understand."

"I'm serious, though. I _want_ to be here, I want to help out... but I need to see my kids. And I need to talk to Kate, too."

I nod understandingly, studying his face for some clue about what he's thinking or feeling besides obvious (and unnecessary) guilt. "What're you gonna say to her? I mean... last time we talked about it all, you seemed kinda... done."

"Last time we talked about it, I kinda was." He admits sadly, finally taking a seat in the chair beside my bed. "Honestly, when I was packing to leave on Monday afternoon, I was going over and over in my head how I was gonna tell her that I wanted a divorce."

"I'm sorry, Zac."

He smiles faintly, sadly, giving a half-hearted shrug. "I just figured that I'd done everything I could, and I'd tried everything I could think of to get through to her. And if the way things have been between us lately is the way things are gonna be from now on, I was done, you know? But then..."

"What?" I prod gently as he stares at one of the monitors beside my bed, apparently lost in thought. Or maybe just lost in general.

"I thought I got it, you know? When Nat died... I thought I understood what Kate was going through. I loved Nat, too. Yeah, okay, maybe I hated her when we first met, 'cause you liked her and I hated _everyone_ you liked." He chuckles softly, rolling his eyes at the memory of his fifteen-year-old, hyper-jealous and possessive self. "And I resented her sometimes, because she had you and I wanted you... but somewhere underneath all of that messed up crap, I loved her. She was the mother of my niece and nephews, and you know I _completely_ adore them."

"I know."

"She was an amazing mom, and a great sister-in-law, and a really good person. And when she died... it's an understatement to say I was sad, but... I was. I was sad, and I mourned like everyone else, and I missed her like everyone else. But then I moved on like everyone else. And I couldn't understand why Kate wouldn't do the same. She just _wouldn't_ let it go, she wouldn't let herself move forward with the rest of us. She got angrier and angrier the more I tried to make her, she shut down the more I tried to help her. It was like... I was reaching out, trying to get her to take my hand and come with me, and she was backing away. And I was starting to think that was the end for us, you know?  I wanted to move on, and she didn't. And if she wasn't gonna move on with me, then I was gonna have to do it without her."

"But you don't think that anymore?" I frown, trying to understand what changed his mind and what new conclusion he's come to.

"No." He tells me, his eyes finally meeting mine. That sad smile is back on his lips. It actually reminds me of the night he found me in that hotel bar in London, nursing one last shot of tequila. The night he truly gave me up, gave me permission to be who I really was, no matter what that meant for him. "You know... for a minute there... I _really_ thought we might lose you."

When I reach out and take his hand, he holds onto me tightly. But when I try to speak, to comfort him and assure him that I'm fine, he cuts me off. He's not looking for comfort or reassurance. He's not looking for anything; he already found what he needed.

"I got it. In that moment, imagining my life without you here _at all_ , I finally got what Kate was going through. We all loved Nat in our own ways, she was our family. But for Kate... she was her sister, you know? Maybe not by blood, but not just by marriage, either. By _choice_. They found each other when they were kids, and they grew up together. They were _always_ together, they shared _everything_. They were just like us..." His voice trails off as he loses himself again, and I squeeze his hand and wait for him to find the strength and the words to keep going. "If you hadn't pulled through, I don't know what I would've done."

"Zac-"                                                                                           

"It would've _destroyed_ me, Tay. I wouldn't know _how_ to be me without you. I'm sure that's totally unhealthy, but it's true. You've been there for me my _whole_ life, I've never had to go through anything without you. You've been my best friend since the day I was _born_. If you weren't here anymore... I just..."

"I _am_ here." I promise him, fighting back my own tears as I watch my little brother break down in front of me.

"But Nat isn't." He explains, wiping at his cheeks with the hand that isn't holding onto mine. "And I _finally_ get what that feels like for Kate. I only got a glimpse of it, but it was enough. She's been living with it all year, _alone_ , because I didn't understand until now. She's not the woman I fell in love with because she doesn't know _how_ to be anymore. A _huge_ part of her got ripped away without _any_ kind of warning. It broke her. We all dealt with our grief and went on with our lives, but she _can't_. And I've been trying to drag her out of it, but... I think she's afraid to let go, you know? Like she'd be betraying Nat if she did. She's holding onto something that's gone, and it's killing her, too."

"So what're you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna stop trying to force her to be where _I_ am, and I'm gonna try to be where she is." He tells me boldly, like a soldier preparing for battle. I guess, in some ways, that's not too far off. "Maybe if I can do that, if I can make her see that I understand how it feels, she'll let me back in and we can try to fix things."

"I hope you're right."

"I have to try, for her and for our kids. I can't just run away when it gets too tough." Another small smile plays on his lips for a moment, but this time it's not quite so melancholy. "Your boyfriend taught me that."

"He did?"

"Inadvertently. While being a total douche bag."

"Of course." I chuckle quietly, rolling my eyes at the lingering pettiness between the two of them. I wonder if it'll ever go away? "Well... I really hope you can make it work."

"Me, too."

"And I'm sorry that I fucked everything up so badly and made her hate me so much. I know it'd be a hell of a lot easier on you if she didn't."

He shrugs like it's no big deal, but we both know it is. Even if he can find a way to get through to her, even if he can fix that part of his marriage, I'm not sure she's ever going to be able to get over the way she feels about me. But who knows? Maybe one day we'll reach a point where we can be civil to each other at family functions again. Maybe we'll be able to sit down at opposite ends of the table at Thanksgiving dinner one year and play at being a happy family for the sake of the people we love, even if we can still barely stand each other.

Stranger things have happened.

"I'm gonna come back as soon as I can." He insists again, leaning over and hugging me as tightly as he probably dares to. "I _promise_."

"I know." I tell him, squeezing my eyes shut as another intense rush of emotion overwhelms me out of nowhere. I know he's not leaving right this second, but it suddenly feels like he is. And it feels like he won't be back, even though I know he will be. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He pulls back a little, and I notice more unshed tears in his eyes in the split second that we happen to be face to face before he unexpectedly presses his lips to my forehead. " _Thank you_ for not dying."

I laugh, I can't help it. It hurts like a bitch, but there's no way to avoid it. And it's worth it. "You're welcome."

We're still holding onto each other when I suddenly become aware of someone else's presence in the room. I can just _feel_ that we're not alone anymore before they've even spoken, and when I look over at the door I find another unfamiliar nurse standing there.

"I'm sorry." She apologizes quickly. "I didn't realize you had a visitor already."

"It's okay." I tell her as I let go of Zac and weakly wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Your brother is in the waiting room, I told him I'd check to see how you were feeling and let you know that he's here."

"I _am_ here." Zac replies bemusedly, waving at her as though she's oblivious to his presence. " _I'm_ his brother."

"Oh... well... someone else saying he's your brother is out in the waiting room." She laughs softly, uncertainly.

"What's he like?" Asks Zac before I have the chance to. "Is he kinda weird looking? It's okay, you can say yes, we won't be offended."

"Um..."

"Stop." I snort in amusement, giving him a pathetic little shove because it's all I'm capable of right now. "Did he have a goatee? And like a... curly, quiffy kinda thing up top?"

The nurse bites her lip for a moment, struggling to recall details of this mystery man's appearance. "I _think_ so..."

Zac and I instinctively look at each other, and the exact same name leaves our mouths at the exact same time with the exact same amount of astonishment.

"Ike?"

 


	85. Chapter 85

  


 

 

After the initial shock has passed, and the nurse has excused herself to get back to more important things than watching me mull over my big brother's presence in the ICU, I turn to Zac in search of some kind of explanation.

"Did you know he was coming?" I ask, trying to keep the accusing edge out of my tone in case he's just as surprised by this as I am.

And, judging by the look on his face, he is. "No! I would've told you."

"So he just... flew out here without mentioning it to anyone first?"

"Are you really _that_ surprised?" He smirks at me, one eyebrow quirked in an unmistakable 'come on, Tay' expression. "This _is_ Isaac we're talking about."

"I guess..."

"Do you wanna see him?"

I hate that he has to ask me that question. And I hate that I have to actually consider it before answering. It's not that I _don't_ want to see Ike; despite our differences and the way we left things when I moved out here, I still love him, and I _have_ missed him. But if we're just going to end up arguing, I'd rather pass. I don't have the energy to go even one round with him. And I know us both well enough to know that, even with the best of intentions, we can't help baiting each other sometimes. It's too easily done; we can push each other's buttons blindfolded. From fifty feet away. Using nothing but a BB gun.

"I don't know..." I admit sadly. "We haven't really spoken at all since I left Tulsa. The last time we talked, it was just because he wanted me to call _you_."

"I know."

"Do you think he'll go easy on me, given the fact that someone recently had their hands in my head?"

Zac laughs softly, shaking his head at my pitiful pouting. "I'll tell him to be gentle with you."

"Okay."

"But keep that pathetic look on your face, just for good measure."

He disappears out into the hallway, and I take a deep, calming breath in an attempt to settle my nerves. Unfortunately, taking a deep breath hurts so badly that I can't seem to exhale, which results in a coughing fit, which results in even _worse_ pain. I reach out for something to hold on to, to grip until the choking subsides, but I end up grabbing the tray with my dinner on it and knocking it all over the bed. My pristine, white hospital sheets are instantly covered in cheese sauce and salad, soaked through with Italian dressing and water.

Fuck.

I debate pressing the call button, but I don't want a nurse running in here thinking I'm having a medical emergency only to find me sitting in a puddle of pudding. I feel so helpless and _stupid_. I can't even sit up far enough to reach down and a _ttempt_ to clean it up myself, though. Someone is going to have to help me with this, just like every-fucking-thing else.

"Are you okay?" I hear Isaac ask me in concern, and I tear my attention away from the mess all over my legs just as he quickens his pace between the door and my bed. "What happened?"

"I happened." I mutter irritably. "I'm a one man natural disaster."

"Some things never change." He chuckles to himself, picking the tray up off of my lap and placing the various cups, bowls and utensils on it before setting it aside. "I'm gonna go get someone to help-"

"No, it's fine."

"Tay, come on, you're covered in hospital food! You can't just sit here like this."

Says who?

"I just... I don't want to waste people's time. This is an ICU, not a freaking daycare. The people who work here are trying to save lives, they shouldn't have to deal with me dropping food all over myself like a toddler!"

"Yeah, well, whether they should have to deal with it or not isn't the issue right now, okay? You _need_ some clean sheets, so just... try not to drop anything else while I'm gone."

I know he was only teasing, but it's really not all that funny. Not to me, anyway. Partly because there really is a good chance that I could make this worse somehow before he gets back, but mostly because I'm just not in the mood to be joking about my inability to do the most basic things for myself. I hate this. I'm _not_ this person. I take care of myself, I'm self-sufficient, I've been an adult since I was fourteen years old! I don't want to rely on other people for every little thing, it feels _wrong_. It's humiliating to have to call a nurse in here, someone who spent years studying their ass off to learn how to help people with serious medical conditions, and have them clean pudding up off of my bed because I can't control what my own limbs do during a fucking coughing fit!

But there's nothing I can do about it.

Like everything else that's happened to me, and will continue happening to me for a while yet, it's out of my control. And it doesn't matter how many times Holden reassures me that this isn't the first time he's had to do something like this, or that it's not a problem. Having trained medical personnel practically lift me off of my bed, while another team of people scurry around trying to change the sheets beneath me like some kind of bizarre magic trick, makes me feel... dependent.

Because I _am_ dependent.

I can't walk, I can't sit up unless I have a bunch of pillows stacked behind me to _keep_ me sitting up, I'm peeing into a bag, and I can't even fucking feed myself! I know it's been less than a day since I woke up, I know it'll get better over time, and I know I need to get over myself and just _let_ people take care of me until I can take care of myself again.

But... I don't know _how_.

"Hey." Ike greets me as he hesitantly steps back into the room. He briefly looks around, taking it all  for a few seconds before venturing closer to the bed again. "Feel better now that your sheets are dry?"

"Yeah." Not really. And being asked about it in that way reminds me of how Natalie always used to assure our kids that they'd feel better once they had a dry diaper on. "Sorry I snapped before."

"It's okay." He shrugs, offering me a half smile. "You're dealing with a lot."

"I didn't know you were coming out here."

"Me either. Nikki bought the ticket. Told me that if I didn't use it, she would." Sounds like something she'd do. "I'd been going back and forth on whether or not I should be here ever since Zac called me the other night to tell me what happened. I didn't wanna get in the way, though."

"You wouldn't have been in the way." I tell him, the sadness of our current situation weighing on me the way it always does now when we're face to face. When this awkward tension descends on us, and it suddenly feels as though we were _never_ close. Never best friends. "I'm glad you're here."

"Yeah?"

"It's been a while."

His timid smile turns discontented, and he seems incapable of looking me in the eyes anymore. "Yeah, it has..."

"So... how have you been?" I ask with an uncertain chuckle.

"Really?" He laughs, shaking his head at me in disbelief. "You're lying in a hospital bed, and you wanna know how _I've_ been?"

"Well, we already know how I've been."

It was meant to be a joke, even though I was actually kind of serious. But he doesn't seem to see the funny side of it as he slowly sinks down into the chair beside me. "I don't."

"You don't what?"

"I don't know how you've been." He tells me sadly, regretfully. "I know what happened to you the other day, and I know the basics of all the medical stuff that's happened to you since. Or Zac's version of it, anyway. But the last month... I have no damn clue what you've been doing or how you've been."

"We haven't exactly been on speaking terms since I left Tulsa."

"Since _before_ that."

"True."

I think this is the part where I'm supposed to take the blame and say I'm sorry. And then he's supposed to say that it's _his_ fault and that _he's_ sorry. And then we'll argue about it for a minute or two, and laugh, and agree that we're both idiots, and forgive each other. But the thing is, aside from the fact that this isn't some fluffy TV show or movie with an easily achieved happy ending, I already said _all_ of that. I apologized, I _begged_ him to understand and to try to accept my decision. And instead he wrote me off.

He still wouldn't be speaking to me at all if I hadn't been hit by a car.

And while I understand how something that serious can put things into perspective, and help people to see what's really important when they couldn't before... part of me is still incredibly hurt that it would take me almost getting killed for him to realize how messed up this all is. Maybe I should just let it go and let it be as simple as a round of "I'm sorry" , "no, _I'm_ sorry."

But it's _not_ that simple.

"How long are you here for?" I ask in an attempt to lessen the stifling tension. It's obvious that he thought I was about to say something else, though.

Something more... apologetic.

"Uh... not sure. It was a one way ticket. I didn't really know... what to expect."

He didn't know whether or not we'd be able to be in a room together without ending up at each other's throats again. He should've known better; I'm in no fit shape to be at anyone's throat right now. I don't have the energy to get into a shouting match with him, and I'm definitely not going to be throwing any punches anytime soon.

"Well, I guess Zac's gonna be heading back to Tulsa soon. So... it'll be nice, you know... to still have one of you around."

It won't be the same, and we both know it. He knows I'd rather have Zac visiting me every day than him. But I'm _trying_ to be nice here. I'm trying to convince us both that this could be the first step in repairing this rift between us. It's not instant forgiveness or a blank slate, it's a white flag. All he has to do is meet me half way and wave one of his own. That's usually easier said than done.

But not today. "Whatever you need. I'm here."

"Thanks, Ike."

He's so eager to be done with all the awkwardness that he makes very sure not to go over his allotted five minutes of visiting time. And I don't bother mentioning that everyone else generally hangs around until they're kicked out by a nurse, because I'm just as eager to be done with the weirdness as he is. I just hope it gets better the more we talk. I hope things between us aren't so bad that we're never going to be able to get back to being anywhere near as close as we once were.

I can't imagine us being nothing more than uncomfortably polite to each other for the rest of our lives.

Right after Ike leaves, Holden delivers another tray of food to me to replace the one I so gracefully dropped all over my bed. I don't know why, but I totally didn't expect to get anything else to eat tonight. At least, not unless I specifically asked for it. But as grateful as I am that I'm not being left hungry, I'm still left with the problem of how to feed myself. According to Holden, the only visitor I have right now is Ike, so I guess Zac left already. I'm not gonna ask Ike to come back in here and feed me, we're not quite there yet. So instead I resolve to wait until Tommy comes back, even if that does mean my mac and cheese will go cold.

But I'm too hungry to wait! It smells good, and my stomach aches from staring at it and not being able to eat it. I try picking up my fork and feeding myself, but it really does take way too much time and energy to be worth it. In the end, I drop the fork back onto the tray and try eating with my fingers instead. Again, I feel like I'm two years old. This is something that even Viggo doesn't do anymore, but desperate times call for desperate measures!

"That's hot." Tommy smirks, strolling into the room right as I'm trying to find the piece of macaroni that fell down the front of my hospital gown. "Should I bring you one of Asta's bibs tomorrow?"

"It's not my fault!" I mumble, finally fishing the errant piece of pasta out from its hiding place. "It's slippery."

"Didn't they give you a fork or anything?"

"It's more trouble than it's worth." I pout.

"You've got a little something..." He carefully reaches out towards my face, and I try to hold still so that he can wipe away whatever mess I managed to make. But instead he takes my chin in his hand, leans in, and _licks_ the side of my mouth! "Got it."

"Now _that's_ hot." I tease him back, trying to rub my wet cheek on my shoulder and then wishing I'd just used my hand instead.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I can't tell if it's just sore muscles from the accident, or if it's my ribs... it's like any time I move _anything_ it hurts."

He nods sympathetically, his fingertips tenderly stroking my forearm.  "Maybe we should ask about getting you more painkillers?"

"No, it's okay. I don't want to be so loaded up on medication that I can't function. I can _barely_ do anything for myself as it is. If I'm gonna be out of commission physically, I at least want to be present mentally."

"You're never present mentally." He points out with a self-satisfied grin. "I really don't think that upping your pain meds is gonna make much difference."

"Shut up."

"Fine, but only 'cause I don't want you trying to hit me and winding up covered in food again."

Oh, great, so _everyone_ knows? "Did Ike tell you?"

"No. He'd have to acknowledge my existence first." Good point. "Holden mentioned it when I asked how you've been doing."

"Holden?"

"Yeah, he's one of the-"

"I know who he is, I just... didn't realize you were on a first name basis with the nursing staff." I reply, smiling in amusement as he gives a dismissive little half-shrug.

"He snuck me in here to see you last night when the other nurses said I had to wait. We talked a little... he's cool."

"And cute."

"I didn't notice." He lies so unconvincingly that it _had_ to have been intentional.

"I can't believe you were hitting on the cute male nurse while I was in a coma!"

"Yeah, well, I figured I needed a back-up, you know?" He's playing along so perfectly that I almost wish I could smack him without it hurting _me_. "In case it turned out you were a total cabbage and shit."

"Hey!"

" That's what you get for trying to fuck with me." He tells me plainly and unashamedly. "Don't dish it out if you can't take it."

I open my mouth to tell him that if I can't fuck him I have to settle for fucking with him, but then I stop myself. I don't want to think about that fact, and I don't see how it's going to help either of us if I put the thought in his head, too. Although, for all I know, it might already be there. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe he's been too busy with everything else to have even given a moments consideration to the fact that our sex life is probably going to be on pause for the foreseeable future. Whereas I've been lying in bed all day, alone most of the time, thinking _way_ too much about _way_ too many things.

"Taylor?"

"Huh?"

He smiles at me uncertainly, clearly wondering if I'm spacey because of my injuries, my medication, or just because I'm me. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just... tired." I sigh, pushing the remainder of my dinner away. "I don't know why, though. I feel like I've been asleep all day."

"Well, you need to wake up long enough to say goodnight to your kids." He tells me, digging his iPhone out of his pocket and turning the screen on. "Your mom and dad are with them. They were expecting you to call like ten minutes ago." I hold my hand out for his phone and try to resist the urge to make grabby motions. But really, it's pretty damn difficult not to! "They have your cell."

With an amused smile and head shake over my unconcealed impatience, he hands over his iPhone and relaxes in his chair while I navigate my way to his 'Favorite' contacts and select my own name from the list. I hold the phone up to my ear, doing my best to ignore the fact that it feels like a ten pound weight rather than the tiny five ounces of metal and glass that it actually is. It rings a couples of times, and I'm expecting one of my parents to be the first to pick up. So when I'm greeted by the sound of multiple, excited little voices yelling "Hi daddy!" at me through the phone, it's more than a little surprising.

In the _best_ way imaginable.

"Hey!" I reply, grinning from ear to ear as my eyes immediately well with tears. But for the first time all day, they're actually happy tears. "I miss you guys _so_ much!"

"We miss you, too!" They all exclaim over one another.

"When are you gonna come home?" River asks hopefully.

"Yeah, when?" His little brother echoes.

"We're not supposed to _ask_ that, remember?" I hear Penny chide them, sounding way too adult for her own good.

I can't decide if it makes me want to laugh or cry. "It's okay, Pen. I know you guys miss me. I don't know when I'm gonna be able to come home yet, but I'm doing my best to get better as fast as I can."

"Can we come see you soon?" Viggo pleads in his most pitiful little voice.

"Viggo!" Penny hisses again, and this time I can't help but chuckle because I can totally picture her with her hands on her hips. Just like her mom.

" _What_?" He whines right back. "I wanna see daddy!"

"I wanna see you, too, buddy. I _promise_ that as soon as the doctors say you can come and see me, I'll have Tommy or grandma and grandpa bring you here, okay?"

"Okay." He sighs heavily. _Way_ too heavily for an almost-four-year-old.

"Tell daddy what you did at school today." My mom's voice encourages them from somewhere in the background, and suddenly both Penny and River are talking so fast that even if I could untangle their voices, I'm still not sure I'd have the slightest clue what they were saying! "Penny, sweetheart, why don't you go first?"

"She _always_ goes first!" River protests.

"Because I'm the _oldest_."

No, she's not.

But apparently she's the oldest of my children present for the call. Which I guess means that Ezra didn't want to participate. I think that probably hurts more than all of my broken bones combined, but I try my hardest not to dwell on it, because I don't want to ruin the phone call I'm having with the three kids who _don't_ hate me. They don't deserve that.

"Daddy, guess what?" Penny asks me, her tone tinged with enthusiasm.

"What?"

"Today, at school, we had music class, and I played the piano just like you showed me, and my teacher said it was _perfect_!"

"Wow!"

"She said she's gonna ask you if I can play at the Christmas pageant in front of _everyone_!"

"That's amazing, Penny! I'm _so_ proud of you, baby girl!" I just hope I'll be there to see it in person.

"And guess what?"

"What?" I laugh softly, and Tommy reaches for my free hand and squeezes it tightly when he notices me wincing in pain as a result.

"This girl, Evie, she's in my class, and she takes piano lessons every week, and _she_ says I'm really good, too! Even better than her." She gushes. "And I told her that my daddy teaches me how to play, and she told me that she doesn't have a daddy, just a mommy. Now she's my best friend!"

Hallelujah!

I just hope this Evie kid doesn't break her heart like her last group of "friends" did. "I'm glad you made a new friend."

"Me, too. I didn't like going to school with no friends."

"I know."

"Can _I_ talk now?" River asks after waiting the three seconds that he feels is appropriate. "I have stuff to tell him, too. You're talking the _whole_ time up!"

"Am not!"

Oh boy.

My parents manage to get their bickering under control pretty quickly, and it's the last incidence of it for the rest of our way-too-brief phone call. River tells me about his day at school, and all about his friend Elijah's new "super cool and awesome" sneakers (which he would very selflessly like a pair of "for Viggo's birthday"). And as soon as his birthday is mentioned, Viggo begins making an on-the-spot list of all of the potential gifts he would like to receive. Some things (a day at Disneyland) are practical, others (a pet crocodile) not so much.

Well... I say a day at Disneyland is practical, but I'm not so sure it will be this year. Not if he wants me to be in attendance, at least. That thought, along with the fact that Ezra never puts in an appearance, and Penny ends the call by telling me not to be sad anymore like I was on the video I made for them, leaves me on the brink of being a blubbering mess by the time we say goodnight. Tommy tries to comfort me and reassure me that Ezra didn't avoid the phone call because he hates me. He swears up and down that he knows for a _fact_ that Ezra cares about me and was worried about me, but I just don't know how to believe it.

I don't really remember a whole lot about the day the accident happened, but according to Tommy I threw myself in front of a car to save Ezra's life. And yet he _still_ won't talk to me. I don't expect one moment of good parenting to erase the ten years of crap he's put up with from me, but I guess I was kind of hoping it might open a door.

Or a window.

Or at least put a crack in the walls he's built up to keep me out.

In an effort to cheer me up, Tommy starts to show me the video message that my kids recorded for me earlier this evening . Well, technically River, Viggo and Penny recorded it. Ezra is, again, nowhere to be seen or heard, and Asta is in the shot but it looks like Penny has to practically sit on her to keep her from crawling away. Regardless of who is and isn't on screen, it's still _so_ good to see their faces, and it actually _does_ lift my spirits a little.

Right up until some impatient looking nurse waltzes into the room and tells Tommy that his visiting time is over and she needs him to leave. I'm only half way through the video, but when he asks her to give us a couple more minutes, she snaps at him that _she_ has a job to do and if he wants me to be properly taken care of then whatever it is _we're_ doing can wait. He grudgingly gets out of his seat and reaches for his phone, but I guess the forlorn look on my face clues him in to how badly I want to finish watching the video. He rolls his eyes and smiles at me as he takes it out of my hand, telling me he's just going to reply to a text and then it's all mine. The nurse huffs and scowls and shakes her head in disapproval as she checks a few monitors and messes with my IV until Tommy eventually hands his phone back to me, kisses me, and leaves the room.

I really want to bitch her out for being so goddamn insensitive, but I settle for ignoring her completely and focusing on my kids instead. Over the course of the next half an hour or so, I probably end up watching it about fifteen times. That total would've been much higher, but more than once I paused it just to see their smiles, or I skipped back to rewatch their laughter or see a particularly cute facial expression one of them made.

I'm right in the middle of my sixteenth viewing when Holden comes into the room with an IV bag and various other supplies in his hands.

"Where were you half an hour ago?" I grumble semi-seriously.

"Why?" He asks in concern as he sets everything he was carrying down on a nearby table and gives me his full attention. "Is something wrong?"

"Your crabby co-worker needs some serious sensitivity training, that's what's wrong." I inform him matter-of-factly, and he breathes a sigh of relief and a soft chuckle. "She kicked Tommy out of here like he was making it impossible for her to do her job, and then all she did was push a few buttons and check my dressing! Why couldn't she just let him stay?"

"The _she_ you speak of is Patricia, and _she_ is a stickler for the rules. I don't think I've ever known her to make an exception for _anyone_."

"It's not like I expect special treatment or anything. I just don't get what the big deal is. I mean, I'm sure some patients are in really bad shape, and you guys have to be able to get to them really fast and not have family members crying and cluttering up the room while you're trying to save lives. But... that's not me. Not anymore, anyway. I'm fine!" I insist, and he stops changing my IV just long enough to shoot me a knowing look. "Okay, maybe I'm not _fine_ , but I'm not _dying_ , right? I probably won't even be in the ICU much longer, so why can't you guys just bend the rules a _little_?

"Hey, I'm all for rule bending on a case by case basis." He assures me, his gloved fingers expertly fiddling with various wires and tubes. "If it  was up to me, he could sit in here twenty-four-seven. At a certain point, I think it's _better_ for the patient to have their family with them as much as possible."

"Exactly!"

"But it's not up to me."

"It should be." I reply grumpily. "I'm gonna write a strongly worded letter to the chief of the hospital. Or the president of the... ICU. Or the board of trustee directors or... whatever."

"Maybe we should reassess your pain meds?" He teases. "You're sounding a little loopy."

"That's not the meds, that's just me. _Please_ don't take them away. This is about the least amount of pain I've been in for hours!"

"Good. You really are making great progress, Taylor."

"Yeah, well, I have really great incentive." I tell him, turning Tommy's phone back on and showing him the paused video on the screen. "The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I get to be with them."

His eyes almost bug out in surprise before quickly scanning the screen, no doubt counting just how many cute little faces are gazing back at him. "Jeez... are they _all_ yours? I knew you had kids, but I didn't know you had four!"

"Five, actually. I guess one of them wasn't in the mood to be on camera today..."

"I don't know how you do it. I can barely keep up with my boyfriend!" He laughs softly, peeling his gloves off and gathering up what's left of the materials he brought in. "We got a puppy this summer, and I honestly couldn't tell you which of them has more energy."

"I kinda lucked out there; Tommy and I have pretty compatible energy levels. We both like to go out sometimes, but we're just as happy to stay home and do nothing. He has enough stamina to keep up with five kids, but not so much of it that he wears me out." It doesn't hit me how that sounds until _after_ I've said it (and seen the resulting look on Holden's face). But then, that's the story of my life. I don't realize I've put my foot in it until I'm neck deep in shit. "That didn't come out how I meant it."

"Uh huh."

"But now that we're on the subject-"

"We are?" He asks with an intrigued quirk of his eyebrow.

"Yes." We are, because I don't know who else to ask about this. I probably shouldn't be asking _anyone_ , but since it's a question that's been plaguing me on and off for hours now, I think it's safe to say I'll go crazy if it's not answered soon. "I have a strictly medical question about certain... aspects of my recovery."

"Okay..." He replies uncertainly, clearly confused by how uncomfortable I've suddenly become. "What's on your mind?"

"Tommy." Again, that totally wasn't what I meant to say. But, again, the look on Holden's face makes it clear that he knows what I'm _trying_ to say. "I mean... when can I... or... how long should we wait before... you know?"

"Good question."

"Very funny."

"No, I'm serious! Not a lot of people ask about it, and they probably should."

"A lot of people probably have more important things on their minds. Like 'how long will I have to be in a wheel chair' and 'how the hell do I get up and down the stairs'. And I _am_ worried about all that other stuff, believe me. But... well... you've seen him, right?" I ask bluntly, and he nods in heartfelt understanding. "He's _amazing_. And he flirts in his sleep, it's like he doesn't even know he's doing it! And we really only just got back together a couple of months ago, so we're still in that all-over-each-other honeymoon phase. Or we _were_. And even though I know I _can't_ do anything right now, I can't help thinking about it when he's around. Even if it's just for a second, I still get..."

"Urges?"

"Yeah, let's call it that."

"That's actually a good sign." He insists sincerely. "It's not uncommon for people to experience problems in that area after a traumatic brain injury."

Shit, _seriously_? And here I was worrying about seeing double for the rest of my life! "What kind of problems?"

"It varies. Some people complain of a decreased sex drive, or difficulty performing-"

"You mean they can't..."

"Sometimes." _Shit_. "But the fact that you're experiencing even the slightest amount of sexual desire is a _positive_ thing."

"Okay."

"As for your original question..." He takes a deep breath, his eyes conducting an appraising sweep of my entire body while he considers my various injuries and calculates an E(stimated)T(ime of)S(ex). At least, I think that's what he's doing. "Once Neuro has cleared you, and you've been discharged from the hospital, there's _technically_ no reason why you can't have sex whenever you want."

"But?" I question, trying hard to fend off the increasing feeling of dread that his choice of words instilled in me. "Just because I can doesn't mean I should, right?"

"That's really not my place to say. I mean, the broken leg won't be too much of an issue as long as you're careful. But the ribs..." He cringes, clearly feeling a great amount of empathy for me. "You're probably well aware of how painful it is to do pretty much _anything_ right now."

"Yeah, I'd noticed some _slight_ discomfort." I mumble dejectedly.

"And even if Tommy was... doing all of the work, there's really no way to control the way your body reacts and the way your muscles contract during climax. And while the pain might be bearable in the moment, due to everything else you'd be feeling, it'll likely be even worse than before once the endorphins wear off."

"This isn't sounding very sexy, just so you know."

Holden laughs, just for a moment, and then he quickly regains his composure and attempts to keep a straight face as he pats my arm in consolation. "At least you know that it _will_ be possible _one_ day. It might seem like a long way off right now, but you'll be out of here in no time. And you know what they say..."

" God gave man a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time."

"Yes. And also, absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"It's fond enough already, thank you!" I call after him when he gets up to leave the room, but the only response I get is a cheeky grin on his way out of the door.

Great.

Now I'm left to lie here alone some more and think about how much the next couple of months are gonna suck. Forget not knowing if I'm going to be able to pee without assistance. Am I going to be able to get off without wishing I was dead afterwards? I can't _laugh_ right now without feeling like my chest is about to fucking explode, so the idea of having an orgasm worth a damn is _terrifying_! And my only other option is to _not_ have one _at all_.

I really don't know which would be worse.

Even though Holden basically just answered my question, I feel the need to do a little more research. So, despite the nagging voice in my aching head telling me that nothing good can come from me trying to find out what it feels like to have sex while you have broken ribs, I turn Tommy's iPhone back on and open a browser window. When several attempts to connect to Google fail, I notice that he's got the phone in airplane mode. I figure he must have done it by accident at some point before he left the room, and luckily it's easily fixable. Once I've adjusted the settings and it's connected to the free (crappy) hospital wi-fi, I return to my google search for 'broken ribs sex'.

Don't judge.

But before I can even click on a link, a text message alert appears at the top of the screen and startles me so much that I almost drop the phone entirely. Then another texts comes through, and another. And even though I don't _mean_ to read them, my eyes automatically dart up to the top of the screen as each one appears. The texts are apparently from Adam, and contain words like "replace" and "reconsider", and "permanent".

I know I should pretend I never saw them. I know it would be a total invasion of his privacy for me to close the browser window and open his text messages, and I should just wait and hope that it's nothing. Or that, if it _is_ something, he'll choose to tell me about it himself.

I _know_ all of those things...

And yet somehow I _still_ find myself staring at the essay-length messages that Adam just sent him. My eyes haven't even finished skim reading the first sentence of the first one before my jaw drops from a mixture of shock and undeniable outrage.

What the _fuck_ is he doing?!


	86. Chapter 86

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy!Chapter.

  


 

 

I wish I hadn't given Taylor my phone.

I know that makes me a selfish asshole, but sitting in this waiting room already felt endless enough even when I had stupid little games to play and the ability to surf the net. Now I have nothing but lame chick magazines to read, and I feel like I already flipped through most of them over the last couple of days. There are only so many fugly outfits I can stand to look at, and only so many celebrity sob stories I can stand to read!

I guess I could talk to Isaac...

Yeah... no.  I'll pass on that one.

I think the last time he and I interacted at all I was wearing nothing but a bed sheet and he was lecturing me on what a shitty human being I am. I know that was over a year ago now, and given the current situation we're all in we should probably put it behind us. I mean, if Zac and I can pretend not to hate each other (most of the time), Isaac and I should be able to do the same... right?

Tell that to him.

 _He's_ the one who chose to sit on the opposite side of the waiting room to me. When I came out of Taylor's room, he got up and left the waiting room like I was stinking the place up or something. And when he came back with a coffee in his hand ten minutes later, he looked _right_ at me and then sat down as far away from me as he could fucking get.

Call me crazy, but I get the feeling he doesn't really wanna talk to me.

I happen to glance over in his direction just as he gets out of his chair again, and this time he starts walking towards me. But aside from a sideways look as he passes by, he doesn't acknowledge me before disappearing down the hall towards Taylor's room. I hate him. He _had_ to fucking show up tonight, didn't he? He couldn't have waited until tomorrow morning, he just had to cut into _my_ Taylor time.

Fucker.

I'm in the middle of repeatedly (and very maturely) kicking the chair leg with the heel of my shoe when I feel the presence of another person standing in front of me, and I redirect my glower from the ground to their face.

"He's asking for you." Isaac informs me irritably before walking back over to _his_ side of the waiting room.

Resisting the urge to call out "that's what you get for being a dickwad" after him, I settle for smiling smugly to myself as I make my way over to the hall. I thought I had another hour of boredom ahead of me, but instead I get to spend some more time with Taylor. It's pretty fucking impossible _not_ to be obnoxiously pleased about that.

But that feeling quickly passes when I step into his room and see the look on his face. Every other time I've come in here, he's looked up at me and smiled. I could _feel_ the relief practically radiating from him, and it made _me_ feel relieved, too. Like just me being here was helping him somehow, and that completely made up for all of the time I spent sitting around feeling useless. But he doesn't look relieved right now, and I don't really feel anything radiating from him. In fact, the room seems a hell of a lot cooler than it usually does, and I'm pretty sure I'm the only one feeling the chill.

"What's wrong?" I ask with a growing sense of dread, my pace instinctively slowing to a near stop. "What happened?"

"Adam texted you."

 _Fuck_.

I should've _known_ that Taylor wouldn't just watch the video of his kids. _Of course_ he was gonna notice that the damn phone was in airplane mode. He hasn't been online in days; there's no way an internet addict like him could resist the chance to check his fucking twitter. And I could fucking _kill_ Adam! Do the words "we'll talk about it tomorrow" mean something different to him than they do to the rest of the English speaking world?!

"You read my messages?" There's no point playing innocent here, so defensive and indignant is _clearly_ the way to go. "I didn't realize we were _that_ couple."

"If by 'that couple' you mean the kind that makes huge decisions without so much as mentioning it to the other person first, then yeah, I guess we are. And I didn't realize we were 'that couple', either. Not anymore, not until tonight."

This isn't fair! I'm not the one in the wrong here. And if I somehow am, I'm not the _only_ one! "First of all, it's not a _huge_ decision. And second of all, it's _my_ decision to make, okay? It's not about _us_ , it's about _me_. It's none of your business-"

"Are you _serious_?!"

"Yes! This isn't about you, it doesn't even affect you!"

"Bullshit! You wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for me. And you're going to regret it, I can _guarantee_ it. It'll make you _miserable_ , and _that_ will affect me. It'll affect both of us, _and_ the kids-"

"You're exaggerating." I sigh wearily, suddenly remembering just how fucking exhausted I still am. "I'll be fine, it's not a big deal."

"If it wasn't a big deal, you wouldn't have tried to hide it from me. You waited your whole life for an opportunity like this, Tommy." He argues adamantly. "You worked _so_ hard to get where you are, and now you're throwing it away over _nothing_!"

"I'm not throwing it away! You're right, I worked hard, and I had fun, but I'm _done_ now." I insist, but he's still shaking his head. It's obvious he doesn't believe a word I'm saying, but I'm not sure what else I need to say to convince him. Everything I'm telling him is exactly what I've been telling myself all day. _I'm_ convinced, so what's _his_ fucking problem? "I've been playing with Adam for three years, I've been all over the world and it's been amazing, but it was never gonna last forever."

"That doesn't mean it has to end _now_!" He continues to protest. "And it wouldn't be if this hadn't happened."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do! You were all set to go to San Francisco in a couple of weeks, and Bali at the end of the year-"

"Yeah, but then five days in Bali turned into ten days on another fucking continent! And you're not even gonna be out of that cast by New Years, so how the hell do you expect to cope with five kids on your own if I'm gone for that long!"

"I won't be on my own. Jenna's gonna be here, and my family will probably be back and forth from Tulsa until I'm doing better. We'll figure it out-"

"I already did; I'm staying."

He shakes his head defiantly. "I am not letting you quit your job. Not for me."

" _You_ quit _your_ band to move out here-"

"That was completely different. I'd been making music and playing shows for _twenty_ years, not three. And my kids needed me around more. I couldn't be everything they needed me to be _and_ be in the band at the same time!"

"Neither can I!"

"Yes you can!"

"No, I can't! You made a choice, and now I'm making the same one."

"No, you're _not_. Call Adam and tell him you've changed your mind." He demands, holding my phone out to me.

"But I _haven't_." I snap as I snatch it out of his palm. "And I'm not fucking going to, so just _drop_ it!"

"Guys!" Holden interrupts us, cutting off whatever pointless objection it was that Taylor was about to make. "I don't know what's going on in here, but you need to _chill_. I could hear you at the other end of the hall!"

"Sorry." Taylor mumbles regretfully.

"If you don't keep it down, you're gonna get kicked out of the ICU." He warns, but even though I know that he's trying to help me, not threaten me, I'm too tired and ticked off to be thankful.

"I was leaving anyway."

"Tommy-"

"I'll see you tomorrow." I call back to Taylor over my shoulder, not allowing myself to so much as glance at him because I _know_ he's gonna look all pitiful and sad, and the fact that he's lying in a fucking hospital bed is just gonna make me feel like an even bigger jerk than I already do.

But damn it, he did this! _He's_ the one who read my messages without asking, and _he's_ the one telling me what I can and can't fucking do! He should know better! I don't deal well with shit like that, it pisses me the hell off! When someone tells me I can't do something, it just makes me even more determined to do it!

I continue my angry ranting in my head as I stalk out of the hospital and past the remaining vultures lurking by the entrance, hoping to catch a picture of me to put on some pathetic gossip website. There are fewer of them left now than there were before. I guess it all got a lot less interesting to them when things started looking up for us. Assholes. I swear I'd smash their fucking cameras if I wasn't so aware of how bad it would make Taylor and Adam look  by association.

I'm kind of amazed that I even know where the hell I left my car, to be honest. I wasn't paying attention to street names when I parked it, I just figured that walking back in the general direction I came from would eventually lead me to it. And funnily enough, even with my mind entirely elsewhere, I do manage to find it without wandering up and down Santa Monica Boulevard all fucking night. But once I've unlocked the door and dropped down angrily into the driver's seat, I realize that finding the damn car was the easy part.

Now I have to figure out where I'm going next.

If I go back to the house I'll probably run into Taylor's parents, and they'll want to know why I'm home so soon when I was supposed to spend the night at their son's bedside. I could go to my apartment, but just remembering how weird it felt to be their last night is enough to put me off of the idea. I guess there's always a bar somewhere, L.A. has no shortage of those, and I could _definitely_ use a drink. That's not going to solve anything, though. It never does. I'd just be hiding from all this bullshit rather than dealing with it. It's not going to go away just because I'm too drunk to put a coherent thought together. It'll still be waiting for me tomorrow morning, along with a hangover to make matters even fucking worse.

For once in my life, I need to work through my crap like an adult instead of trying to wash it away with whiskey.

But I'm not entirely sure _how_. It's kind of a new concept for me.

Fuck, I wish Isaac was here. Or at least in a time zone that wouldn't make calling him right now entirely selfish and thoughtless. I don't want to wake him up just so he can listen to me whine about how impossible my boyfriend is and how I just yelled at him and walked out on him.

I can't _believe_ I yelled at him and walked out on him. He's still in the fucking ICU!

I am _so_ messed up.

I already wanna go back and apologize, but it's pointless to do that when nothing has changed. I still think he's being unreasonable and that I should be allowed to make this decision for myself. Honestly, though... I'm not sure I know anyone who would actually agree with the decision I've made. But that's just 'cause I don't know anyone unbiased! They're either all single, or they're all musicians, or they're more Adam's friend than mine. I need to talk to someone who is _none_ of the above, someone who _really_ knows me.

But someone who _isn't_ my mom.

That only leaves me with one person I feel I can go to right now.

When I pull up outside Lisa's house, I leave the engine running and just sit in my car like a fucking moron for a good ten minutes. All I can think about is the last time I was here. Even though it feels like weeks ago, it was really only a few days. She was _so_ fucking disappointed in me, _ashamed_ of me...

We've only spoken through texts since then. She told me that she would keep Taylor in her thoughts and that she was there for me if I needed anything, and I texted her and mom this morning to let her know that he was doing okay. But it still feels weird, like I'm as unwelcome here as I was after Taylor and I came clean about how our relationship really started. Maybe it's just me, though. Maybe she'll welcome me with open arms, and listen to my stupid problems like the other night never even happened.

Only one way to find out.

She's clearly surprised to find me on her doorstep when she pulls the front door open, and I immediately feel like a jackass for showing up unannounced because she's already in her PJs.

"What're you doing here?" She asks in confusion, stepping aside to let me into the house. "Is everything okay? Is Taylor-"

"He's fine." I assure her quickly, and it's impossible not to smile a little when I notice her breathe a sigh of relief. "Were you heading to bed?"

"About to."

"Well, I can go... I mean, it's not important-"

"Right. Because you so frequently come to my house in the middle of the night for no real reason." She replies pointedly, closing the door behind us and shooing me back towards the kitchen.

"It's not the middle of the night, it's barely ten." I inform her. "You're just _old_."

"Shut up or I might spit in your tea."

"I don't want tea."

"Then don't come to my house in the middle of the night."

"It's not the-" I've seen the look she's giving me right now _many_ times before over the course of our lives. When we were kids, it was usually accompanied by a projectile of some kind, but now that we're more mature it's just a precursor to a smack upside the head. "Forget it. Give me the damn tea."

I slump into a chair at the kitchen table, watching as she takes the kettle over to the sink and fills it with water before returning it to its stand on the counter and turning it on. She carefully takes a couple of mugs out of a nearby cabinet and sets them down before placing a tea bag in each one. I'm not sure what kind of tea it is, but I assume it's something made of flowers and fairy dust that's meant to make you sleepy.

That shit _never_ fucking works on me, and it tastes like crap. But whatever.

"So what's the occasion?" She asks, leaning against the countertop as the kettle quietly rumbles to life beside her. "I would've thought you'd be spending every spare second with your boyfriend, not randomly visiting your big sister."

"I just... wanted to clear the air, you know? Things were kinda weird after dinner and everything."

She gives a slow, thoughtful nod, her eyes carefully studying me for a moment before dropping to her bare feet. "Yeah, they were."

"I'm sorry you were so pissed at me. I mean, I get why. I know I did a shitty thing, and you were totally right to call me on it."

"I overreacted."

"You were disappointed."

"Yeah, but..." She shrugs, heaving a deep sigh. "I shouldn't have been so hard on you. Yes, you both did a terrible thing, and I feel awful for his wife, but I took it _way_ too personally. Besides... I can't really root for a couple of gay cowboys to leave their wives and kids and end up together, and then turn around and tell my own brother off for doing the same thing."

"Are you comparing my relationship to 'Brokeback Mountain'?" I snort in mild amusement.

"I'm just saying that it's hypocritical for me to be okay with two guys cheating on their spouses in a movie, and then condemn it in real life. I empathized with fictional characters, but I didn't take the time to try and do the same for my own flesh and blood."

"Because I'm not fictional; I fucked up for real, and I hurt _real_ people."

"I know. But still... there's more to it than that. I didn't realize how much until I read that article Taylor wrote."

"Yeah." I laugh softly, digging my fingernail into a small crack in the tabletop. "I've been hearing that a lot. Everyone's all like 'I had _no_ idea!'"

"Well it's true! You never told us about _any_ of it at the time, for obvious reasons, and then you lied about it when you finally did introduce us to him. And then when you tried to tell us the truth..."

"You couldn't hear it."

"I didn't _want_ to." She amends guiltily. "And I'm sorry I was so quick to judge you both without giving you a chance to explain. I should've known better. I know _you_ , and I know you wouldn't ever intentionally hurt someone, not unless you had no other option."

"I had another option." I admit quietly. "It just... didn't feel like one."

"Never does when you love someone."

"Guess not."

We sit (and stand) in silence for a moment or two, until the kettle finishes boiling and turns itself off with a loud click. Lisa busies herself with pouring the water and bringing the cups over to the table, and once she's taken her seat beside me I can tell she's waiting for me to come right out and tell her what the hell I'm really doing here. But when all I do is stare down into the mug of steaming hot liquid in front of me, she seems to remember that getting any kind of personal information out of me takes a hell of a lot more effort than that.

"Was clearing the air the only reason you came over?" She asks, trying her best not to sound as though she's accusing me of anything. And when I shrug, it's like I can _hear_ her roll her eyes. "Is Taylor okay?"

"Yeah, he doing okay. Considering how bad it looked twenty-four-hours ago, he's fucking _amazing_. He's pretty beat up physically, but it doesn't look like there's gonna be any permanent damage or anything, so..."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, it is."

"Then why do you seem so down?" She frowns in concern, taking a sip of her tea while I fiddle with the small paper tag on the string hanging over the edge of my mug. And I shrug. "Tommy-"

"We had a fight." I admit in a mumble.

"A fight? He _just_ had emergency surgery, he's still in intensive care, and you're picking fights with him?"

"I didn't pick a fight, _he_ did! He read my texts without asking, and he found out some stuff he didn't like, and he was all 'you can't do this, I won't let you', and I was like-"

"Can't do what?" She cuts me off, picking out the important information in my rant like a pro. "What did you do?"

"I... quit my job."

He eyebrows immediately shoot up in surprise, and then her mouth drops open. It's almost funny, actually. She's like fucking a cartoon. "What? _Why_? You _love_ playing for Adam, it's your dream job!"

"I know, but things are different now, you know? They _have_ to be. It was fine when I was single or whatever; I could go on tour, and spend weeks out of the country, _months_ on the road, and it didn't matter. But... I'm _not_ single anymore."

"You've had other relationships since you started playing for Adam, though." She points out. "Maybe not very serious ones, but... just because you're in a committed relationship now, that doesn't mean you have to give up your job."

"Maybe it does, though. I mean, isn't that what relationships are about? You have to compromise and stuff, and like... make sacrifices. You can't have it all your way _all_ the time."

A smile slowly spreads across her face as she shakes her head at me. But it's not an amused smile, and it's not one of her usual "my little brother is retarded" head shakes. She looks... proud.

It's weirding me the fuck out!

"Stop looking at me like that." I grumble crankily.

"I can't."

"You're not even trying!"

"I'm sorry!" She laughs, placing her hand on my arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I just can't believe how grown up you sounded. _Finally_. And yet... you've still got it _so_ wrong."

No I don't! I've read enough of those dumbass women's magazines over the last few days to know how relationships are supposed to work! I've taken tests! I know what I'm doing!

" _How_ do I have it wrong? I'm trying to do the right thing, I'm trying to make the responsible, selfless choice and put him first-"

"And that's sweet, and it says _a lot_ about how much he means to you and how committed you are to making things work. And you were right about needing to compromise and not always have everything your own way. But there's a big difference between compromising and _completely_ giving up a job you love. You skipped over every other possible option and went straight for the most extreme one!"

"What other options are there?"

"I don't know! It's not my job or my relationship. This would be the part where you _communicate_ with other people." She tells me slowly and clearly, like I won't understand her if she doesn't fucking spell it out for me. "Talk to Taylor. It doesn't sound like he even _wants_ you to quit your job, so I don't really understand why _you_ suddenly feel like you need to."

"Because he's hurt! And he has five kids to take care of, and I can't just go flying off halfway around the world while he can barely walk!"

"I understand that, but like you said, his injuries aren't permanent. Your solution to the problem _is_. In a couple of months he'll be fine, and things will be back to normal, but you won't have a job anymore."

"So you think I should just like... take time off until he's back on his feet?"

"It seems like a more reasonable way of handling things." She shrugs, as though it's just that simple. And really, it _should_ be. But it doesn't _feel_ like it is. "That way you can stay with him while he's recovering, and you'll still have a job to go back to at the end of it all. _That's_ a compromise."

"I guess..." I sigh grudgingly.

"Well don't sound _too_ pleased about it. You might hurt yourself."

"I _am_ pleased." Actually, I'm not.

"You could've fooled me. You seemed happier with the idea of giving up your job entirely." She chuckles bemusedly. "And I _know_ that wouldn't make you happy, so what's _really_ going on with you?"

"Nothing."

I'm still lying, I can feel it.

I _did_ feel better about quitting my job than I do about the idea of only giving it up for a few months, but I don't know _why_. I don't understand why I'm disappointed by the thought of _not_ quitting. Lisa's right, it wouldn't make me happy to leave Adam's band. My job was the best thing that had _ever_ happened to me until I met Taylor. But even with Taylor in my life, I never felt like I had to choose between him and the music. _He_ never made me feel like I had to choose, not for a second.

And he's _still_ not asking me to, so... why am I?

"Were you there?"

I look up at Lisa, frowning in question. "Where?"

"Were you there when he got hurt?" She asks, her eyes fixed on mine so intently that I suddenly feel a rush of panic over the fact that I can't seem to look away.

I try to focus on the question instead of the look she's giving me, but the second I do, it's like I'm right there all over again. I'm standing on the sidewalk, and he's running across the street, and that SUV is plowing into him like he's _nothing_...

Squeezing my eyes shut, I finally manage to turn my face away from hers, and I nod as I fight back the intense wave of nausea that just hit me. "Yeah. I was there."

"You were there... but he still got hit." Lisa concludes carefully, stating the one, devastating fact that I haven't allowed myself to fully acknowledge since it happened. I know she's right, but I don't _want_ her to be. "You could quit your job, and follow him around twenty-four-seven for the rest of your life, but you can't protect him from _everything_ , honey. Things happen. _Life_ happens. You can't stop it, not unless you want to stop living. Or stop _him_ from living."

"But there has to be _something._ Because I can't..." My voice fails, and all I can do is shake my head hopelessly.

"Can't what?" She asks me sympathetically.

I can't go through this again.

 _Ever_.

I can't take feeling this way again.

 _Ever_.

I can't watch him get hurt, or sit by his lifeless body in a hospital room, or worry that I'm never going to get to speak to him again, or that those kids are going to be taken away from me, or that the life we're supposed to live _together_ is going to vanish into thin air. I never had to worry about that kind of thing before. I never cared about anyone this way before. My life was never so completely fucking intertwined with someone else's that it would've unraveled and fallen apart if they weren't there anymore.

I don't know how to just accept the fact that there's _nothing_ I can do to keep him safe!

"I can't lose him, Lis." I somehow manage to choke out, my head falling into my hands as she gets out of her chair and wraps her arms around me comfortingly. "I _can't_..."

"I know."

It's been years since she last saw me cry, and even then it was nothing like this. I shed a few silent tears at our dad's funeral, but I quickly wiped them away and tried my best to be strong for my mom because she was a mess. Just thinking back to the day, and the days surrounding it, and how _empty_ she seemed _..._

" _Fuck_... I don't know what to do." I sob powerlessly, clinging to my big sister like I'm nothing more than a little kid rather than a grown man. "I'm _so_ fucking scared."

"But you know what?" She tells me gently, pulling back and brushing the hair out of my face so that she can look me in the eyes. "Nothing is any different now than it was a week ago. Not really. You're just more aware now of what you stand to lose, and how easy it would be for you to lose it. And I _know_ that's scary, believe me. Some mornings I wake up before Bridget, and I'll go into her room, and for a split second I'll be _convinced_ that she's not breathing... it's the most terrifying thing. It's like my entire world collapses, just for a moment. And the older she gets, the more things there are to be afraid of. All I want to do is put her in a bubble, and keep her in her bedroom with her puzzles and her dolls until she's a little old lady." She laughs softly, but even through my own tears, I can see how close she is to crying. "But I'd rather be scared out of my mind every time she leaves the house than deny her the chance to _live_. She deserves to have the most amazing, full life. And _I_ deserve to see her live it."

"So... basically..." I sniffle pathetically, wiping my eyes on the back of my arm. "You're telling me to get the fuck over it?"

"Basically."

Again, she's right. It sounds simple, maybe even insulting, but it's true.

There's nothing else I _can_ do.

I can't stop living because I'm too afraid of losing him, and I know I can't stop him from living either. I don't _want_ to. I _want_ him to live his life, that's the whole point. And I want to live it with him. That's exactly what we were doing until all of this happened, _when_ all of this happened. There's nothing I could've done to stop it, and there's nothing I can do to stop the same thing, or a million other terrible things, from happening in the future.

All we can do is keep going.

And that's _terrifying_.


	87. Chapter 87

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy!Chapter

  


 

 

 

I am _exhausted._

I really can't remember the last time I felt so completely wiped out in _every_ way. I'm pretty sure I had more energy than this when I had the freaking stomach flu! I guess it makes sense for me to feel this shitty. I mean, other than last night, when I got wasted and passed out for a couple of hours (and I'm not even sure that counts), I haven't slept since Sunday night. And I _barely_ slept then, because I was so stressed out about me and Taylor having to sit the kids down and tell them what we're lying jerks. I haven't had any truly restful sleep in three days, and while it's not unusual for me to go that long without a decent amount of sleep, it _is_ unusual for me to do it while dealing with all of the other insane shit I've had to deal with so far this week.

All I want to do right now it crawl into bed and be _done_.

But I have to finish driving home first. Falling asleep at the wheel is not an option. If I end up in the hospital right along with Taylor, we're _so_ screwed. I just need to stay awake for a couple more miles. I've cranked up the AC, I have the stereo blasting so fucking loud that I it's making my head hurt, and I've got every window in the damn car rolled down even though it's pouring rain and the left side of my body is soaking wet as a result. I can do this. I can _do_ this...

Why the _fuck_ did he have to buy a house in the fucking Hollywood Hills?! 

It's like a goddamn slalom up here!

I have enough trouble navigating these narrow, winding roads in broad daylight, with perfect weather, when I'm wide awake! So it's a fucking miracle that I manage to make it safely up to the house and into the driveway in the pouring rain, while it's pitch black out and I'm barely hanging on to consciousness. And as soon as the engine is off, and everything is finally still and quiet, I just want to close my eyes and switch off entirely. I _know_ how much more comfortable our bed is, though. I may not have slept in it in days but I vividly recall how incredible it feels, especially compared to the driver's seat of my crappy car. And despite the fact that I'm so tired that I barely care about comfort right now, the thought of that bed is enough to force me out of the car and into the house.

The light is on in the foyer, but other than that there are no signs of life anywhere. No sounds. It's kind of completely _wonderful_. I make my way over to the stairs, using the banister to practically hold me up with every step I take. I have no intention of even taking my clothes off when I get to our room, I'm just gonna fall face first onto the mattress.

I can't _wait_ , just a few more feet...

But the second my hand touches the doorknob, I hear something that causes me to freeze automatically. There's a voice in my head _screaming_ at me that it was nothing, that I should forget it and go to bed. But that voice is no match for Asta's muffled cries, as soft as they may be. I wait for a moment, willing her to stop and go back to sleep. They're not her full-blown "someone get in here _now_ " cries, they're her "I woke up alone in the middle of the night and I disapprove" cries, and most of the time those cries tend to die out pretty fast.

Except tonight, apparently.

As much as I don't want to have to deal with _anything_ right now, I know I have to. I'm sure Jenna has the baby monitor with her out in the guest house, and if I don't stop Asta from crying soon it's gonna wake her up, too. She's been taking care of the kids all day, and she'll be doing it again all day tomorrow. The least I can do is walk down the damn hall and hold Asta for a few minutes until she settles down again.

I realize what the problem is as soon as I open the door to her nursery. The window is open, and the wind has picked up enough that there's a pretty cold breeze whipping the curtains around. I quickly pull it closed and latch it before approaching her crib and lifting her into my arms. Her little hands grip my t-shirt while I hush her quietly, and within seconds her cries begin to fade into nothing more than vaguely discontent sniffles.

Even though my plan was to get her back to sleep and put her back in her crib, I know I can't leave her in here now. The window might be closed, but the room is still colder than it should be. With an _extremely_ tired sigh, I leave the nursery with Asta still snuggled up against my chest. Once we're safely shut away in the master bedroom, I carefully make my way through the darkness towards the bed. I grab Taylor's pillows with one hand and use them as makeshift barriers to keep her safely positioned in the middle of the mattress before setting her down between them. She's already sound asleep again, with her thumb stuffed in her mouth, and I gladly settle onto the bed beside her, resting my head on one of the pillows I used to block her in.

I thought I'd close my eyes and that would be it, nothing would be able to wake me again until the morning. But she's sucking her thumb _so_ loudly! It actually kinda reminds me of the sound Maggie Simpson makes whenever she sucks on her pacifier, but I'm not even annoyed by it. Yeah, it's keeping me awake, but how the fuck am I supposed to resent something so damn cute? As I watch her, I notice that she's going through some kind of cycle. She'll suck on her thumb really aggressively for ten seconds or so, and then suddenly stop. Then her thumb will slowly begin to slide out of her mouth, but just before it falls out entirely, she sucks it right back in and the whole thing starts again.

And I'm just lying here, finding it _way_ more amusing than any normal, non-sleep deprived person probably would. Eventually my tired mind becomes so used to the sound and the sort-of-rhythm of it all that it stops really registering at all, if anything it's soothing, and I feel myself slowly beginning to fall asleep.

It's fucking _glorious_.

What _isn't_ glorious is being woken up at god knows what time by some crabby old woman shrieking at me to get the hell away from her grandchildren. I haven't even fully regained consciousness when said crabby old woman starts pulling something off of the bed beside me, and it takes me a while to realize that the something is actually Viggo.

Where the fuck did he come from?!

"What?" I mumble dumbly, pushing myself up in bed and trying to figure out what the hell is happening as Viggo starts crying. "What's wrong?"

"You!" Pam snaps at me in disgust. " _You're_ what's wrong, and I'm going to make sure you _never_ lay a hand on my grandchildren again!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Get away from Asta!"

I instinctively glance down at where Asta was last night and find that she's still right there, curled up against the pillow I was sleeping on just a few seconds ago, blissfully unaware that her ridiculous grandmother is throwing a bitch fit for no apparent reason.

"She's fine, she's sleeping-"

"Get away from her!" She orders me, clutching Viggo protectively to her even as he squirms in obvious protest.

"Would you stop fucking _yelling_? You're scaring him!"

"Don't pretend you care how he feels! You only care about yourself!"

What the _fuck_ is wrong with this woman?!

Before I can flat out ask her that very question, Zac appears beside her looking about a confused as I feel. I never thought there would come a day when I'd actually be relieved to see him. At least not a day any time soon, or without me being stranded on a fucking deserted island and him captaining a passing cruise ship! But if he can get Pam to calm the hell down and start behaving like a normal human being  (or as close to it as she ever seems to get) then he's officially my new best friend.

"What's going on?" He asks, looking back and forth between us.

"Good question!" I reply just as Asta begins to stir from her sleep. But when I turn to her and start to pick her up, Pam starts freaking the fuck out again.

"Don't you dare touch her!"

"What the-"

"I caught him." She cuts me off, turning to Zac and adopting a much less hostile tone. "He had Viggo in bed with him!"

You have _got_ to be shitting me! " _What_?! You're crazy!"

Zac's gaze immediately goes from his inconsolable nephew to the empty space on the bed beside me, and then finally up to my face. He looks startled, conflicted, and he holds my stare unwaveringly as he responds to Pam's _insane_ accusation.

"What do you mean 'in bed' with him?"

"I came to wake the children up, just like I told you I was going to, but Viggo wasn't in his bed. I checked the other bedrooms, and the bathroom, and then I came in here..." She shakes her head as she turns her repulsed glower on me again. "He had him on the bed."

"I didn't even know he was in here!" I exclaim, hating the fact that I feel like I'm begging Zac, of all fucking people, to take my side. "I was asleep! He must've come in during the night or something!"

"You're sick!"

"So you didn't actually _see_ him... doing anything?" Zac asks uncertainly.

"He was in bed with my grandchildren! He has no right, he's practically a _stranger_ to them! And I know what people like him do to little boys!"

I'm about to launch into a profanity laden rebuttal of that completely fucking _ignorant_ statement, but then I see Penny slip into the room, and Jenna's not far behind her. I've probably already said enough things I shouldn't have with Viggo present, even if he is too upset to hear any of it. I don't want to make things even worse by yelling more expletives at Pam in front of her grandkids, regardless of the fact that she totally deserves it.

"Is everything okay?" Jenna asks hesitantly, placing a hand on Penny's shoulder to keep her from coming any further into the room. "Is Viggo hurt?"

"Uh... Jenna, can you take the kids downstairs and get them some breakfast?" Zac pries Viggo out of Pam's arms and passes him over to Jenna, but Viggo is still crying helplessly and repeatedly insisting that he wants _me_ , not them. "We'll be down in a little while."

"Sure, no problem." She replies, shooting me a worried look as she ushers Penny back out into the hall.

The second they're gone, Zac pushes the bedroom door shut and Pam marches over and quickly lifts Asta off of the bed like she's in immediate danger just lying here next to me. I guess, in Pam's messed up mind, she is.

"Okay, let's just... start again." Zac suggests as I clamber off of the mattress and get to my feet. "Pam, you said you came in here looking for Viggo and he was on the bed?"

"Yes."

"Was he awake?"

"What does that matter?" She snaps impatiently.

"I'm just trying to understand what you saw." He explains while I struggle to keep my mouth shut and _not_ tell him that she's a fucking idiot and she saw _nothing._ "Was Viggo awake?"

"No."

"Was Tommy awake?"

"No. But-"

"Was Tommy hugging him, or touching him _at all_...?"

"I... no."

Ha! "Like I _said_ , I didn't even know he was here until she started yelling at me to get away from him!"

"Why should we believe a word _you_ say?" Asks Pam distrustfully. "It's not as if you'd ever admit to it!"

"There's nothing to admit to, you psycho _bitch_!"

"Tommy!" Zac chastises me sternly, but even though I know it's for my own good, and he's trying to keep things from getting any more out of hand than they already are, it still ticks me off.

"What? Like you wouldn't be pissed if someone was accusing _you_ of this shit!"

"I'm not saying that, but you still need to calm down!" He insists authoritatively, turning back to Pam and addressing her with the same warning tone. " _Both_ of you."

"I think we should call the police." She tells him unflinchingly.

"Fine, call the fucking cops! Maybe _they_ can convince you that you've completely lost your mind!"

"We're _not_ calling _anyone_." Zac sighs in frustration as he runs a hand through his hair and takes a moment to think. "Pam, why don't you go help Jenna with breakfast while I go talk to Viggo."

"He'll probably be too scared to tell you what _really_ happened."

"Just... let me handle it, okay?" He insists gently, reaching out to give her arm a comforting squeeze. "He trusts me. If something happened, I know he'll tell me."

I really wanna throw up right about now.

With one last withering glare in my direction, Pam takes Asta and leaves the room. But just as Zac is about to follow her, I grab him by the arm in a way that's anything _but_ comforting and pull him back.

"I _didn't_ do anything."

He nods understandingly, shrugging his arm out of my grasp. "I believe you."

"I would _never_ hurt those kids, I swear on my fucking _life_!"

"I _believe_ you." He repeats confidently. "Pam's just... scared."

"She's looking for problems where there aren't any, and making shit up just to cause trouble." I mutter bitterly. "I wish she'd hop on her fucking broomstick and go back where she fucking came from."

"She lost her kid, and now she feels like she's losing her grandkids, too. She's desperate."

"Yeah, well, accusing people of _molesting_ them isn't the fucking solution! What the hell is she even doing here this early, anyway?"

"I offered to pick her up and bring her here first thing this morning, since I won't have time to do it later."

 _Perfect_. "Why? Are you spending all day at the hospital with Taylor or something?"

"No, actually, I'm leaving." He obviously knows that wasn't the answer I was expecting, and he's more than a little amused by the fact that it's left me too surprised to respond. "I have to get back to Tulsa and sort through some stuff."

"Oh."

"I was gonna head over to the hospital after breakfast to say goodbye. My flight's just before eleven, so..."

I really don't know what the appropriate thing to say is. I mean, I'm pretty sure "woohoo!" isn't it. And honestly, as much as he bugs me, it's not like I'm even _that_ pleased to see him go. I feel like I should be, but I'm not. I'm not about to beg him to stay or anything, but he hasn't be totally unhelpful around here. And if he can get this whole, stupid thing with Pam at least partially cleared up before he leaves town, I might even have to consider _not_ hating his guts.

"I'm gonna go talk to Viggo." He says, taking a deep breath as he turns towards the bedroom door. "Try to stay away from Pam until I've at least convinced her not to call social services."

"No fucking problem."

I don't realize how much of a lie that is until I'm standing in the shower five minutes later, almost having a panic attack over the realization that Pam is downstairs with the kids and I can't go near them. My mind starts spinning, and I start imagining the worst case scenario (as usual). You might think that would be my getting carted off to prison, branded a pedophile and losing everything that means anything to me. But it's actually not.

It's Taylor losing his kids.

It's the idea of them being taken away from him because of _me_. It's the idea of _both_ of us losing them, and then me losing _him_ as a result.

It's the same damn fear I had before, the same fear that led to me letting him go.

I know it's stupid. I know from _experience_ not to let this anxiety get the better of me. But that doesn't make it any less scary, and it doesn't make it any easier to steady my breathing and stay on my feet. In fact, it takes me about fifteen minutes to stop freaking out and get to a point where I can actually finish showering, towel off, and get dressed.  And then I have no clue what to do with myself, because I feel as though I'm under house arrest.

Or bedroom arrest.

I don't wanna leave the room until I've been given the all clear, because I don't want to risk another run-in with Pam in front of the kids. But I don't know if Zac even realizes that I'm waiting for him to let me know that it's safe to move about the house without randomly being accused of child abuse!

Thankfully, after sitting on the bed for another ten minutes or so, I get a text from Taylor's phone telling me to come down to the kitchen. So, after taking a moment to psych myself up for whatever the hell is about to happen, I venture out of the room and go in search of Zac and Pam. I find them in the kitchen with Jenna, who's busy feeding Asta, but none of the other kids are anywhere to be seen.

"Where are they?" I ask uncertainly, trying to shake the feeling that I've just been called in front of a jury to hear their verdict. "They need to start get ready for school-"

"They are." Zac tells me. "They're getting dressed."

"Okay."

"I talked to Viggo." He continues, and Pam immediately looks away as though she's refusing to acknowledge any of what's being said. "He says he woke up in the middle of the night because he heard thunder."

"There _was_ some thunder last night." Jenna interjects cautiously, clearly trying to offer evidence in my defense. If I could remember how to move right now, I'd hug her. "It woke me up, too."

"Yeah, well, Viggo's afraid of thunder, and apparently Taylor lets him sleep in his bed whenever there's a storm. But, obviously, Taylor wasn't here last night. So Viggo got into bed with you, instead." Concludes Zac with an unconcerned shrug. "That's it, that's all that happened. I asked him if you said or did anything when he got in bed with you, and he swears you never even woke up. In fact, he said he didn't _want_ to wake you up because he didn't know if you'd put him back in his own bed or not."

"I _told_ you nothing happened."

Pam shakes her head, nose in the air like she's better than all of us. "I still don't want him sharing a bed with you."

"You'd rather he stay in his own bed and be afraid of a storm?" I question incredulously. "There's nothing wrong with him sleeping in the same bed as me if it makes him feel safer. I'm not gonna stop him from doing it just because his grandmother is uninformed enough to believe that if a guy wants to sleep with another guy, that must mean he wants to sleep with little kids, too!"

"It's inappropriate! Letting him sleep in the same bed as his father is one thing, but you're _not_ his father! You're not his family-"

"You can keep saying that all you want, but one day you're gonna have to accept the fact that I _am_ part of his family. Even if I'm not related to him by blood like you, I'm gonna be here for him no matter what. _That's_ what family is."

"I _don't_ have to accept anything." She argues defiantly. "I will _never_ accept you as part of this family. You and Taylor seem to think that just because Natalie is gone you get to take those children away from their _real_ family and raise them however you want. But I know what _she_ would want for them, and this certainly isn't it!"

"You don't think she'd want them to be happy and loved?"

"She wouldn't want them being raised in this kind of environment, with such blatant and unrepentant disregard for right and wrong-"

"But there's nothing wrong with hate, and ignorance, and judging people you don't even fucking _know_? You think she'd want them being raised to believe _that's_ okay?" I shake my head in contempt, snatching the three lunchboxes off of the kitchen counter nearby and stalking out of the room before she has a chance to spout any more of her sanctimonious bullshit at me.

While I'm waiting in the foyer for Penny, River and Ezra to finish getting ready for school, Viggo comes racing into the room out of nowhere and throws his arms around my legs like he hasn't seen me in years and wasn't sure if he _ever_ would again. He's babbling something about being sorry for getting me in trouble, I can't really make out much of it because it's muffled by my thigh. But it doesn't really matter what else he says, the fact that he thinks it's his fault that I got yelled at this morning is more than enough reason for me to set the lunchboxes I was carrying on the ground, kneel down in front of him, and hug him tightly.

"It's _not_ your fault, okay?"

"I was scared of the thunder." He explains sadly. "Daddy lets me sleep in his bed when there's thunder."

"I know, dude. You didn't do _anything_ wrong."

"Then why'd everyone get so mad?"

Forcing myself to swallow all of the anger and resentment I feel towards Pam so that it won't show on my face, I pull out of Viggo's grasp and meet his wide, worried eyes. "Your grandma was just confused about something, that's all. But we talked about it, and we figured it out. No one's mad anymore, everything's fine."

"Promise?"

Fuck, I _hate_ lying to kids. But I'm realizing more and more that sometimes it's kinda necessary. The truth hurts, and it's not always something they need to hear. Sometimes it's better to keep them in the dark, to let them believe that things aren't as awful as they really are. Even with these kids, who have already been forced to face harsh reality too many times in their short lives.

 _Especially_ with these kids.

"I promise."

 

 


	88. Chapter 88

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taylor!Chapter

  


 

 

Last night was pretty much completely horrible.

At first it was because I was way more awake than I had been all day, and because I had almost no visitors at all. So I spent hours and hours lying in bed, listening to the various, unsettling ICU noises. It's weird how much more prominent they seemed to be at night than they were during the day. I knew they weren't any louder than they had been before, but I felt as though I could hear them much more clearly. I kept wondering if someone was dying in the room next to mine. I didn't want to think about it, but with nothing else to focus my mind on, I couldn't seem to stop myself.

I tried to force myself to sleep, but whenever I did somehow manage to drift off, I started having dreams. They weren't like the ones I could vaguely remember having while I'd been in the coma, or even while I was still sedated afterwards. Maybe it was the ICU sounds creeping into my subconscious, or maybe the lower level of meds in my system made my dreams feel harsher somehow. Either way, I was dragged out of every small amount of sleep I managed to find by a nightmare of some kind.

I did have a couple of visits from Ike before he left to check into a hotel for the night. His first visit after my fight with Tommy was just awkward and stilted, but it was my fault because I was in a crumby mood. His second visit, after I'd cooled off a little more and wasn't quite so pissy, was much better. Things between us are still nowhere close to being the way they once were, but the conversation came much easier and there were far fewer strained silences.

My other main source of company was Holden. I knew that he was busy, so I tried not to keep him talking for too long whenever he came into my room to check on me. But he never made me feel like I was holding him up or taking up time he needed to be spending on his other patients. He sat with me and listened to me ramble about Tommy. A lot. I started off by telling him what our fight had been about, but over the course of his many visits I ended up filling him in on pretty much our entire history. It was kind of adorable how engrossed he got, to the point where he'd get annoyed every time he realized he needed to leave. And as soon as he came back again later, he'd tell me to keep going like he'd never left.

He even snuck me in a bag of potato chips and a Kit Kat from the vending machines at one point, which basically made him my hero!

But all of that was ruined by my need to use the bathroom. Just when I thought that being stuck in here couldn't get any worse, it did. I'm not gonna go into details, because frankly I'd prefer to _never_ think about it again. Let's just say it was way more humiliating than merely peeing into a bag, and I'm seriously debating whether or not I even want to eat again until I'm allowed to get out of bed and use a real toilet.

Hopefully that'll be sooner rather than later.

Doctor Martinez came in first thing this morning and did another one of his evaluations of my progress, and he decided that I'm taking up valuable space that could be better used on patients much worse off than I am. So he evicted me from the Neuro ICU and sent me to Neurology, instead.

It's such a _huge_ relief to be out of there, it feels like a step towards being out of this hospital altogether. He said that they should be able to take the drainage tube out in a couple of days or so, which means my kids can finally come and see me. And now that I'm on a regular ward instead of in intensive care, I can have more than one visitor at a time, and they can stay for a hell of a lot longer than five minutes! I even have a window now, though all I can really see out of it from my bed is sky. But that's still better than the plain, white walls I've been staring at since I woke up in the ICU. And I have a TV, so even at night when I can't have visitors to keep me company, I won't be bored out of my mind!

The only downside (and it's a relatively minor one), is that I can only have visitors between ten in the morning and nine at night. Which gives me thirteen hours of time spent alone with myself. I'm probably supposed to spend most of it sleeping, but unless I can get my body back on a normal schedule, there's no guarantee I'll be able to escape into unconsciousness for the majority of my alone time. And even when I can manage sleep, if those nightmares keep pestering me it's not going to be very restful.

"What time is it?" I ask one of my new nurses as she walks into the room carrying a tray full of food.

Here's hoping I can manage to avoid wearing this one.

"Almost nine." She tells me cheerfully, setting the tray down on a table nearby while she quickly checks the dressing on my head. "How're you feeling? Any dizziness or nausea?"

"Not really. I guess I was kinda dizzy earlier... it's hard to tell. It was like a head rush, only I didn't even do anything."

"Did you feel as though _you_ were moving, or was it more like your surroundings were moving?"

"Um..." I close my eyes, trying to remember the exact sensation. "Like I was moving, I think."

"It's probably nothing to worry about, but I'll make a note of it. How about that double vision? Any better or worse than it was in the ICU?"

"Neither, really. It seems better sometimes, but I think it's just because I'm getting used to it, you know? I won't even notice it for a while, and then it's like 'oh yeah, this sucks'."

With an understanding smile, she pushes my breakfast closer to me and uncovers the plates. "I know it's frustrating, but your doctors don't seem to think it's permanent. Hopefully you'll start noticing an improvement as the intracranial pressure continues to decrease."

Hopefully.

She reminds me to press my call button if I need anything at all, and then leaves me alone with my breakfast. I can't help but eye it suspiciously, like my scrambled eggs are on some kind of covert mission to destroy me. It's not that it doesn't look appetizing, but after last night I really don't want to eat anything. I know I'm going to have to eat sooner or later, though. If I go on a hunger strike they're just gonna put me back on that bag of mystery fluid. I've finally managed to shed almost all of the tubes that were attached to me in the ICU, the last thing I want to do is take ten steps back in my recovery after taking such a big step forward.

But still... I'm not sure a slice of toast is worth the humiliation.

"Hey!" Zac smiles brightly at me as he walks into the room and strolls right over to my food. "Ooh! Just in time for breakfast."

"Help yourself." I sigh, pushing the tray away from me.

"Not hungry?"

Actually, I _am_. But when I think about where that food is going, I lose all interest in eating it. "Nope."

"You _sure_? 'Cause I didn't have chance to eat this morning, so if you don't stop me right now I'm gonna inhale that bacon."

"Have at it." I smile faintly, watching as he eagerly grabs a slice and practically shoves the entire thing in his mouth. "Good?"

" _So_ good." He groans through his mouthful, picking up the tray and setting it on his lap as he takes a seat in the chair by the bed.

"How'd you even get in here? I thought visiting hours weren't until ten."

"They aren't." A smug smile spreads across his face as he looks up at me with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "I sweet talked a nurse into making an exception."

"Nice."

"Necessary, actually. I need to be at the airport by ten, so if they didn't let me in now I wouldn't have gotten to say goodbye."

"Oh." Wow... okay. I knew he was leaving, but I didn't think it was gonna happen today. _Now_. "I guess I thought you'd be here a couple more days."

His smile fades further, and he offers me a look of absolute sympathy and understanding. "I want to be. But I've already been out here for a week. I was only supposed to be gone for the weekend. And even though Kate mostly understood why I couldn't come back when I said I was going to, she's not exactly the most patient person these days. Especially not..."

"When it comes to anything involving me." I nod knowingly. "It's okay, I get it. I'm just gonna miss having you around, that's all."

"I'm gonna miss you, too. But I'll be back as soon as things are more settled with Kate. Even if it's only for a couple of days or something, I'm not just gonna disappear."

"I know."

We sit in sad silence for a while, contemplating his imminent departure and the fact that we really don't know when we're going to see each other again. His interest in my breakfast is noticeably lacking compared to a couple of minutes ago. Rather than scooping forkfuls of egg into his mouth like he was before, he's only picking half-heartedly at a slice of toast.

"How'd you sleep?" He eventually asks in an effort to lighten the mood and change the subject.

"Uh..."Is 'shittily' even a word? "Okay. Not as much as I wanted to, but I spent half of yesterday asleep-"

"And _all_ day the day before." He notes teasingly.

"Exactly. How about you? Did Viggo wake you up? I thought I heard thunder at one point, but I couldn't really tell."

"Yeah..." His face falls once again, and he's suddenly more concerned with staring at my orange juice than looking at me. "There was some thunder."

"Was he okay?"

He continues gazing intently at the tray for a moment before taking a _very_ deep breath and forcing himself to meet my eyes again. "The thunder woke him up, so he went into your room."

Crap. "Was he freaking out because I wasn't there?"

"No, actually... Tommy was there, so he just got into bed with him instead."

"Oh." I can't help smiling at the image of Viggo snuggled up with Tommy on our bed. I can just picture the look on Tommy's face when a four-year-old came crawling under the comforter with him in the middle of the night. "Good. I'm glad he was okay."

"Yeah."

That's the least sincere 'yeah' anyone has ever uttered. "Seriously, Zac, what's going on? You were fine a minute ago, and now you're all... weird."

"I went over to Pam's hotel and picked her up early this morning, 'cause I told her last night that I had an earlier flight and I wouldn't be able to do it later."

"Okay..."

"And when we got back to the house, she went to get the kids up for school and everything... and she found Viggo in your bed... with Tommy."

"So?" I frown, unable to see what the big deal is. But it slowly dawns on me how Pam would see it, how she already viewed Tommy _before_ walking in on him sharing a bed with her youngest grandson. " _Please_ tell me she didn't do what I think she did."

"If you think she accused Tommy of molesting Viggo and they got into a huge fight... I can't."

" _Fuck_."

"It's okay. I broke it up, and I talked to Viggo and got his version of events, and Pam _very_ grudgingly accepted that nothing happened. But she still wasn't happy about the whole thing, and Tommy was pretty upset."

"Can you blame him?!"

"No, not _at all_. But... part of me doesn't blame her either." My mouth falls open in outrage, but before I can figure out how to form words and ask him what the hell he's talking about, he quickly explains himself. "I'm not saying that she didn't jump to conclusions, or that the conclusions she jumped to weren't totally insane. She did, and they were. But... that's the point she's at, Tay. This isn't her, you know it's not. What we talked about yesterday, about Kate and everything? Well the same is true for Pam, probably even more so. She's not thinking straight, she's not being rational. The only thing she had left of Nat was those kids, that was _all_ she had keeping her sane. The second you said you were taking them to Los Angeles, she _snapped_."

"And I get that, but what the hell else am I supposed to do?!" I exclaim helplessly, wishing it wouldn't hurt like hell to throw my hands up in frustration. "I'm not gonna move back to Tulsa just to keep her from going off the deep end! It's not my responsibility to keep her happy, I have to put my kids first. And they _weren't_ happy there, Zac, they were falling apart. They're doing _so_ much better here."

"I know. And I think even _she_ can see that. And to be honest... it's probably just making it worse. They're moving on, forming a new family, and it's making her feel even more left behind. She's desperate _and_ she's in denial, and that's _not_ a good combination."

"I don't know how to fix this. I've tried talking to her, she won't listen."

He nods, clearly as clueless about how to resolve all of this as I am. "You'll figure it out."

"I hope so."

With another heavy, resigned sigh, he lifts the tray back onto the table and gets to his feet. I already know this is goodbye before he even says it, and my hand instinctively reaches out and latches onto his tightly. He looks down at our clasped fingers, a faint smile briefly curling his lips before it disappears again. There's a moment of quiet as I squeeze his hand and he squeezes mine in return, and even though it's easier than putting it all into words, it doesn't hurt any less than a lengthy farewell would.

"I'll see you soon." He promises me finally, carefully gathering me into his arms and giving me a gentle hug. "Take it easy, okay?"

"Okay."

"I _mean_ it." He warns me in his sternest tone, pulling back far enough that I can see the serious expression on his face. "If you fall out of bed and crack your head open trying to walk in that cast, I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Noted."

He pulls me back into one last hug, and I squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I try to hold onto the feeling and convince myself that this isn't really a goodbye. It's not the last time I'll see him, and I don't believe we're going to go back to the same "radio silence" we were living with before he left Tulsa. As though he just read my mind, he lets go of me and slips his hand into his pocket to retrieve my phone.

"Almost left town with it." He chuckles softly as he hands it to me. "Make sure you call me, okay?"

"I will."

He doesn't say goodbye, neither of us do. In fact, we don't say another word to each other before he leaves my hospital room. But he does hold onto my hand, my fingers sliding through his, maintaining contact until the last possible second, when there's no way he can take another step back without letting go of me first. It really is like watching a piece of me walk away, I can _feel_ his absence as soon as he's out of sight. An emptiness somewhere inside that wasn't there before. It's crazy to think that a couple of years ago we were barely speaking to one another, and we _chose_ to keep our distance because we couldn't seem to be in the same room without bickering.

It hurt to be at odds with him and to not want him around, but it hurts more now that we're on good terms and I _can't_ have him here.

We're texting before he's probably even had chance to leave the building. It's kind of pathetic, but I don't particularly care. It's been a long time since I've been able to message him about nothing, without it being an emergency and without having to wait forever for him to be able to reply to me without Kate knowing. But it's not long before I develop a pretty bad headache, and I'm forced to wish him a safe flight and turn my phone off.

Apparently the amount of pain I'm in is so obvious that the first thing my mom says when she walks into the room at ten am on the dot is "I'm going to find a nurse". She's gone before I can tell her that it's not necessary, and that I'm slowly starting to feel better. I try telling my dad instead, but he simply pats my hand and gives me his "just let her fuss" look (also known as his "don't look at me, I can't stop her" look). Mom returns a few minutes later with a nurse in tow and instructs me to "tell her where it hurts", like I'm five years old or something. I get that she's worried about me, and she has every right to be over-protective after everything that's happened so far this week, but it's kind of humiliating to be almost-thirty-years-old and still have my mom chasing nurses around and telling them how to take care of me. 

Luckily, I manage to talk the nurse out of increasing the dose of morphine I'm currently on, despite mom's repeated insistence that I shouldn't be embarrassed to admit that I'm in pain. I'm honestly not embarrassed, though. If I was in enough pain to require more meds, I'd be begging for them. But I don't want to wind up completely out of it and unaware of who I'm talking to or what I'm saying!

Or worse, asleep all day _again_.

The nurse gathers up the remains of my breakfast, commenting on how it's good to see that I have an appetite. I don't bother telling her that Zac's the one with the appetite, because I don't want her (or my mom) bringing me _more_ food. Just as she's leaving the room, Tommy arrives and everything suddenly gets very... quiet. Between me having no idea what mood he's in this morning, and him having no idea if he should go back to the waiting room while my parents are in here, there's a definite sense of uncertainty in the air.

"You know, I could really use a coffee." My dad announces oh-so-subtly, taking mom by the hand and basically pulling her out of her chair. "Let's go down to the cafeteria."

"But-"

"Can we get you anything?"

Tommy forces a small smile and shakes his head, stepping aside so that they can leave the room. "No, thanks."

"Yeah, I'm fine, too." I tell them, even though I'd _kill_ for a coffee right now.

"We'll be back in a little while." Mom assures me as thought there was any doubt about it. "Let the nurse know if that headache gets worse."

"I will."

"Headache?" Tommy asks as soon as my parents have left the room. "Is it bad?"

"Don't worry, it's just a boring, run-of-the-mill headache. I guess I should've eased back into texting... I'll know better next time."

His eyes fall from my face to my phone on the bed beside me, and I think the same thought occurs to us at the same time. The whole reason we started fighting last night was over a text message, and now neither of us really knows where we stand. I mean, it's not like anything we said or did is going to cause damage to our relationship, and it's _so_ comforting to know that there's very little, if anything, that could seriously come between us now.

But it _was_ still a fight, and we do still need to figure out where the hell we go from here.

"Listen... about last night-"

"I don't wanna fight about it anymore." He sighs tiredly.

"I wasn't going to-"

"I'm not gonna quit my job." Thank _god_! "But I _am_ taking time off, at least until you can walk without _any_ kind of assistance."

"But-"

"No." He cuts me off firmly. "It's a compromise. You can't have everything your way. That's how relationships work; deal with it."

I guess I can't argue with that. Well, I could, but he's right; it _is_ a compromise. I'd rather he take a few months off and still have a job to go back to than quit Adam's band entirely. And I'd rather not push him and risk having him take this "deal" off the table.

"Fine." I sigh grudgingly.

"Good."

Despite his staunch demeanor, there's still something about him that strikes me as incredibly drained. Honestly, it _hurts_ to see him like this. It's not right, it's not _him_. And even though I know there's nothing I can do about it, and nothing I could've done to prevent it, I still feel responsible. If I wasn't in here, if he wasn't taking on _so_ much in my absence, he wouldn't be so worn out.

And if it wasn't for my out of control mother-in-law, his day wouldn't have started off in the shitty way that it did.

"Are you okay?" I ask him hesitantly. "I talked to Zac this morning... he told me about what happened with Pam."

Tommy rolls his eyes, shaking his head at the thought of it all as he takes a step closer. "It was totally fucking ridiculous."

"It _sounded_ totally fucking ridiculous." I agree wholeheartedly, reaching for his hand and feeling a flood of relief when he immediately reaches for mine as well. "I'm _so_ sorry."

"It's fine. Whatever."

"It's not fine."

For a moment, he simply stares down at our hands, watching as my thumb caresses his skin, trying to offer him some kind of comfort and support. And when he finally looks up at me again, I can see something in his eyes that wasn't there before. Something strong.

Determined.

"No, you know what? You're right. It's _not_ fine."

"She had no right to accuse you of something like that."

"But she thinks she does have a right, because in her eyes I'm nothing. I'm not their ' _real_ ' family. _I_ have _no_ rights, I'm _nothing_." He argues, clearly becoming more and more upset by the whole thing the more he thinks about it. "She doesn't even believe I really care about them, but I _do_."

"I know you do." I insist, squeezing his hand tightly. "It doesn't matter what she-"

"I wanna move in."

Um... "O-kay. But what does that have to do with-"

"I should've done it the day you moved out here, but I was a fucking idiot." He continues, undeterred by my inability to keep up with his erratic train of thought. "So if you still want me to move in, I'm gonna move in."

I can't help but laugh, partly because it's all I can think of to do right now, and partly because it's such a ridiculous thing for him to say. "Of course I do."

"And I wanna like... pay my way. I don't want you paying for everything."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm not gonna move in and just mooch off of you."

"You _don't_ mooch off of-"

"But everyone is gonna say I do. They already think I mooch off of Adam and my fans, no way in hell am I gonna let them say the same about you."

"You do realize that if that's the kind of bullshit they want to believe, they're probably going to say it anyway?" I remind him. "Short of Instagramming every check you write me-"

" _I'll_ know. I'll know that it's not true. But if you don't let me pay my share it _will_ be true, and I'm not okay with that." He tells me resolutely. "So just like... tell me how much your mortgage payments are, and I'll pay half. Or... as close to it as I can afford, at least."

"Hell _no_! I'm not letting you pay half my mortgage!"

"Why not? If I'm gonna be living there, if it's gonna be _our_ house, then we should _both_ pay for it!"

Crap.

Why does he have to have reason and logic on his side?

"How about you pay utilities?"

"Fuck that." He scoffs, like it's the most ridiculous thing I could've proposed. "I _know_ your utilities don't come anywhere close to half a mortgage payment."

"But-"

"Utilities _and_ groceries."

"No!"

"Why the fuck not?!"

"Do you have _any_ idea how much it costs to feed _me_ , let alone _five_ kids?!"

"Yeah, I do, and even that _plus_ utilities probably still doesn't equal half a mortgage payment. But it's my final offer, so just fucking _take_ it!"

"I don't _want_ to take it! I don't want you paying to feed my kids-"

"But they're _not_ just your kids!" He snaps at me, leaving me too puzzled by what he's said to figure out how I'm supposed to respond. And judging by the look on his face, I'm not the only confused one here. "That wasn't... I didn't mean that... how it came out."

"Well... what did you mean?" I ask gently, watching as he apparently tries to work through his own thoughts.

"I..." He shrugs helplessly, sinking down into the chair behind him as though he can't even find the energy to stay on his feet anymore. Whatever it is that's on his mind, it's pretty obvious it's nothing small.  "They _are_ your kids."

"Okay..."

"What I just said... I had _no_ right to say that, it was totally fucking stupid."

It's tempting to argue, to tell him it wasn't. But I get the feeling he doesn't need or want me to debate the fact with him. He just needs me to keep my mouth shut so he can figure this all out and attempt to put it into words for me.

"It's just... last night, after I got home, Asta woke up. She was crying 'cause someone left the window in her room open, I guess, and it was getting kinda cold so I took her to bed with me, and... I was just lying there with her, and she was sucking her thumb _so_ loudly. I mean, you know what she's like..." He smiles affectionately, glancing up at me for a moment before looking away again, like he _can't_ look me in the eyes while he's saying this. "So... I was watching her sleep, and... I felt..." He sighs, struggling to explain his own feelings, or maybe just struggling with his own feelings in general. "I know she's not mine. I _know_ that. But I look at her, and... I just... she _feels_ like mine, Taylor." His voice wavers, and he quickly clears his throat and takes a deep breath to try to rein in his emotions. "I know I'm probably way out of line saying that, and I'm not trying to say that I think I'm like her dad _at all_ , or that I have any right to even like... have a say in anything-"

"You _do_ , though." I argue sincerely, my own voice thick with tears that have been gathering faster and faster with every word out of his mouth. "It's not out of line, Tommy. What you just said... I _want_ you to feel that way. "

"I know. But I just... I honestly didn't think I would. I mean, I cared about them, and I wanted to be part of their lives and everything... but I didn't know I was gonna feel like _this_ , you know? I didn't think I could. Not yet, at least, not for like... _years_. But then all this happened..." He half-heartedly gestures to the hospital room we're sitting in, shaking his head hopelessly at the thought of the past few days. "And I was _so_ fucking scared that I was gonna lose you."

"I know."

"But after that, besides losing you, the thing I was most afraid of was losing _them_." He admits weakly, briefly losing the battle to keep the tears at bay. "The idea that, if you weren't here, someone could just walk in and take them away, and that would be it, they'd just be _gone_..."

"Would... would you really have _wanted_ to keep them if I wasn't here?" I ask uncertainly.

His shoulders rise and fall in a pessimistic half-shrug as he wipes his eyes on the back of his hand. "It doesn't matter what I want."

"It matters to _me_."

"We both know I could never raise five kids by myself. And that's fine or whatever, I get it, I'm not stupid. But I wouldn't have wanted to just like... disappear from their lives completely. I wouldn't have had _any_ say in it, though. If your parents or Pam had come to the house and taken them back to Tulsa, I couldn't have done a single fucking thing to stop them. And if they'd decided to never let me see them again, I couldn't do fuck all about it!"

"Tommy-"

"I need... I mean, I want... no, you know what, I _need_ to know that's not gonna happen. I... I need something that _says_ people can't just take them away like that, that they can't stop me from seeing them."

"Okay." I nod in definite agreement, which seems to surprise him more than a little because he was clearly all set to argue his case further when I objected. But I _have_ no objections. "If that's really what you want, we can do that."

For a second or two, he seems skeptical that I actually mean what I've just said. Like maybe I don't understand what I'm agreeing to, or maybe I'm playing some kind of trick on him. But I'm not. If he honestly needs some form of legal document that flat out _says_ he has rights where my kids are concerned, then I'm more than willing to give him that.

The fact that he'd so much as suggestit, let alone ask for it, _demand_ it even, means the world to me.

"Are you serious?" He asks, still surprised and unsure.

"I am if you are."

After taking a moment to consider it all over again, he nods resolutely. "Yeah, I am."

"Okay."

"And I wanna be the person who makes your medical decisions when you can't or whatever." He adds, apparently feeling much more self-assured now. "I know Zac's your brother, and he's known you your whole life, and he knows your medical history and everything, but... it's not fucking fair that he gets a say in what happens when you're hurt and I don't. I wanna have a say, too. I know that sounds petty, but-"

"No, it doesn't." I cut him off. "You're right, you _should_ have a say."

"Yeah, I should."

"But I want the same. I want to have a say in what happens to you."

He shrugs, like it's no big deal. "Fine."

"Good."

"And I wanna pay half the mortgage."

I open my mouth to readily approve his request, but when I realize what it is he's doing, I stop. He tries to keep a straight face, but I can see the smirk fighting its way onto his lips even as he bats those big, _deceptively_ innocent brown eyes of his at me. He's such a manipulative jerk sometimes!

I love him.

"Don't push it."


	89. Chapter 89

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taylor!Chapter

  


 

 

By the time my parents return from their coffee run, Tommy is practically in bed with me.

I mean, it's not like he's under the sheets or anything! But after the emotionally charged conversation we'd just had, sitting beside the bed became sitting on the edge of the bed. And once he realized just how few tubes and wires there were to potentially mess with than there had been in the ICU, sitting on the edge of the bed quickly turned into him resting against the pillows with me, his head on my shoulder. Given the angle the doctors insist my bed be kept at because of my head injury, it's basically like we're sitting on a couch rather than lying in bed together. It's nice, though. It's the closest I've been to him in days, and I had no idea how badly I needed it until his body was curled against mine. His hair is tickling my chin in the most perfect way, and I can _feel_ every word he says, every soft chuckle he exhales while his slender fingers idly play with mine.

Regardless of all the morphine and sedatives I've had in my system lately, I honestly haven't felt _this_ calm and relaxed at any other point during my hospital stay.

When my mom firsts sets foot into the room and notices what we're doing us, it's as though I can _see_ her thought process playing out on her face. She stops in surprise and basically does a double take, checking to make sure she's not imagining things. Then her eyes almost _immediately_ dart to every last piece of medical equipment beside my bed, making sure that Tommy isn't lying on any important tubes or putting my health at risk in any way. And when she's confident that he isn't, she seems to become almost embarrassed. She avoids looking at us, like she walked in on us having sex or something, and chooses instead to stare down at her coffee.

It's then that it hits me that my parents haven't ever really _seen_ Tommy and I together as a couple.

The closest they ever came was when my mom saw us hold hands once, and it was obvious how disturbed she was by it. Since then, they've never had a chance to see us like this. I moved away, and then the ICU visiting policies meant that we couldn't all be in the same room at the same time.

This is it, this is their first true introduction to _us_.

Before I can even decide if I think Tommy and I should put some distance between us so that my parents don't feel like they have to avoid looking at us entirely, Tommy is already shifting off of the bed and into the chair beside it. I know it's probably better to ease them into this, to let them see us holding hands for a while before we start snuggling in front of them, but as soon as he's gone I'm disappointed. And if I'm completely honest, I'm kinda resentful, too. We've come _so_ far, we were finally "out" and damn proud of it, and now we're hiding again. Maybe not the way we used to, and maybe only temporarily, but it still feels like a step back for us.

I guess we need to give my parents time to catch up, though. At least they're no longer refusing to budge; _that's_ a big step forward for them. The fact that they're willing to sit in a room with us and acknowledge that we're a couple, _accept_ it even, is huge.

"We talked to Isaac last night." Dad tells me, trying to change the unspoken subject that we're all uncomfortably aware of. "He said he'd be by to visit before lunch."

"Okay."

"I'm so glad you two are trying to put your problems behind you and get your relationship back on track." Smiles mom approvingly. "We hated seeing you so at odds; you were always so close."

Not always. Not really.

When I was younger and much more afraid of anyone knowing that I was gay, we were best friends. But the older I got, the harder it was for me to handle it. I grew more and more angry about the secret I had to keep, and sometimes even angry at people I felt I had to keep it for. And the more I "acted out" (by sleeping with Alex, for example), the more Isaac and I drifted apart. It didn't matter that I still kept up the pretense with the rest of the world, it terrified my him to see me give into that side of myself in the slightest. All he could see was our careers crumbling if anyone found out.

"We still have a lot of stuff to work through." I tell her, trying my best not to sound negative but also trying not to gloss over how far from resolved things are between me and Ike. "I'm glad he's here, but it doesn't just undo everything that happened before."

"I know, but it's a start." She insists. "If you can give us a chance to make things right, you can give him one too, can't you?"

That depends on if he actually _wants_ to make things right. Showing up here and no longer giving me the silent treatment isn't the same as making an effort to repair the rift between us. He's still not even willing to speak to Tommy unless he absolutely has to, and I don't remember him so much as _attempting_ to apologize yet. If he's not willing to at least be civil to Tommy, then there's very little chance that he and I are going to be able to "make things right".

"I hope so."

"Mac and your sisters wanted to come out, but we told them it might be best to wait a while." Dad explains apologetically, probably assuming I'll be upset about it. But honestly, I'm glad they told them not to come. It's not that I don't want to see them, but with half of my family already here, it's starting to get a little crowded. "Maybe you could call them later, though, if you feel up to it? Just so they know you're doing okay."

"Yeah, sure." I nod, wondering how weird it's going to be to speak to them all after going almost a month without really hearing from any of them.

Besides a text from Avery after those stupid paparazzi pictures came out, none of my younger siblings have been in contact unless it involved Skyping with the kids. The last time I really saw Jessica before I left town was at that stupid "intervention" they held for me, and even though Mac kept his mouth shut on the subject of my sexuality, he's also kept his mouth shut on pretty much every other subject, too. He hasn't tried to have a conversation with me in weeks. I get the feeling my parents have been "protecting" Zoe from the whole thing, telling her as little as they can get away with. Unfortunately for them, she's not a child anymore and she's not stupid. I know she saw how they and everyone else treated me before I moved here, and she probably heard a lot more than they meant for her to. I wouldn't be surprised if she was under the impression that I was having a breakdown or a midlife crisis or something. She certainly looked at me like I was.

They all did.

"While we're on the subject of family..." Begins mom in a way that automatically makes me feel the need to take a deep breath (and hold it). "We were talking last night about Christmas."

Uh oh. "Oh yeah? What about it?"

"Well, I know it seems like it would be too soon, and you wouldn't be up to it, but it's still almost a month away. You'll be doing a lot better by then, I'm sure, and I know everyone would love the chance to see you, and the kids are always asking about their cousins-"

My dad, sensing a run-on sentence with no question mark at the end of it, places his hand on her arm to stop her mid-ramble. "What she's trying to say is, we'd love it if you'd think about coming back to Tulsa for the holidays."

"Well... uh..." My eyes flit to Tommy, but he's staring at his hands in a futile attempt to pretend he's oblivious to everything that's being said. "This is our first Christmas together. I mean, it's not that I don't wanna see everyone, but I wanted to be with Tommy this year-"

"Tommy's welcome." Mom cuts me off quickly, doing her very best to seem completely at ease with all of this. "We never expected that he wouldn't be joining you."

"Um..." Tommy is still looking at anything in the room that he can find to direct his attention to besides me and my parents, which makes it pretty impossible for me to tell how he feels about all of this. I would assume he's not exactly thrilled with the idea, but I'm not really getting a 'hell no!' vibe from him. "I don't know. Do you guys even have enough room for us all to stay? I know the kids have all slept over plenty of times, but you don't really have space for five kids _and_ two adults at the new house. We could stay at a hotel, but-"

"What about the Jenks house?" Suggests dad with a shrug. "It's not being used right now, there's no reason why you couldn't stay there."

"True..." So we're not going to be getting out of this based on simple logistics, it's going to come down to whether or not we _want_ to go. I was really hoping to avoid having it boil down to personal preference. "We haven't really talked about Christmas or anything yet, so... can we talk about it and see how things look?"

"Of course." Mom smiles, but I can tell she's disappointed by the absence of an immediate 'yes!'.

I _can't_ say yes, though. Not until I've figured out how I feel about the idea, and _definitely_ not until I know how Tommy feels. I doubt he's going to be all that enthusiastic about it, and I honestly don't blame him. My parents are trying, which is awesome, but they're so eager to make up for everything that's happened that they end up trying _too_ hard and not succeeding at all. Zac and Tommy hardly know how to be in a room together, and Isaac doesn't appear to _want_ to be in a room with him. Why _would_ Tommy willingly subject himself to a week of that?

At _Christmas_ , no less!

After another half an hour or so of sitting around together, making sort-of-awkward small talk, Tommy excuses himself to find a restroom. At least, that's what he says he's doing. I'm pretty sure he just needed to escape for ten minutes and 'recharge' as much as possible.

"Is everything alright?" Asks mom worriedly as soon as he's out of the room. "Tommy seems a little..."

"Quiet." Dad finishes for her helpfully. "Not that he's ever particularly chatty. But something feels..."

"Off."

"I think he's just tired." I explain apologetically. "He had a rough morning."

Mom frowns curiously, offering me her full attention. "Oh?"

"He and Pam had a... disagreement."

"Another one?" Sighs dad, shaking his head in disappointment. "I understand why they're having a hard time seeing eye to eye, but all of this bickering isn't going to do the kids any good."

I didn't realize there was 'all this bickering'. I've only heard about one major disagreement so far, and that was this morning. Not that I'm all that surprised; Pam is probably treating him like crap, and he's been at the end of his rope for _days_ now. The last thing he needs is her telling him how to take care of the kids. Or worse, telling him that he _can't._

"What were they bickering about before?"

"The video you made for the children." Mom tells me sadly. "Pam didn't think it was a good idea to show it to them, she felt it would upset them. She and Tommy locked horns over it, and when we sided with Tommy... she wasn't exactly pleased."

"This is ridiculous! What right does she have coming into _my_ home and over-ruling _my_ wishes, telling people how to take care of _my_ kids?!" I snap angrily, unable to tell if my worsening headache is a result of stress or my own raised voice.

"Calm down, sweetheart." Urges mom, moving from her chair by the window to the one Tommy was sitting in, and reaching for my hand. "It can't be good for you to get worked up like this."

"I don't know how _not_ to."

"I know it's frustrating. But... you have to remember that they are _her_ grandchildren." Dad gently reminds me. "And until a few months ago, she played a very big part in taking care of them."

"I know, and I appreciate that. I appreciate everything she's done for me and for them. But I _don't_ appreciate her treating Tommy like crap and accusing him of being a pedophile!"

Mom gasps as though I just said the most profane and offensive thing imaginable. "What?"

"Viggo snuck into my room last night during a thunderstorm and slept on the bed with Tommy. And this morning Pam came in and threw a fit over it. She made him feel horrible! It wasn't the first time she accused him of something like that, but it _was_ the first time she did it to his face."

"She really is grasping at straws." Dad acknowledges regretfully. "She has to know that the odds of her winning this custody case are slim unless she can prove that the children are at some kind of risk. I'm not saying that she's trying to fabricate a reason, I think she genuinely believes that Tommy is a threat to them, but-"

"He's _not_! He loves them, he wouldn't do anything to hurt them."

"But if you think about it... that _is_ a threat." Mom hesitantly points out, quickly explaining herself as soon as I open my mouth to argue. "She's scared, honey. She's scared of losing the only thing left of her daughter. Not just through physical distance, but by having them forget about her _and_ about Natalie. She sees how much they've obviously taken to Tommy, and how much he cares about them, and she's scared that it's only a matter of time before Natalie no longer crosses their minds at all. First you planned to leave Natalie to be with him, and now her grandchildren have accepted him into their lives in a parental role... you're starting a new family, and she doesn't see a place for her in it. I know it might not make sense to you, but to her it probably seems entirely rational to feel the way she does."

"But I don't know what _I'm_ supposed to do about it." I sigh hopelessly, suddenly feeling the resulting exhaustion of my sleepless night settling in. "I've tried telling her that I'm not going to let them forget Natalie, I told her I'd make sure she was still in their lives, but _she_ kicked up such a fuss over everything that it made it nearly impossible! And now, with this custody case, she's making things even worse. I never hated her for being upset about me moving here, I understood why she was against it and I let it go. But if she doesn't stop trying to take my children away from me, how am I supposed to avoid hating her? How am I supposed to include her in our family if she's so intent on tearing it apart? She doesn't even _want_ to be included, she doesn't want anything to do with us!"

"Maybe you could try talking to her again?" Suggests dad. "If it would help, your mother and I could be there with you. We might be able to keep things from... escalating."

"And maybe we can try to help her be a little more open minded about your relationship with Tommy. It wasn't so long ago that we were having just as much trouble coming to terms with it." Mom points out. "I know it's different; you're not her son and she has no real incentive to try to understand. But you're still the father of her grandchildren, and you were her son-in-law for almost ten years. Some part of her must still feel some kind of connection to you. Perhaps we just have to figure out how to 'tap into it' and remind her of how much she cared about you. If she sees that you're still the same person, no matter who you love, maybe that will be enough to make her rethink how she's handling things?"

"Maybe." I mumble, allowing my heavy head to sink dejectedly into the pile of pillows behind me.

Just the thought of dealing with Pam makes me _long_ for another coma.

My parents (my mom, mostly) continue trying to offer me encouragement, assuring me that this will all resolve itself sooner or later. But I can't help wondering _how_ exactly? Is Pam going to drop this stupid custody case and admit that the kids are safe and happy here with me and Tommy? Or is she going to try to convince as many people as she can that Tommy is a danger to them and that he can't be trusted. And if she _does_ decide to go that route, even if she's completely unsuccessful... how am I ever supposed to be okay with her being in our lives after that? I know she's their grandmother, and I know she's going through hell, but she's dragging everyone else through hell right along with her. _Including_ the five children that she's so adamant she only wants the best for!

She might claim that I'm selfish and inconsiderate, but I'm not the only one.

As soon as Tommy returns, my mom says that he has "inspired her" to take a bathroom break herself. And before she's even left the room my dad is out of his chair, excusing himself to make some calls and let people know how I'm doing today.

In other words, they're giving us a little more "alone time", and I couldn't love them more for it!

Tommy lingers by the foot of the bed until he's sure that they're both gone and unlikely to come back, but once we're completely alone he reclaims his spot on the bed with me. He takes my hand in _both_ of his, in a way that vividly reminds me of my kids when they _finally_ get back that one toy they've been waiting their turn for. But I don't tell _him_ that, I just breathe him in and enjoy the fact that he's so close again. Despite how messed up and wrong everything felt a few minutes ago, having him right here makes it all feel right.

"I hope they let you out of here soon." He sighs tiredly, wriggling a little closer. "Our bed is _way_ more comfy."

"No arguments here." I smile, hoping he can hear it in my tone but glad that he can't see how forced it is.

It's not that I don't agree with him, because I'd have to be completely brain dead to prefer this hospital bed to the one we share. Even if our bed wasn't brand new and totally _amazing_ , it would still be _ours_ and that would still make it better than _any_ bed. Especially one we can barely squeeze both of us onto. But it's going to be a _long_ time before I'll be sleeping in that bed beside him again, even after I get home. I think he already knows that, and he knows that I know it, too. But neither of us wants to say it out loud because it's too fucking depressing.

Honestly, I'm not sure how it's all going to work. All I know is that it's agonizing to lie flat on my back, so I'm basically gonna have to sleep sitting up. Getting up and down stairs is going to be a hassle, if not impossible for a while, so I'll probably end up sleeping in the family room or maybe even in the movie room. And again, even though we haven't discussed it, there's really no doubt in my mind that wherever I end up sleeping for the next month or two, Tommy's going to set up camp there as well.

"Who are the Jenkins?"

I chuckle softly, completely bemused by his random and very confusing question. "The who?"

"The Jenkins. Your parents said we could stay at their house if we spend Christmas in Tulsa."

" _Jenks_." I correct him, smiling so widely that it hurts (but for once, it's a nice kind of pain). He's so damn adorable. "It's like a suburb."

"Oh."

"Our old family home is there."

"You mean that house we all stayed at for the song writing thing the other year?" He questions, his tone laced with apprehension.

It's not exactly his favorite place on Earth.

"No, that was the house we moved into _after_ we got famous. My parents sold it last summer. The Jenks house was the house I grew up in. My parents kept it, and we used it for band stuff for a while. But when we got our record company offices set up downtown, they started renting the house out. I guess no one's living in it right now, though."

"Huh."

It's not a disinterested "huh", but it's not a curious "huh", either. It's a distinctly noncommittal "huh", because very likely the _last_ thing he wants to do right now is commit to anything involving my family and Tulsa this Christmas. And I don't blame him.

"I'm sorry if the whole spending the holidays in Tulsa discussion made you uncomfortable." I tell him, watching his fingers as the absentmindedly trace the veins in the back of my hand over and over again. He shrugs, but that's the only response I get. "I didn't wanna totally shoot them down, but just because I didn't say no , that doesn't mean I want to go or anything."

He's silent for a moment or two longer, and then his tracing comes to a slow pause. "Do you?"

"Want to go?" I ask, feeling him nod against my shoulder. "I don't know. I mean... I'm not _opposed_ to spending time with my family if they're actually willing to give our relationship a chance. And mom was right about it giving the kids a chance to spend time with their cousins and their aunts and uncles and everything. But I know it's probably your idea of hell-"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say it wasn't, either."

He shrugs again, lifting his head off of my shoulder to look at me. "We're gonna have to go back there sometime, right? I mean, there's seven of us and about a fucking million of them. It'd be kinda stupid, not to mention selfish, to expect them _all_ to come out here every time they wanna see you."

"That doesn't mean we have to go back there right now."

"No, it doesn't." He agrees, although I get the feeling he's about to argue my point again anyway. "I'm just saying, Tulsa is never gonna be high on my list of places to visit, and spending Christmas with a bunch of people I barely know, who are only trying to like me because they feel like they _have_ to, is not my idea of a great time. But if we put it off until next year or the year after, it's only gonna get more awkward and make everything even more weird, you know? They're gonna blame me for you keeping your distance, whether it's really my fault or not. If we get it over with now, at least they can't say that our relationship is causing some kind of rift or whatever."

I want to tell him that my family won't blame him for my absence at Christmas, but in reality he's probably right.

My family has always been close; we spend most special occasions together, or at least see each other soon before or after. Yes, I've spent Christmases in Georgia with Natalie's family before, but that was different. There wasn't any tension, it was _expected_ that we'd split our family holidays as equally as possible to make things fairer for everyone. And my family got to see us the majority of the time anyway, because we lived in the same city as most of them. Now we don't. So now it's expected that we'll make the effort to come home and visit.

I _said_ we would.

But I didn't necessarily mean _this_ Christmas.

"We don't have to decide right now." I conclude, because I'd much rather just put off  discussing Christmas plans and focus on how peaceful it is simply being alone with him like this.

" _You_ don't have to decide right now. _I_ don't have to decide at all " He corrects me with a small, playful smile. But behind that mischievous gleam in his eyes is complete sincerity. "I'm going wherever you go. Just give me enough advanced notice to pack."

He's so close that I barely have to lean in at all to kiss him, and even though it's not exactly comfortable to do, I lift the hand that he's not holding onto and gently caress his cheek with my fingertips. I'm sure he can feel them trembling ever so slightly from the effort, but I hope he doesn't realize that that's why they're shaking. When he exhales a sigh of contentment against my lips, I know that he hasn't figured me out, and I breathe one of my own in response. I hear him inhale suddenly, softly, and the next thing I know his hand is cupping my jaw and drawing my mouth even nearer as he deepens the kiss.

Oh _God_.

I didn't mean for this kiss to find its way to this place, and I'm sure he didn't either, but this is where we've ended up anyway. It almost always is. It's not almost always impossible for us to do anything about it, though, and I _know_ that it will be this time. Between my injuries and our current location, there's no way this can go any further in the direction it's headed. But I don't want to stop. There's a voice in my head berating me for letting it continue when I know better, but I _can't_ tear my lips away from his!

Not until his hand drifts down to my chest and he unintentionally puts too much pressure on my ribs.

It's only a little, and only for a second, but to me it feels like someone just threw a brick at me. I immediately jerk away from his touch, which only ends up hurting more, and when he realizes what's wrong he looks completely horrified.

" _Shit_! I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. Are you okay?" I nod, but I'm too winded to speak.

His face falls further, and he starts to get off of the bed, but I grasp at his hand and hold him back

"Don't!" I manage to force out between gritted teeth. "I'm fine."

"Taylor-"

"Please?" It's the only word I can really manage, so I try my best to channel all of my desperation into giving him my most helpless, pitiful look.

And it works.

With a defeated sigh he settles back onto the bed beside me, though I notice that he's trying as hard as he can not to touch me if he can help it. I can barely move, but I do what I can to shift closer to him, ignoring how difficult it is and the resulting twinges of pain shooting through my body.

"You're hurting yourself." He sighs sadly.

"You're worth it." I tell him, holding his skeptical stare until he's forced to accept that I mean every last syllable. "Now kiss it better."

He tries to glare at me, but I can see him struggling to keep the smile off of his face. Eventually he stops fighting it, trying to hide it from me by kissing me instead. But unfortunately for him, I can still feel it. And even though I'm aware of the fact that he has his arm twisted behind his back to stop himself from accidentally touching me again, it's not enough to ruin this. His lips are on mine, so everything is good.

"Oh _jeez_. Seriously?"

I spoke too soon.

Our kiss ends abruptly, but this time it's not because of a pain in my ribs. It's a pain in my ass.

And his name is Ike.


	90. Chapter 90

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy!Chapter

  


 

 

I swear to God, Hansons are like fucking _ants_.

Where there's one, there's one hundred more. And every damn time you think you've gotten rid of them all, they come right back!

Walker and Diana are harmless enough. They're like those piddly little ants you can barely be bothered to do anything about. But Isaac is like one of those butt ugly, giant, flying ants. Or maybe one of those gross little fire ant things that stings you. Or like a hybrid of both.

He's a butt ugly, giant, flying, fire ant!

"I'm pretty sure that bed is a single." He points out, like we didn't already know.

Asshat. "Good thing I'm so compact."

Taylor snorts softly beside me as Isaac rolls his eyes at us like we're a pair of naughty little children. "It's fine, Ike."

"You're supposed to be resting."

"I _am_."

"Looked more like you were making out with your boyfriend from where I was standing." He notes disdainfully, casting a disapproving look my way. "Do you want him to get better, or do you only care about one thing?"

" _Ike_!"

"Oh, relax." I snap at him, biting back the words I _really_ want to say. "It's not like you walked in on me riding him like a mechanical fucking bull or something. I did that yesterday; I'm still recovering."

"Tommy!" Taylor chastises me, but he can't keep the smirk off of his face, which only makes me feel proud of myself.

Ike got told off for real, _I_ only got told off for show.

"Whatever." Ike mutters, heaving a dramatic sigh, like dealing with me is _so_ fucking tiresome.

I have a solution to his problem. It involves him turning around and leaving the way he came.

"Ike, _please_ don't make a big deal about it. It was just a kiss, it's not gonna kill me." Taylor assures his older brother as he continues to pout like a fucking child. "Let's drop it, okay?"

I'm all for dropping it, but unfortunately that also means we have nothing to talk about. I guess Isaac has no fucking clue how to be around me and _not_ lecture me about something that's none of his damn business. Part of me feels like I should just excuse myself so they can talk, but a much bigger part has no desire to leave Taylor. I'm gonna have to go and get the kids from school after lunch anyway, and then I probably won't be back for hours. If I have to be gone all afternoon, it's only fair that I get to be with him as much as I want to right now!

"Whatcha got?" Asks Taylor, trying to break the awkward silence by focusing on whatever it is Isaac has in his hands.

He's holding it against his chest, almost protectively, like he doesn't want anyone to see what it is. I'm pretty sure he just doesn't want _me_ to see what it is, to be honest. Seriously, is this guy eight or something?

"It's nothing." He mumbles, glancing down at his top secret possession. "I stopped at the gift shop on my way in, and I saw these..."

"What are they?"

"Just... some magazines." Isaac shrugs nonchalantly, taking a step forwards and placing them gently in Taylor's lap.

At first, I have _no_ fucking clue why Isaac would buy him a bunch of shitty gossip magazines. I don't think I've ever once seen Taylor even flip through one in line at the grocery store before, let alone sit down and read one. He doesn't care if Jennifer Aniston is supposedly pregnant, or what insignificant thing one of the Kardashians did this week. Seriously, can anyone even tell them apart? It's pathetic.

But then I notice what every one of these magazines has in common.

Us.

We didn't take top billing on any of the covers, but somewhere on each of them there's a picture of Taylor, or of the two of us, and some mention of his accident or our relationship. I can't decide if that makes this an even more shitty gift than I originally thought it was. And judging by the confused and almost offended expression on Taylor's face, I think we're in the same boat.

"' _Teen Idol Tragically Injured_ '." Taylor reads slowly, pulling one of the magazines closer to him. " _'Hanson brother in critical condition as family prays for good news._ '"

He turns a few pages, finding out what page number the article is on before flipping straight to it, and I instinctively cringe as soon as I catch sight of the pictures the magazine chose to use. The picture of us kissing at the airport last week, a posed family photo of him and Natalie with the kids, a picture of him and his brother's that's probably about fifteen years old... and a picture of me that one of those paparazzi jerks outside must've taken at some point this week. It's not even a decent fucking photograph! It's blurry and I have my head down so that they can barely see my face. But I guess as long as they can tell it's me _leaving_ the hospital, they don't care about picture quality. Underneath it is the caption:

' _Taylor may have survived his accident, but can their budding romance survive his recovery?_ '

"Who _writes_ this shit?" I mutter in disgust as Taylor closes the magazine and tosses it aside.

"I don't get it." He tells Ike uncertainly. " _Why_ would you buy me these? Are you trying to make some kind of point or something?"

"No!"

"'Cause I gotta admit... I have _no_ idea what lesson this is supposed to be teaching me."

"I wasn't trying to make a point or teach you a lesson, I promise." Isaac insists adamantly, apologetically. "You remember back when 'MMMBop' came out, and we were in _every_ magazine out there? We'd always go to those airport news stores and buy whatever crappy little books or magazines we could find that we were on the cover of."

Taylor nods slowly, seeming almost suspicious of Isaac's words. "I remember..."

"We'd read them together on the flight to pass the time, and we'd crack up over how totally stupid they were, and how _wrong_ they got _everything_ they said about us."

Oh.

He's trying to bond?

This just got even more awkward than it already was.

"I uh... I think I'm gonna..." I nod towards the door and start to slip off of the bed, but Taylor gives me those horribly pathetic puppy eyes of his and tries to pull me back. "I have to talk to Adam anyway."

"What're you gonna tell him?"

"None of your business." I tease, turning that sad little expression into a scowl. "I'll tell you when I come back after dinner."

"After dinner?" He whines. "It's not even lunchtime yet! Do you really have to be gone _all_ day?"

"I have to talk to Adam, and then I have to pick the kids up, and Ezra has therapy..."

Apparently he forgot what day of the week it was, which I'm sure is easily done while lying in a hospital bed. Either that or the mention of Ezra and therapy sparked some memory of the day of the accident. Whatever it was, it wiped the playful pout off of his face in a heartbeat.

"I'll be back." I promise him again, giving his hand one last reassuring squeeze before kissing him goodbye. "Try to stay out of trouble."

" _Hilarious_." He calls after me as I wink at him over my shoulder and exit the room.

I regret leaving as soon as I step out into the hall. I know I need to talk to Adam sooner rather than later, and I know I needed to give Taylor and Isaac some space to work through all of their shit. But I don't like feeling like I just gave him up and let Isaac win. If that dick thinks I'm gonna vacate the room every time he walks in from now on, like I'm bowing out to make way for him or something, he can think again!

I'm not some little bitch.

When I call Adam on my way out of the hospital, it takes him for-fucking _-ever_ to pick up. I'm about to give up on him entirely when he finally answers, but even then all I hear is random background noise and indecipherable chatter on the other end of the line.

"Adam?"

"Tommy?" He practically yells at me. Clearly this is _not_ a good time to try having a conversation with him. "Can you hear me?"

I chuckle softly, holding my phone a few inches from my ear to avoid being deafened. "Yeah."

"I can _barely_ hear you."

"I'll call back-"

"Are you busy?" He asks before I can even finish speaking. "I'm almost done here. Can you meet me for lunch?"

Why not? It's not like I had anything else to do. "Yeah, sure. Just tell me when and where."

"How about Kitchen 24 on Santa Monica in like... twenty minutes?"

"Sounds good. See ya in twenty."

I look up the restaurant on my phone's GPS to figure out where I'm going, and it turns out it's only a mile from the hospital. I decide not to bother driving, mostly because I have no desire to deal with parallel parking the fucking minivan again. Besides, a walk will give me chance to clear my head and get some fresh air.

Well, it'll give me a chance to clear my head.

Not that there's actually a whole lot that needs clearing right now. For the first time in days, I'm feeling pretty calm. Taylor's doing better and better every time I see him, things with his parents are slowly moving further away from being eternally fucking awkward, I've made peace with Lisa, I've worked out how I'm gonna handle the whole job situation...

Really, besides Taylor's irritating ex mother-in-law and his hostile older brother, I don't have nearly as much to worry about as I did a few days ago!

I get to the restaurant just before Adam does. Actually, I'm in the middle of asking the hostess if he's already at a table when he walks up behind me and smacks me on the ass. And I let out some high pitched little noise, which probably totally negates my "I'm not some little bitch" thing. He smiles smugly and steps right by me, charming the panties off of the poor, unsuspecting hostess, who suddenly looks like all of the blood in her body has relocated to her face. She escorts us through the restaurant to our table, almost tripping over several inanimate objects while trying to make "casual" small talk with Adam. By the time we get to where we're going, I'm suffering from so much secondhand embarrassment that I kinda just want to hide under the damn table until she's all done swooning.

Don't get me wrong, I know what a charismatic motherfucker he can be, and I don't blame her one bit for being  one wink away from a public orgasm. But sometimes it's just fucking _painful_ to witness people completely losing their shit around him. Especially when he's just out-for-lunch Adam and not full-on-performance-mode Adam.

We take our seats and accept the menus she hands us, and then she all but fucking curtseys before scurry back to her stand by the door. Adam smiles across the table at me, and I can _feel_ how badly he wants to say something to me about the job situation. But the second he opens him mouth, a guy comes over with a jug of ice water to fill the glasses on our table, so Adam forces a small smile and thanks him instead. And almost as soon as that guy walks away, our waiter appears and starts rambling about specials and asking if we want anything to drink besides water.

"Do you guys have Ketel One?"

"We do." The waiter nods proudly, like it's a fucking accomplishment.

"Kettle One martini, straight up with a twist. "Adam tells him without hesitation before looking to me to see if I want anything.

It's like he doesn't know me _at all_. "I'll have a Bloody Mary."

Once the waiter finally leaves us alone, it's like neither of us knows what to do anymore. Are we supposed to talk, or look at the menu? And if we're gonna talk, should we start off with some stupid, pointless shit and ease into the real reason we're here, or should we just get right to it?

I'm about to break the ice by asking where Sauli is when Adam cuts right to the chase. "Listen, about all this 'you quitting the band' shit-"

"Yeah, that's why I wanted to talk-"

"Just... let me go first, okay?" He insists in that tone that always makes it impossible to say no to him. "I know that you're dealing with a lot right now, and not just because of the accident. Things were changing for you even before that, and I'm _totally_ supportive of you and Taylor and everything. I mean it, I think it's great that you guys are trying to make things work, and you're trying to help him raise those kids. It's amazing. But I don't want you to think that you have to quit the band because of all that-"

"I-"

"I'm serious, Tommy. You _don't_ have to, it doesn't have to be a choice, we can figure something out that works for you, okay? If you just need to take some time off, that's fine. Take all the time you need. Take a month, take six, take a whole fucking year if you need to. Your job isn't going anywhere."

"Adam-"

"Or if you feel like you can't travel as much anymore, we can work around that. If you just wanna do US shows, or west coast shows, or even just L.A. shows, that's _fine_."

He's insane. I kinda love him. "Can I talk now?"

"No, I'm not done. I still have to deliver a heartfelt closing statement which will render you incapable of turning me down." He tells me plainly, and I can't help smiling as I roll my eyes and gesture for him to continue. "I know it's only been three years, but it feels like we've been playing together forever. This doesn't just _happen_ every day, Tommy, the chemistry we have isn't something I share with everyone I play with. Don't get me wrong, I love Brian, and Ashley, and Isaac... and Rick's great and everything, but... it's just not the same. You and me... it kinda feels like we 'grew up' together, you know?" He smiles fondly, almost bashfully. "We've been in this thing together the _whole_ way. You stuck with me, and now I'm sticking with you. Whatever you need, just name it, I'll make it happen."

" _Now_ are you done?"                                       

"Let's see... supportive, time off, chemistry, list of demands..." He counts off on his fingers, pretending to wrack his brain for more talking points. "Yeah, I'm done."

"Good, that means I can finally tell you that I'm _not_ quitting."

The grin that spreads across his face is ridiculous. And completely contagious. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I never actually _wanted_ to, I just... I dunno. I guess I had a freak out moment or something and I felt like I _had_ to. Like I _needed_ to be here _all_ the time. But that's totally fucking stupid, and it's not gonna solve anything or help anyone. So... once Taylor's back on his feet and everything... I'm all yours."

"Don't tease."

"I'm not." I chuckle softly, taking a sip of my water. "I mean it."

"Thank _God_. I'd honestly _never_ been so bummed out about the idea of not working with someone anymore."

"Me either."

"So... how _is_ Taylor doing?" He asks apprehensively. "Do you have any idea when he might be 'back on his feet'?"

I can tell he's trying not to be pushy, trying to make it sound like a totally innocent question, even. But I know him, and I _know_ there's something on his mind. And I get the feeling it's more than just wondering if I'm gonna make it to the Bali show.

"He's doing great. But he'll probably still be out of commission for like six weeks, at least. I mean, the doctor said the cast is gonna have to stay on for that long, possibly longer. And his ribs could take just as long to heal, so that's gonna complicate things as far as him getting around and stuff. And then once he's out of the cast, he's probably gonna need some kind of physical therapy..."

"Right. So... a couple of months, maybe?"

"At least."

"Okay..." He nods slowly, clearly working through something in his head (and making me even more fucking tense as a result!).

"What's going on?" I force myself to ask him, not sure I actually wanna know the answer. "Do you have another show lined up or something?"

He gives a dismissive shrug, like it's nothing important. But he's a fucking _terrible_ actor. "There's been some talk about some shows in Japan and stuff. Nothing set in stone, though."

"When?"

"Probably early next year.... February or March."

"Well I mean, I can't really make any promises right now, but that _should_ be doable." I tell him cautiously, not wanting to sound like I'm committing to anything. "Is it just a couple of shows? Like a few days or a week...?"

"Uh... I think it'll be more than a week." He admits grudgingly, straightening his knife and fork so that he has something to focus his attention on rather than looking me in the eyes. "More like... a month."

I've just opened my mouth, even though I have no fucking clue what I'm supposed to say in response to that confession, when the waiter returns with our drinks. Staring down at my Bloody Mary, I start to think that maybe I ordered the wrong thing.

Maybe a tray of shots would have been a better choice.

A fucking _month_?

Even if Taylor is doing just fine by February, that doesn't mean I want to leave him for a _month_! But I just told Adam I wasn't quitting the band. I knew touring and traveling was a part of this job when I took it, it was a huge part of its appeal. And I knew it was still part of the job when I agreed to stay on five minutes ago. I want this job, I _love_ this job...

I just never expected to love anything or any _one_ more.

Adam is quick to repeat that no definite plans have been made, and things could still change, and I pretend that I'm totally fine with it all as we browse the menu and place our orders. But the whole time we're eating, chatting about our boyfriends, and the holidays, and anything else low pressure we can come up with, all I can think is "how am I gonna tell Taylor?". How is he going to handle it? How am _I_ going to handle it? Will the kids be okay with it? Will Asta even fucking know who I am by the time I get back?

A month...

After lunch, Adam insists on driving me back to where I left the minivan, even though I keep telling him that it's not that far and I should probably walk off my drink anyway. Then he refuses to let me get out of the car until I _promise_ that we'll find time to get together again before Christmas. It's not like it's a difficult promise to make, but I know I haven't been the most social person on the planet these last couple of months. At least, not with anyone who doesn't have the last name Hanson. I need to find a better balance, I _want_ to. I just... wish I could do it without spending less time with Taylor.

I know, I know. I'm pathetic.

It's still a little early to pick the kids up from school, but I don't particularly feel like going back to the house and dealing with Pam, either. I don't have enough time to do anything much else, though, so I settle for driving over to the school and sitting in my car. I figure I can pass the time on my phone, catching up on what the rest of the world has been up to while _my_ world has been revolving around all of this chaos.

Hopefully I won't get harassed by anyone for being a creepy guy sitting in my car in front of an elementary school in the middle of the day.

I honestly don't think it's sunk in that this is my life. I mean, forget everything else that's going on right now, all of the family bullshit and the medical crap. Somehow, I'm the guy picking his boyfriend's kids up from school. Hell, I'm the guy who shows up to pick his boyfriend's kids up from school before _any_ of the other parents! How the fuck did _that_ happen? When did I become _this_ guy?

And it feels so... normal. Like I do it all the time. But I _don't._ Yeah, I've done it every day this week, but that's only because Taylor couldn't. If he wasn't stuck in hospital right now, he'd be sitting here instead of me. I'd probably be at home with Asta. And maybe Viggo if he wasn't being too clingy with his dad.

But either way, I've become the guy who sits at home (or in a car) with the kids at two-thirty on a Thursday afternoon.

And... I'm okay with that.

I l _ike_ it.

Once school lets out and the kids are safely in the car, we head back to the house. I don't want to go in with Penny and River, because it'll only upset Viggo if he sees me and then I turn around and leave again. And yeah, okay, avoiding their bat-shit grandmother is also pretty high on my to-do list. So I compromise by walking them to the door and letting them in, and then closing it again before their little brother has chance to realize what's going on. Then it's back to the car to drive Ezra to his therapy appointment.

All in a day's work, right?

It's not until I pull onto the street that Doctor Kendall's office is on that it really hits me that we're going back to where the accident happened. There's no way to avoid it; it was _right_ there, right in front of the building. I start trying to thinking of some way around it, but there isn't one. Even if turn off of the street a few block away and park on another street, we'll still have to walk back to the main entrance. I instinctively glance in the rearview mirror at Ezra, trying to get a look at his face and see if I can figure out how he's feeling, if the same thoughts are running through his head, too. But he's just staring out of the window, his expression as unreadable as always.

He's just a kid. He's been through a lot of adult shit, but he's still just a child. _I'm_ an adult, and I need to get over my stupid, childish aversion to seeing a certain piece of street. It doesn't matter if being here makes me want to hurl. I'm a grown man; I need to fucking get a grip and deal!

Maybe _I_ need a therapist.

As soon as we actually set foot into the waiting room, Ezra snaps out of the detached daze he was in and seems to realize where we are. It's like I see ten different emotions cross his face in as many seconds, fear and guilt being the most obvious. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't really need to. It's almost as though I can hear his thoughts, like he's _screaming_ , and part of me just wants to tell him we can forget about therapy for today if he wants. But I know that's not the answer. It's the easy way out, and even though he deserves for something to be easy for once, this _can't_ be that something.

"Hi, Ezra." Doctor Kendall greets him gently when she opens the door to her office, and I'm kinda surprised when he actually says hello back. It's barely audible, but at least it's something. "Would you like to come in?"

He slowly gets out of his seat beside me, walking towards Doctor Kendall and casting one, last uneasy look my way before disappearing inside. But instead of following him, she steps further into the waiting room with me and pulls the door closed behind her.

"How is Taylor?" She asks in a near-whisper. "Was he hurt?"

"Yeah, he was, but he's doing okay."

"Good! And how has Ezra been since it happened?"

Fuck, where does she want me to start? "He's been pretty messed up. I know he blames himself for what happened to his dad, but I honestly have no clue how he's feeling most of the time. One minute it's like he's turned a corner, you know? Like he's snapped out of it. But the next it's like he's not even really here."

"That's not unusual. Between everything he was already going through, and everything the accident has brought up for him, I'm sure he's overwhelmed by his own feelings."

"Yeah, I bet."

"Hopefully he'll be willing to talk about it today." She smiles softly, reassuringly. "Help yourself to some coffee, it's still pretty fresh."

"Thanks."

The last thing I need right now is coffee. I don't wanna spend the next hour jittery and unable to sit still for five seconds. I'm already gonna be restless and impatient enough, wondering how it's going in there and if he's telling her all the things he's told me this past week. I hope he does. He _needs_ to tell those things to someone who can help him, and that someone _isn't_ me. It's good that he at least opened up to me enough to let that stuff out, but I can't do fuck all about any of it. Talking about it and having someone listen is a start, but now he needs someone to help him take the next step.

Whatever the hell that step is.

The door to Doctor Kendall's office opens again a lot sooner than I'd expected, and I stand up to meet Ezra as he walks back out into the waiting room. But he doesn't. And when I glance at the clock on the wall beside the door, I realize that he hasn't even been in there for a full forty minutes yet.

"Tommy, could you join us for a minute?" Doctor Kendall smiles at me encouragingly, and after hesitating for a moment, I take a deep breath and follow her back into her office. "Please, take a seat."

Ugh. This is painfully familiar. "Is everything okay?"

"Ezra and I have been talking about what's been happening this week, and about how much of a support you've been for him."

"Oh... well... I mean... I didn't really do anything." I shrug awkwardly, chancing a look at Ezra. He's staring at his hands, but when he happens to glance at me for a second I swear I see a hint of a smile. "I just listened."

"And that was exactly what he needed." She insists earnestly. "It seems as though Ezra is very comfortable with you."

That's news to me. "I don't know about _very_..."

"He hasn't been able to talk to anyone else about the things he's shared with you."

"I don't know... I think it's just 'cause I'm not involved or whatever, you know? I'm not his dad or his uncle. He can say stuff to me and it doesn't feel like such a big deal."

"You could be right. But either way, he trusts you. That's not a small thing for him right now." Doctor Kendall turns her attention to Ezra, her tone becoming even more gentle. "Ezra, do you want to tell Tommy what we've been talking about today?"

For a moment or two he's completely still and silent, and I'm pretty sure it's gonna fall on Doctor Kendall to explain why the hell I've been pulled in here, and what it is he or she (or they) wants me to do. But finally he sighs and looks up at her, nodding his head and murmuring a weak "okay." He turns to look at me, and the expression on his face is the same one I saw when we first got here.

More fear. More guilt.

But underneath it is something that looks a lot like hope.

"Nana Pam said that... she wants us to live with her in Tulsa."

That _bitch_.

I take another breath in an attempt to hide how pissed off I am, and I force a small smile as I shake my head. "Yeah, she does, but she shouldn't have said-"

"I want to."

"Ezra-"

"I don't wanna be here anymore." He tells me, his voice wavering as tears rush to his eyes. "I don't belong here."

"That's not true!" I argue desperately, my heart racing with dread. I _have_ to make him believe me, I _have_ to change his mind. I can't let Taylor down, not now, not over _this_! "I know this year has sucked, and I know things with your dad have been really rough, but that doesn't mean you don't belong, okay? He loves you, and so do your brothers and sisters. We _all_ do."

He shakes his head, and my heart sinks so fast that it makes me want to throw up. "It doesn't matter. I know all that stuff, but... it doesn't make me feel different. Even when I try not to, I still get angry at everyone _all_ the time. I hear people laugh and I get mad, and I just wanna yell at them not to laugh anymore. I want everyone to be happy, but when they're happy I _hate_ them for it. I feel like I have to stay away from every one, 'cause when I'm near them I just get mad. But there's too many people here _all_ the time, so I'm mad _all_ the time. I don't like how I feel, I just want it to _stop_."

"I know you do. But that's why you're in therapy, buddy." I tell him gently. "Doctor Kendall is here to help you figure out how to feel better. Right?"

"I am." She nods slowly, but I get the feeling that her agreeing with me doesn't necessarily mean that she's going to help me convince him he should stay. In fact, I doubt she would've asked me in here if that was the plan. "And if Ezra decides that he wants to continue coming to see me, then I will do everything I can to help him work through his feelings. But it's not my job to tell him _what_ to feel, it's my job to listen to what he says he feels and help him to understand it and find healthy ways to deal with it."

"So _do_ that!"

"I know this isn't easy to accept. But Ezra is telling us what he feels he needs. He's expressing a desire to feel better for the _first_ time since he started therapy. That's a _big_ step, it's a positive step, and it's important that we _truly_ listen to him now."

Deep down, I know she's right. I know that we shouldn't be forcing him to do anything he doesn't want to do, or stay somewhere he doesn't want to be. He's been hurt enough, and too much has happened to him that he hasn't had any say in. It's not fair to ignore his feelings, especially not out of some selfish need to have things the way we want them.

If we push him, we could break him.

But I'm just as afraid that letting him go is going to break Taylor. I feel like a total traitor even silently admitting to myself that this whole thing might not be an absolutely horrible idea. I don't want Taylor to think I helped conspire to ship Ezra back to Tulsa. To live with _Pam_ , of all fucking people!

I can't do that, I _won't_.

"Will you help me?" Ezra asks, his voice so frail and full of sadness that only a totally heartless bastard could say no to him. "Will you help me tell my dad?"

Fuck.

 


	91. Chapter 91

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the delay. This past week has been weird and hectic, and I haven't had much time or energy to write. I'm hoping next week will be the opposite. 
> 
> Taylor!Chapter

  


 

 

When Tommy ditched me with Ike this morning, I wanted to kill him. I could tell he wasn't just trying to escape the tension, he was trying to give us time alone to talk. But I didn't _want_ time alone with Ike, I wanted time alone with Tommy! The idea of spending time alone with my big brother appealed to me about as much as the idea of having to use a bed pan again. All I could picture was forced and failed attempts at bonding, and then him inevitably make up some half-assed excuse to leave, even though we both would know that he had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do.

But surprisingly... that's not what happened.

It was weird for about five minutes. But once he sat down with me, and we started flipping through the magazines he'd bought me and making fun of not just the stories about me, but every other "celebrity" featured, things got progressively easier. And by the time mom and dad came back to the room, we were cracking jokes and laughing together. With the two of them present to help keep the conversation going, everything felt pretty natural. Normal. Like it used to before everything between us got so messed up. Before I fell in love with Tommy, I guess.

And that's still our main problem.

No matter how well things went today, none of it means anything if he isn't willing to accept that Tommy is a part of my life, part of my future. If Ike wants a relationship with me, he has to have one with Tommy, too. He can't pick and choose, just like I can't choose not to have a relationship with Kate if she and Zac decide to give things another shot. She may not be my favorite person on the planet right now, but I'm going to have to get over that and try to at least treat her with respect. We'll never be best friends, but that doesn't mean we have to fight all the time, either. I don't expect Ike and Tommy to sit around drinking whiskey and fanboying over guitars together, but I do expect Ike to stop treating Tommy like public enemy number one.

And if he can't...

"Hey." Tommy greets me, stepping into the room and looking around apprehensively. Probably expecting to see Ike scowling at him.

"Hey, _traitor_." I glare at him playfully, and the small smile on his face vanishes immediately.

"I... what?"

"Don't act all innocent! You left me here to fend for myself with Ike."

"Oh." He exhales a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he slowly approaches the bed. "Sorry. I just thought I should let you guys talk or whatever. It felt like I was gonna be in the way."

He probably would have been, at least in Ike's mind. But I don't want him to feel like he has to leave every time Ike's around. "You could've stayed."

"Yeah, and Isaac and I could've spent all afternoon snapping at each other and driving you totally crazy."

"True." I reluctantly concede. "But I _missed_ you."

"I was only gone for a few hours, loser."

"Whatever. You missed me more, and you know it." His only response is a small smile and a nod as he sinks down carefully onto the edge of the bed beside me, taking my hand in his. I feel as though something's wrong, he has something on his mind, but I can't tell what it is and I can't tell what he's feeling. "How'd your talk with Adam go?"

"Good... I told him I'm taking a couple of months off, but then I'll probably be back to business as usual."

 "Actually, I was thinking about that, and I'm not even sure you have to take _any_ time off-"

He sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as his grip on my hand loosens. "Taylor-"

"Just hear me out!" I plead earnestly, holding his hand even tighter when he tries to pull it away. "You'd have to leave for the show in Bali right after Christmas, right? And you'll be back just after New Years?"

"I'll be gone _ten_ _days_. And that's not including rehearsal time beforehand." He points out stubbornly. "You'll still be in a cast. You can't take care of the kids by yourself, not even if Jenna's there to help you."

"But if we go to Tulsa like we talked about this morning, I won't be alone. I'll have my family to help out with the kids, and they don't have to be back here for school until the first week of January. Which is right around the time you'd be back from Bali, so it'd only be me and Jenna for a day or two, tops!"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does!" I insist, tugging doggedly on his hand until he finally relents and looks me in the eyes. " _Bali_ , Tommy."

He's quiet for a moment, holding my stare, searching for some small sign that I'm in any way unsure about this. But I'm not at all. I'll miss him like crazy, and it completely _sucks_ that he'll be gone for New Years. But it's just one New Years Eve that we'll spend apart, and we'll have dozens more to spend together. He might not get even _one_ more chance to play a show in Bali on New Years Eve, and I _refuse_ to be the reason he misses out on this one.

"I'll think about it, okay?" He offers halfheartedly, that sense of sorrow still coloring everything he says and does.

"What's going on with you?" I ask worriedly. "Is everything okay? You seem... sad."

"I'm fine. I..." He takes a long, unsteady breath, totally contradicting his previous statement. "I need to talk to you about something. And I need you to listen and _try_ not to get too upset, okay?"

Shit.

I was having such a good day.

"Did you change your mind about moving in?"

"What? No!"

"Because it's okay if you did-"

"I _didn't_ change my mind." He insists adamantly.

"Okay, so... what do you need to talk to me about?"

"Ezra's here."

My eyes immediately dart to the door, but my son is nowhere to be seen. Regardless of whether or not he's in the room, my heart is still pounding with nerves like he's right in front of me. I'm fucking _nervous_ about being face-to-face with my own kid! Suddenly all I can think about is how I look. Not in a vein, "is my hair okay" kind of way, but in a "how noticeable and gross is the tube sticking out of my head" kind of way. But before I can ask Tommy any of the questions racing through my mind, he continues trying to explain what the hell is going on.

"His therapist pulled me into their session this afternoon. They wanted... _he_ wanted to ask me to help him talk to you."

Ezra  wants to talk to me? That should be a good thing, even if he does feel the need to do it via my boyfriend. So why am I feeling nothing but dread right now? And why does Tommy look like he'd rather chug acid than sit here and say whatever it is he's about to say to me?

"What does he want to talk to me about?"

"He's... not happy."                                                                                                

"I know that." I acknowledge uncertainly. "But... he's been doing better. I mean, before the accident, he was doing a little better."

"A little." Tommy nods faintly. "He um... he told me the other day that... he was mad at Natalie when she died. Do you remember that?"

My mind automatically flashes back to that night, trying to push through the turmoil surrounding Asta's birth and remember what happened before. Before the doctor started insisting on a C-section, before they started using terms like "distress", before the contractions even started... it was just a normal night. We had pizza for dinner, and then we sat down as a family to watch a movie. Everything was okay, everyone was happy...

Until Natalie said it was River's turn to pick the movie. Ezra insisted it was his turn, but River had already picked out a DVD, and Natalie told Ezra that he could choose the movie another time. He refused to stay in the family room after that. He said we never let him choose, that we always let his brothers and sister get their way.

He said he hated us.

It wasn't the first time he'd ever yelled that sentiment at us when he hadn't gotten what he wanted, and we knew he didn't really mean it. I didn't think anything of it at the time, and then just a few hours later everything got so crazy...

"I forgot."

"Yeah, well... he didn't. And ever since then, he's been mad at everyone. _Especially_ himself."

"Shit... I can't believe I never realized." I sigh miserably, my head sinking back into the pillows behind me as I squeeze my eyes shut and try to wish myself back to that night, or even the morning after. I wish I could go back and tell him that she _knew_ he didn't mean it.

I could tell him now, but I don't think it would make any difference anymore.

It's too late.

"He's put a lot of effort into keeping everyone at a distance." Tommy reminds me gently, holding my hand in both of his as though he's trying to anchor me in the present. He's trying to keep me focused and keep me from drowning in guilt. He knows me too well. "He says that... when he's around us, he gets angry."

"Me and you?"

"Me, you, Penny, River... everyone. And then he gets mad at himself for being mad at us. He's just _angry_ , Taylor. _All_ the time."

"I know that."

"But he doesn't want to be anymore. He wants to fix it."

"Well that's good, right?" I ask hopefully, even though I can tell from his expression that there's more to this story. "If he _wants_ things to change, we can help him change them."

The fact that he doesn't immediately agree with me, and that it takes him a good twenty seconds to say anything else is more than enough of a clue that whatever it is we need to do isn't something I'm going to _want_ to do. I just can't think what it is. I'd do _anything_ for Ezra, for _any_ of my kids. All I want is for them to be happy.

"It's too much for him." Tommy finally says, clearly struggling to find the right words. But honestly, all of this tiptoeing around the truth is just making me more and more paranoid. "He can't handle being around everyone here... it's too much."

"I don't understand. What do you mean 'everyone here'? I..." It slowly starts to dawn on me what he's trying to say. And he simply sits and waits, giving me the time and space to figure it out for myself. "He doesn't want to be here anymore... does he?"

He shakes his head sadly, his fingers closing more snugly around mine. "No."

"But this is our home... we're his family." I protest helplessly, as though it's Tommy I need to convince. But it's not. There's nothing he can do to change this, and apparently there's nothing I can do, either. And I don't know how to accept that. "What am I supposed to do? Just give up and let him go? He's my _son_!"

"I know." He sympathizes quietly. "I don't know what to say..."

Neither do I.

"I don't wanna give up on him, Tommy, I _can't_."

"You're _not_. No matter what, you're not giving up on him."

"But it feels like I am. If I just let him go, it's like I'm not fighting hard enough!" I argue, wondering how the hell it came to _this_.

I thought things were finally turning around, that he was coming back to us,  and now it feels like he's further away than ever.

"Maybe you need to _stop_ fighting." Tommy suggests, still hesitant, afraid of upsetting me more. "Both of you. You've been fighting all year. Maybe... maybe it's time to stop?"

"And then what? What if I lose him?"

"What if you lose him by keeping him here?" He shrugs sadly. "What if this is what he needs? To take a break, to have some space... the more people he has to deal with, the worse he feels. Maybe going back to Tulsa will be good for him, you know? It's a hell of a lot quieter than L.A.... I think he might need that."

I think he might, too.

I think being around his brothers and sisters, and the constant chaos that comes along with our "little" family is making it impossible for him to focus on helping himself. Healing himself. It makes impossible for _me_ to focus on helping him, and he deserves better. He deserves to be top priority, he _needs_ to be. But if he stays here, he'll always have to share my attention with his siblings. I can't give them less attention, I already feel as though I can never do enough for them or spend enough time with them. They all need me in different ways, and I need to be able to be there for them _all_. Ezra needs more than I can give him, and maybe the best thing I can do for him right now is to simply admit that.

I need to swallow my pride, put aside my fears of losing him entirely, and admit that I _can't_ be the one to help my son.

Not this time.

"Can I see him?"

"Yeah, sure."

With another supportive squeeze, he lets go of my hand and gets off of the bed. I try to breathe slowly, to stay calm and collect my thoughts so that when Ezra comes into the room I don't entirely break down just from seeing him. But I _haven't_ seen him all week. The last time I laid eyes on him, he was standing in the middle of the road with an SUV coming at him...

So when he takes that first, timid step into my hospital room, it takes every shred of restraint I can scrape together to stop myself from bursting into tears and telling him how much I love him. Which is good, because it looks like he's overwhelmed enough as it is. He's obviously taken aback by how I look, it literally stops him in his tracks. His eyes move slowly from the cast on my leg up to the dressing on my head, and I notice his lip begin to tremble before his gaze falls to the floor.

"It's okay." I tell him, trying to sound as convincing as I can. "I'm okay."

He nods a little, but that's the only movement he makes until Tommy places a comforting hand on his shoulder and gives him the slightest nudge towards me. I try to keep the smile on my face as he cautiously approaches, but I'm sure it falters at least once or twice. He stops by the side of the bed, just out of reach, and he doesn't attempt to touch me at all. Not that I really expected he would.

"Hey." I begin hopefully, cursing the faint tremble in my tone and praying he didn't hear it. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugs slightly, keeping his eyes trained on the bed sheets. "Okay."

"Good..." I glance over at Tommy, and he offers me a small, understanding smile as he nods for me to keep going. Keep trying. "H-how was school?"

"Okay." He murmurs, shrugging again. "Same as always."

"Right."

I don't know what I'm supposed to say to him. There's only so much conversation you can make if the person you're trying to talk to has no interest in talking. I really didn't want to just jump right to the topic of him moving back to Tulsa, but I get the feeling that's what he's waiting for. And until we get it out of the way, he's going to be too anxious about it to think about or talk about anything else.

"Tommy told me... about what you guys talked about in therapy today." His eyes flit up to my face uncertainly, but after only a second he looks away again. I can see how guilty he feels, like he's letting me down, hurting me. And even though it _does_ hurt, I don't want him to think he's doing something wrong. "Do you really think that going back to Tulsa will make you feel better?"

"Maybe."

"You know we don't _want_ you to go, right?" I ask him sincerely, swallowing hard to dislodge the lump in my throat that's making me sound so weak right now. "No one's mad at you, no one wishes you weren't here-"

" _I_ wish I wasn't." He interrupts me, his voice so soft that I can barely understand what he's saying. " _I'm_ mad at me."

"I know. And I know why... and I _understand_ why you feel that way, I really do, but... I just... I don't want you to think I don't want you here, okay?" I tell him, holding my hand out to him in hopes that he might actually take it.

And to my immense surprise, he does.

It takes him a few seconds of staring at it, like he's not sure what it is I want from him, but eventually his small hand moves from his side and settles itself in my palm. I try to tell myself not to clutch it too tightly, I don't want to scare him, but I can't stop myself. I feel like I'm losing him, I've felt that way for almost a year now, and even though I know that holding onto him physically isn't going to matter in the end, right now it feels like the answer.

It feels like my last chance.

"I love you. No matter _what_. I don't care about any of what's happened this year, it doesn't matter. It never mattered, it never made me love you any less." I promise him wholeheartedly, feeling his fingers twitch ever so slightly in my grasp, curling around my hand. "All that matters to me is that you're happy. I want you to be happy more than _anything_."

"I..." He stops, taking a breath and finally forcing himself to really look at me. The tears in his eyes are more than enough to break the barrier that was barely keeping my own at bay, and I know what he's going to say before the words leave his mouth. But knowing doesn't make it hurt any less when he finally says it out loud. "I wanna move back to Tulsa."

 _Damnit_. I have several broken bones and I just had fucking _brain surgery_ , but _this_ hurts so much more.

"O-okay."

He stares at me in shock, like he was only prepared for me shoot the idea down and demand that he stay here with me. "Really?"

"I'll figure it out." I tell him as confidently as I can when tears are starting to roll down my cheeks.

Out of nowhere, he moves forwards. It's not a slow, uncertain step like every other he's taken so far, it's a sudden, desperate motion that takes me completely by surprise. Next thing I know, his arms are around me and he's hugging me. For the first time in ten months, my son is _hugging_ me. It's absolute agony, and I can barely breathe, but I hold him to me anyway and refuse to let go.

"I'm sorry, dad." He sobs hopelessly, burying his face in my hospital gown as I kiss the top of his head and close my eyes, trying to hold on to how I'm feeling emotionally rather than physically. Trying to hold on to the fact that _he's_ holding on to _me_. "I'm _sorry_."

"It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

God knows how, but I _have_ to believe it will be. Otherwise, how the hell am I supposed to let my son go?

Ezra stays in my arms until his tears come to a gradual stop, maybe even for a few minutes after that. And though Tommy never comes any further into the room, he holds my stare from the doorway the entire time, reassuring me without saying a single word, convincing me that I am somehow strong enough to do this.

Or maybe knowing that he'll be with me through the whole thing, through _anything_ , is what convinces me.

"Ike took mom and dad to the house to have dinner with the kids." I tell Tommy, trying to appear composed as I reluctantly let Ezra go. "I told them they could use my car while they're in town, since no one else needs it and it's not like I'm gonna be driving it anytime soon."

"Okay." He nods obligingly, taking a step closer just as Ezra begins backing away from the bed as unhurriedly as he approached it before. "Do you need anything?"

I need a hug. I need a break. I need something _good_ to happen.

"Can you ask them to call me later?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." I manage a small but sincere smile for him before turning my attention back to Ezra. But he's not only further away physically, I feel like whatever emotional connection we might have shared just a moment ago was severed as soon as we stopped touching. "I'll see you soon."

It was meant to be a statement of fact, an attempt to comfort him, but it sounds more like a question. A plea. He nods, though, which I guess is better than nothing at all. I just wish I could have held on to him indefinitely. I wish one hug could have fixed him. Fixed us.

But of course nothing is ever that simple.

I've spent my life coming to terms with the fact that everything worth having takes some kind of fight or struggle. And every fight or struggle I've faced so far has been worth it in the end, even if it felt pointless and futile at the time.

Once Tommy has taken Ezra home for dinner, I have nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and try to process what's just happened. It wasn't anything I saw coming, but I feel like I should have known it would come to this. Maybe I never should've brought him out here. I remember second guessing my choice right before the move, wondering if I should leave him in Tulsa with my parents, if that would be better for him than dragging him to a new city and forcing him into a new life when he was still so consumed by his old one. But maybe if I hadn't, none of this would have happened.

And maybe this needed to happen in order for him to finally ask for help.

My silent dissection of the past, present and future is interrupted by a nurse carrying a tray of food I felt obligated to order but have no interest in actually eating. Earlier, I was starting to get hungry. I only picked at my lunch, just enough so that my parents and Ike wouldn't think something was wrong with me, and then this afternoon my stomach was painful empty. But I honestly have no appetite anymore. And I have even less of one when she informs me that someone will be by in an hour or so to give me a bed bath.

Yet another of my _favorite_ things about being in this place.

I'd love to take a shower, to take care of my personal hygiene for _myself_ , like an _adult_. But until the doctor gives me the okay to get out of this bed and into a wheelchair, there's no way it can happen. So instead I have to sit here while a total stranger "washes" me with a bunch of baby wipes. Okay, so that's probably not what they are, but it's sure as hell what they look like. And I know it's no big deal to the person doing it; it's their job, they've seen a million other people naked, they don't care. But it's not an experience I'm familiar with, and it's not one I want to get used to!

I just want to go _home_.

My parents call sometime around eight, just like I asked for them to. I explain the situation with Ezra to them, somehow managing to keep my emotions under control almost the entire time. In fact, once or twice I find myself contemplating how calm and coherent I sound, like I'm conducting a business deal or something. But if I don't handle it this way, if I let myself think too much about the fact that I'm basically begging my mom and dad to let my son move in with them, I'll lose it completely.

Begging isn't really necessary, though, because they would never say no to something like that. I promise them that I'll pay for anything and everything he needs, that they won't have to spend a penny of their own money, that I'll make other arrangements if he's too much trouble. But every time I bring up money, or apologize for putting this on them, they tell me to stop it and insist that they're more than happy to help. It's such an immeasurable relief to know that I won't be backed into a corner and forced to let Pam take him in. I don't doubt that she'd love him just as much as my parents will, and give him everything he needs. But I also don't doubt that she'd find it impossible to keep her opinions about me and Tommy to herself. Even if she didn't flat out badmouth us to him, her disdain for us would creep into their day to day lives, little by little.

I'd never stop being afraid that he'd be unable to accept us as his family by the end of it all.

I thought that sleep would be impossible tonight because I have way too much on my mind. But by the time I'm done talking to my mom and dad, I'm so drained that I feel as though I could close my eyes and pass out within seconds. So when I open them again and see Tommy standing in the doorway, I'm convinced that it has to be a dream. But then he walks over to me, and he sits down on the edge of the bed beside me, and as soon as he takes my hand in his I know he's real.

"It's late." I tell him drowsily, shifting a little to make room for him, and he immediately settles down in the space beside me. "Aren't visiting hours over?"

"Yeah, but I know people who know people." He informs me quietly, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

"Were you flirting with the cute male nurse again?"

His shoulder rises and falls beneath my tired head as he shrugs. "A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do."

"Speaking of doing what you have to do... I talked to my parents."

"I know. They're still at the house."

"They are?"

He nods faintly as he exhales a soft 'mmhmm'. "Isaac took Pam back to her hotel after dinner, thank _fuck_ , and your parents stayed to help me and Jenna get the kids to bed. They were gonna go to their hotel right after, but I told them they could stay if they wanted."

"Stay? Like... at the house?"

"Yeah. I mean... if they're gonna be in town for a while it's gonna get expensive for them to stay at a hotel the whole time. I figured they may as well stay in our room and I can just crash on the couch or something."

"You didn't have to do that." I tell him gratefully, tangling my arm with his even more securely than before. " _Thank you_."

"It wasn't _entirely_ selfless." He admits. "I kinda like the idea of having as many sane people around as possible if Pam's gonna be dropping by whenever the fuck she feels like it. And since your parents seem to not hate my guts so much anymore-"

"They don't hate your guts _at all_."

"Well, whatever. I just wanted allies is what it comes down to. Jenna's sweet and everything, but I don't want her ending up stuck in the middle every time Pam throws a fucking bitch fit because I let the River have a cookie before dinner."

"Good thinking." I agree, tilting my head back a little to look up at him. "I'm still sorry you have to deal with her at all, though."

"Ditto."

"Who knows... maybe this whole thing with Ezra moving to Tulsa will get her off our backs a little. Even if he's gonna be living with my parents and not her, she'll still get to see him more than she did when he lived here."

"Maybe." He sighs, but he doesn't sound at all convinced.

And really, I don't hold out much hope of it, either. I'm just grasping at straws, trying to find a silver lining in amongst all of these goddamn clouds. "It's the right thing to do... right?"

"Does it make you feel absolutely shitty?"

"There are _no_ words." I declare in a miserable murmur, my voice wavering at the thought of it.

"Then, yeah..." He confirms quietly, the tip of his nose gently nudging mine in a small but utterly significant show of consolation. "That probably means it's the right thing to do."


	92. Chapter 92

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor Chapter!

  


 

 

It feels like I'm floating.

No... sinking.

I'm not falling, I'm just... coming down from... somewhere. I don't remember where, but the further down I go, the more it hurts. _Everything_ hurts. I want to go back to where I was before. Nothing hurt there.

Wherever it was.

I don't remember.

I try to open my mouth, to call out, to beg for the pain to stop. But I can't speak. There's something in my mouth, in my _throat_ , I can't breathe! I open my eyes, but everything is blurry. There are lights and shapes moving above me, all around me, but I don't know who or _what_ they are! They're making sounds, but I don't know what they're saying. It's like I'm underwater...

It feels like I'm _drowning_.

I can't move! The blurry shapes are holding me down and talking to me in voices I don't recognize, saying words I don't understand!

Where am I?

Why does everything hurt so much? What's _wrong_ with me?!

Oh God...

Where are my kids?!

One of the shape-people says my name. It's the first thing I've heard that I've been able to understand. They make more sounds, and I begin to hear more words that make sense to me.

"Squeeze" and " hand".

I feel my fingers move before I even realize that I'm mindlessly complying with their request. They sound so benign, almost as though they're trying to soothe me. But they still won't let me move, and I still can't breathe! And when I hear them utter the word "accident", every last shred of pain I feel is suddenly replaced by sheer panic.

Let me go! I need to find my kids! I need to find Tommy!

 _Where's Tommy_?!

"It's okay."

Who said that?

The sound didn't come from the blurry shape-person beside me, it came from somewhere else. I try to look in the direction it came from, but it's too far away and everything is so distorted. Someone or something appears beside me, I feel them touch me and my instinct is to pull away from them. But I can't find the strength to move. I look down at where my hand is, wondering why they're touching me and what they're doing to me, but once again all I see is blurry nothingness!

What's wrong with my eyes?!

"Safe." The new voice tells me. "Home."

Home?

This isn't home... is it? It doesn't feel like home, and it sure as hell doesn't feel safe.

Are my kids at home? Is Tommy with them?

God, _please_ let them be okay!

Something tickles my cheek. Whatever it is, it's moving. I think... maybe I'm crying?  Before I can try to figure out what my own body is doing, I feel something else on the side of my face. I know it's not tears. It's soft... warm. Something is touching me. Someone...

I open my eyes to look at the figure beside my bed again, my heart sinking when I see that they're just as indistinguishable as they were a moment ago. There's something strangely familiar about them, though. It's just a feeling, but...

"It's me."

 _Who_?

Who is it?!

"Taylor?" I feel a hand on my shoulder. Firm. Heavy. "Taylor?"

Stop.

Please _stop_!

Get _off_ of me! Let me _go_!

"Taylor, it's okay. You're okay."

Help! Someone _help_ me!

"Taylor, wake up!"

"Help!"

"It's okay!" The voice assures me as the lights and blurry shapes suddenly disappear. And in their place I see Holden. He's still blurry, but nothing like before. I can see. I can move. I can _breathe_! "You're okay."

"Wh... where am I?" I ask him anxiously, looking around the room we're in. "Shit... am I in the ICU again?"

He shakes his head, smiling down at me softly. "No, we moved you to Neurology this morning, remember?"

"I..." I remember. I think. Everything is such a mess in my mind, I can't remember what's real. Nothing makes sense. "But... you're here."

"I'm on my break." He explains calmly, his hand still on my shoulder, grounding me. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Oh."

"Bad dream?"

Is that what it was? It felt like more than that. "I guess."

"Wanna talk about it?" He offers kindly, taking a seat beside the bed. "It's okay if you don't."

"It wasn't really... anything... I mean..." How do I even begin to describe it? "Do you ever have dreams where you're in a strange place, surrounded by strange people, and... you feel like you can't move, or talk, or even breathe?"

"I've have dreams where I'm trying to run from something, but it feels like my legs won't move as fast as I know they can. Kinda like when you try to run on the beach and your feet keep sinking into the sand, only worse. Was it like that?"

I wish. "Not really."

"Are you okay? You seem pretty shaken up by it."

"Yeah, I'm fine." I force a smile in an attempt to placate him, but I'm sure he sees right through it. Time to change the subject! "How long is your break?"

"An hour. But I only have twenty minutes left."

"Do you always check up on your patients after they leave the ICU?"

Unless I'm very much mistaken (and thanks to my double vision, I very well could be), he blushes. "Not often. I have in the past if I treated them for a long time, you know? It's hard to let patients like that go without paying them at least one visit to see how they're progressing. You get invested, you get to know their families..."

"But I was only in the ICU for a couple of days." I point out, almost immediately feeling like an ass for doing so because I'm obviously embarrassing him.

"Like I said... I was a fan growing up. You might not have been in my care for more than a couple of days, but it still feels like I've known you a lot longer. Is that weird?"

"I don't think so." I tell him honestly, smiling as he lets out a small sigh of relief. "I'm glad you came by. I wanted to thank you."

"For?"

"Getting Tommy in to see me after visiting hours. And not for the first time, from what he's told me."

He smiles and shrugs, as though it's nothing. "What can I say? I'm a sucker for true love."

"Well I _really_ appreciate it. We both do."

"You're very welcome."

"Maybe after I get out of here and I'm capable of cooking, we could invite you and your boyfriend over for dinner or something?"

"You don't have to do that-"

"I know. But... it'd be nice. If you want to, I mean. I know you probably don't have a lot of free time."

"Hey, if Taylor Hanson wants to make me dinner, I'll find the time." He smirks. "Although I should tell you now, my boyfriend will probably make everyone _completely_ uncomfortable. He claims he doesn't care about celebrities, but whenever he's anywhere near one he turns into a total mess. He has no shame, and no filter, and he _will_ be entirely inappropriate and ask you questions that no normal person would ever dream of asking you. At least not five minutes after they first meet you."

"I've been interviewed by Howard Stern. I doubt there's anything your boyfriend could ask me that I haven't already been asked." I chuckle softly. "And a lot of our fans are kinda shameless and inappropriate, too. I'm honestly used to it by now."

"Yeah, well, don't say I didn't warn you."

"What's his name?" I ask, suddenly realizing that I hardly know anything about him, and yet he knows all about me.

"Ryan." He replies, a fond smile spreading across his face as he says the name. Even just the look in his eyes right now reminds me of the way I feel whenever I think about Tommy, and I can't help but grin.

"How long have you been together?"

"Almost five years. We met at a New Years Eve party that my then roommates and I were throwing. He got invited by one of them as a set up for someone else, but they didn't really hit it off..."

"And you did." I finish knowingly.

"Yup." He gives a single, proud nod, beaming from ear to ear. "I never would've guessed we would; we're _so_ different. Even my friend who invited him to the party said he wouldn't have thought to set the two of us up in a million years. But apparently opposites really do attract sometimes."

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I think music is the only thing Tommy and I really have in common, and even then we don't have the exact same taste. But for whatever reason... it just never mattered. We've never had trouble finding things to talk about, and I've never cared what movie or TV show we watch as long as he's sitting next to me while we watch it."

"Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is for me to _not_ 'aww' out loud right now?"

I can already feel my cheeks burning, but I don't know why. We basically just established that we're both hopeless romantics and we're both equally _gone_ over our respective significant others.

"I would apologize for being a sap, but I'm not sorry. I waited my whole life to love someone so much that it makes other people sick just listening to me talk about them. And after all this... I just want to shout it from the rooftops. Life is _way_ too short to keep your mouth shut about the things that matter most."

"Amen!"

Holden hangs out with me for the remainder of his break, but he has to get back to saving lives a lot sooner than either of us would've liked. Which leaves me awake and alone in the middle of the night, with nothing to take my mind off of my crazy nightmare and my even crazier real life problems. I try watching TV, but there's nothing on worth watching, nothing to hold my attention long enough to stop my thoughts from wandering back to the very things I'm trying to distract myself from.

I briefly contemplate calling Tommy, because there's a good chance he's not asleep yet. And even if he was asleep, I know he wouldn't mind me waking him up. But just as I'm about to tap his name on my favorite contacts list, I stop myself. He's been through so much this week, and he's been handling it all on _so_ little sleep. I don't want to wake him up or risk keeping him awake longer than he otherwise would be.

I'm a grown man. I can spend a few hours alone without going crazy... I think.

You know what? No, I can't.

Because _that's_ exactlymy problem: I think!

I think, and then I rethink, and then I think some more. I don't just _over_ -think. I over-think and _then_ I keep on thinking! I think in circles, in squares, in pentagons, in any shape you care to imagine. I think things through from top to bottom, back to front, left to right. One thought leads to another, and then I over-think that thought until I find my way to a new one. And I keep doing this until I somehow manage to find my way back to the thought that started it all.

And by that point I can't remember what I thought about it, so I have to think about it all over again!

Is sending Ezra back to Tulsa to live with my parents a huge mistake? Will it help him, or make things worse? Will it bring us closer in the end, or will it result in me losing him completely?

Is _that_ what he needs?

His birth gave me a reason to live, but what if I've been inadvertently bleeding the life out of him ever since? What if having me for a father is the root of all of his problems? What if I screw up all of my kids eventually just by being _me_?!

Pam and Kate were right. I _was_ an immature father. I made the best show I could of being prepared, but I was _so_ out of my depth. Motherhood came so naturally to Natalie, it was her reason for _being_. It was all she wanted. Fatherhood was something that happened to me, something I struggled to figure out (and still do). I relied heavily on Natalie, and my parents, and Pam. Too heavily. I ran away to the studio or the tour bus and hid away with my piano until I felt strong enough to go home and be an adult again.

Then everything changed.

Natalie was gone, and I no longer had the option of running and hiding. You'd think that, after almost ten years of being a parent, having five kids, I'd know what the fuck I'm supposed to do in any given situation. Even if I wasn't the most present father in the world, I was still there enough that I should've known how it works. But I had no idea how to help them through losing Natalie, I didn't know where to begin. They were all grieving in such different ways, and I could barely keep up...

I let Ezra down.

For all I know, I let his brothers and sisters down, too. Maybe they just haven't reached their breaking points yet. But if this family suffers one more loss like the ones we've endured so far this year, I'm not sure if I'll be enough to hold things together. There's only so much pain a person can take. They're so small...

There's no doubt in my mind that they're at their limits by now.

Next year _needs_ to be better. They need it to be. And I'm going to do whatever I have to do to _make_ it better.

I spend the rest of the night "watching" infomercials and early morning news shows, but I couldn't tell you a thing about _any_ of it. I think one of the infomercials had something to do with food, because I remember missing my kitchen and wishing I could go home and make my kids pancakes for breakfast. And then thinking about pancakes made me hungry. So despite my current aversion to eating (or rather, what happens as a result of eating), I pick up the phone by my bed the _minute_ breakfast service begins and place my order for buttermilk pancakes with in-room dining (seriously, it's like I'm at a fucking Hilton, not a hospital).

My food arrives within thirty minutes, which is just enough time for a nurse to stop by and change the dressing on my head. She comments that it's healing nicely, and I resist the urge to ask her if I can see. I haven't seen what I look like yet, and I think I'd prefer to put off doing so for as long as I can. I know my face is scratched up and bruised, and I know they had to shave at least _some_ of my hair off to operate. Not all of it, thankfully. But then again, maybe _I_ should just shave it all off. No way can I pull off Tommy's look, so if that's what I'm gonna be left with once they remove the dressing entirely, it's probably better to just get rid of it all right now!

It's just hair. It'll grow back.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

I was expecting my parents or Tommy to be the first ones through the door as soon as visiting hours begin, but to my immense surprise it's actually Ike who shows up first. And he brought me Starbucks! Would it be wrong to proclaim that all is forgiven? Because _damn_ , I've missed my coffee. I didn't even realize how much until he hands me the cup and I inhale the scent of it. No wonder I've had such bad headaches the last few days.

Forget the traumatic brain injury, it was probably caffeine withdrawals!

"How'd you sleep?" He asks, sipping on his own Venti drink.

"Great." I lie over the lid of my caramel latte, because he doesn't need to know the truth. "You?"

"Pretty good once I actually managed to get to sleep." He nods. "I had too much going on in my head at first, so I tried watching some Leno to take my mind off of everything. But that didn't work out so well."

"Boring show?"

"No, actually. But he made a crack about you at the beginning, so it didn't really help distract me so much as remind me about everything all over again."

Great. I'm late night TV fodder? They could at least wait until I'm out of the damn hospital first! "What did he say about me?"

"He was just saying how you're gonna start a trend amongst celebrities now, you know? If anyone ever has bad publicity, they're just gonna throw themselves in front of a car to gain some sympathy."

"Yeah, _that's_ why I did it."

"He knows it's not." Ike assures me good naturedly, rolling his eyes at the suggestion. "He even made a point of saying that you did it to protect your kid and you deserve all the good press you've gotten from it."

"I didn't realize I'd gotten _any_." I tell him in genuine surprise. "All I've seen are those stupid tabloid articles, and they were mostly about my relationship with Tommy and how it's gonna crumble under the stress of me being a brain dead cripple."

Ike snorts so hard that I'm pretty sure coffee comes out of his nose, and that's enough to make me smile, too. "Yeah, well, what do you expect? Those magazines are trash, and they make money by exaggerating and making up stories to entertain bored housewives."

"So what good press have I gotten?"

"I don't think it's press so much as like... social media hype." He shrugs. "In the space of a week you went from being twitter's most hated adulterer to being hero of the year. I mean, there are still a bunch of assholes tweeting shit about the accident being karma, and how you had it coming, but for the most part everyone seems to think that you saving Ezra's life _totally_ makes up for what you and Tommy did to Natalie."

Everyone... but not Ike.

And definitely not me. "I can never make up for that."

"I know."

"I'm not a hero. He's my kid... I just wanted to keep him safe. That's _all_ I want."

"Well, not that my opinion means much, but I think you're doing the right thing by sending him home. To Tulsa, I mean."

Boy, good news sure travels fast. "You heard?"

"I talked to mom and dad this morning. It came up." He tells me, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on my face as though he's trying to read my mind. He's never been any good at it, to be honest. "You okay?"

"About shipping one of my kids to another state? Oh yeah, I'm _peachy_." I retort sarcastically, instantly feeling like an asshole for taking my pain and frustration out on him. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I get it."

He doesn't. But there's no point debating it with him, because we'll just end up fighting. This is the kind of thing we _always_ end up going in circles over. He's convinced he knows what I think or feel, and I can't convince him otherwise no matter what I say or do. It's exhausting, and on almost no sleep I don't have the energy to argue with him this morning.

It's not even worth arguing about.

"If there's anything I can do..." He continues uncertainly when I remain silent. "For you or for Ez, now or when he's back in Tulsa... just let me know, okay?"

"Thanks, Ike."

I wish things could be like this all the time. Unfortunately, as the older brother it's his job to disapprove. And as the model son turned black sheep of the family, it's apparently my job to disappoint.

We're both _really_ good at our jobs.

"Well... I just wanted to come by and bring you some coffee." He smiles faintly, standing from his chair. "I told Pam I'd pick her up and take her over to the house this morning, so I should probably-"

"Can you do me a favor?" I ask, surprising myself as much as him. "Another one, I mean. Not coffee related."

"Sure..."

"When you pick Pam up... can you bring her here? I need to talk to her."

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" He cringes, clearly concerned that I'll end up back in the ICU once she's through with me. "Maybe you should wait until you get out of here?"

"I can't, Ike. She's gonna find out about Ezra moving to Tulsa way before then, and she should hear it from me. Besides, she's been treating Tommy like shit ever since she got here. If she's going to be in _our_ house every day, she needs to know that it's not okay for her to order him around or make him feel unwelcome."

"You can't expect her to like the guy, Tay. He tried to break up her daughter's marriage-"

"No, he didn't. He never asked me to leave Natalie, not _once_."

"But he encouraged you to keep cheating on her. He didn't care what your relationship with him did to your family, he _never_ cared."

Damnit, I don't want to do this! I can't count how many times we've had this conversation at this point, and it always, _always_ ends the exact same way!

"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know him, you have no idea what he went through or how he felt-"

"It was pretty obvious."

"Clearly it wasn't, because you couldn't be more wrong about it!" I snap in frustration, taking a deep breath to try to calm myself down before this whole thing devolves into more bickering and bitterness. "Please, just... bring Pam here. If she doesn't listen, she doesn't listen. But I at least have to _try_."

"Fine." He sighs wearily, turning and making his way to the door. "But don't blame me if she refuses to get out of the car."

Part of me kinda hopes she'll do just that, because I'm not sure that trying to reason with her is a good idea. It hasn't gotten me very far until now. But I can't just lie in this bed and let her behave the way she has been, it's not fair to Tommy or my kids. And it's not fair to my parents, either. They're going to end up in the middle of any and every fight Pam picks with Tommy, and no matter who they side with they're going to feel like the bad guys somehow.

Right on cue, they show up within minutes of Ike leaving. I wouldn't be surprised if they passed him in the waiting room. Mom gets her "did you get enough sleep, did you eat a good breakfast, is there anything we can get you?" fussing out of the way before dad has even made himself comfortable in one of the chairs by the bed, and then she starts questioning whether or not I should be drinking Starbucks in my condition. Like it's hard liquor or something.

I really wouldn't mind a shot of tequila right now. I don't care if it's five o'clock _nowhere_.

"Where's Tommy?" I ask, finally relenting and allowing her to throw out the rest of my coffee. I already drank a Grande's worth anyway. "I thought he'd be here by now."

"He'll be by before lunch." Dad assures me. "He said he needed to pick up a few things from his apartment and talk to his roommate."

Probably about the fact that he's not going to _be_ his roommate much longer. "Right."

"Did he mention that he invited us to stay at the house?" Asks mom cheerfully. "It was very thoughtful of him."

"Yeah, well, he's a thoughtful guy." I tell her with a proud smile.

"I feel bad letting him sleep on the couch, though." Dad admits with a regretful shake of his head. "It's not an ideal arrangement."

"He said he doesn't mind. Besides, if the couch isn't comfortable enough, there's always the recliners in the movie room. They're insanely comfortable. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna end up sleeping in them when I get out of here."

Mom's face falls immediately. "Why on Earth would you do that?"

"Because it's more difficult to breathe and it hurts _way_ more when I lie flat on my back. It's better when I'm basically sitting up like I am now. And sleeping in the movie room doesn't involve going up or down stairs, _and_ it'll probably be a hell of a lot easier to get in and out of a chair than it would be to get in and out of a bed. Especially with the recliners, since I just have to push a button to sit up or lie down."

"I suppose that makes sense..." She sighs grudgingly. "I still don't like the idea of you sleeping like that indefinitely, though."

Me either. But if it's the easiest and least painful option, I'll take it.

It seems as though _everything_ else is going to be an uphill battle. If the next couple of months are going to be some of the most grueling of my life, both physically and emotionally, then it's only fair that I get enough sleep to survive them!

While I wait for Ike to return with my antagonistic and argumentative mother-in-law, I explain my plan to my parents. Or rather, I explain to them that I have no plan and I'm just hoping like hell that Pam will  sit down and truly _listen_ to me for five minutes. I can tell just from their expressions, their forced smiles, that they don't think that's likely to happen. But they both assure me that I'm doing the right thing by trying, and that if she's not willing to meet me half way then there's nothing more I can do. At least I'll know I made a real, concerted effort to keep every last bridge between us from burning, and hopefully that will be enough to give me peace of mind at the end of the day.

But I doubt it.

The minute Pam walks into the room, I swear that the temperature drops dramatically. She chances one, brief look at me, her curiosity over just how bad I look getting the better of her. But as soon as she's conducted that initial appraisal of my condition, she turns her attention to the window across the other side of the room instead and refuses to face me. My parents and I agreed before she got here that it would be better if they waited outside. Pam's already convinced that we're all out to get her, so it's best if we have this conversation (or confrontation) one-on-one. I don't want her getting even more defensive than she clearly already is.

Mom and Dad shoo Ike out of the room, pulling the door closed behind them. And then it's just me and Pam for the first time in months.

"You can sit down if you-"

"I'm fine standing, thank you." She informs me coolly, folding her arms across her chest as though even she's affected by her own icy demeanor. "Isaac said you wanted to talk to me about the children."

"I really think it'd be better if you sat down." I try again, and after heaving a put upon sigh, she reluctantly perches on the edge of the seat furthest from the bed. Nice. "First of all... I want to thank you for coming out here to be with the kids."

"Of course I came. They're my grandchildren and they needed someone to take care of them."

Don't take the bait, Taylor. _Don't_ take the bait! "Well, I appreciate the help. Between Tommy and Jenna, and you and my parents... it's definitely been a load off my mind to know that they have so many people around who love them and who are looking after them when I can't."

She chuckles derisively. "Isn't that how it's _always_ been?"

"You know what I mean." I reply sharply, my fingers curling into fists on the sheets beside me, to the point where my arms begin to tremble from the effort.

I _refuse_ to fight with her, not over these stupid, petty little barbs she keeps throwing at me. If we're going to fight, it's going to be over the things that _really_ matter.

"You're welcome." She retorts less than sincerely. "Was that all you wanted to say?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Well what _do_ you want to say to me, Taylor? I told Viggo I would be over right after breakfast, and I don't want to keep him waiting. You know how sensitive he is. The last thing he needs right now is _more_ inconsistency."

I will _not_ whip my catheter bag at her. I won't, I won't, I _won't_. "The last thing he or any of them need right now is to have the people they love fighting over who knows how to take care of them better. They're scared, and all the bickering isn't helping."

"If this is your way of telling me to keep my mouth shut and let your _boyfriend_ dictate to me how I should care for _my_ grandchildren-"

"This is me telling you to stop questioning _everything_ he does. I know you're angry at me, and I know you don't trust either of us right now, and you think we're terrible people. But regardless of what _you_ believe, that doesn't change the _fact_ that we love them. Neither of us would ever hurt them, we'd do anything for them. And just because they're not _his_ children, that doesn't mean Tommy has no right to an opinion. It's _our_ home, and they're my children, and I trust him to do what's best for them when I'm not around. And if you can't accept that, if you can't work _with_ him rather than fighting against him at every turn, then maybe it'd be best if you went back to Tulsa."

"If you think I'm going to leave them in his care, you're crazy. They don't belong here, they belong with me, with their family, in a stable, healthy environment." She argues adamantly. "And if you think for a second that I'm going to stop fighting for that-"

"You'll lose." I snap at her, my last shred of patience finally failing. "You can fight me all you want Pam, but you have _no_ case. I've hired a lawyer, a _good_ lawyer, and he's assured me that you won't win this thing. The kids aren't in danger, they aren't being neglected or abused, they're loved and they're well looked after, and no judge is going to hand them over to you just because you want them!"

"We'll see."

"I'm telling you it's _pointless_. You will _lose_ , Pam. You will lose the custody case, you will lose _every_ last cent you spend in legal fees trying to fight me, and you will lose the kids, too. Because if you think I'm going to let you anywhere near them after you've dragged me to court and tried to take them from me, _you're_ the one who's crazy."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm not threatening you, I'm warning you." I tell her as calmly and evenly as I can manage to right now. "We're a family. Not just me and Tommy and the kids, but my parents, my siblings, you, Matty, _all_ of us. And I don't want that to change. But if you don't stop trying to destroy it, then what else do you expect?"

"I'm not trying to destroy it, Taylor. _You_ did that when you took them from us!"

"I moved, Pam! People move _all_ the time, and their families don't try to take their kids away from them because of it! Admit it, you're doing this because you miss Natalie-"

"I'm doing it because I think you and Tommy are _sick_ , and I don't want my grandchildren being raised to think that your relationship is in _any_ way acceptable! And you know that Natalie wouldn't want that, either."

"I know that all Natalie ever really wanted was for them to be safe and loved. And they _are_."

"They would be safe and loved with me. _And_ they would be taught right from wrong."

"They _know_ right from wrong! They know acceptance is better than ignorance, and love is better than hate. They know that they will be loved no matter who they are, or what they do, _or_ who they love! They know they never have to be afraid to tell me anything, because I will always support them. _That's_ not something you can offer them, Pam, and it's something every child deserves. It's something they _need_!"

"They also need boundaries and morals! You're not providing those if you blindly accept every choice they make in life and never question their actions! It's all very well for you to say you'll let them be whatever they want to be, but what will you do if they turn out to be dishonest, immoral-"

"I will love them and I will be there for them. No matter what."

"Look how well that worked with Ezra! You sat back and let him act up and spiral out of control! You couldn't give him what he needed, and your loose, idealistic method of 'parenting' has made things even worse than they needed to be!"

"I know!" I admit, leaving us both taken aback by my words. But with Pam too stunned to speak, at least I have an opportunity to explain myself. "I'm painfully aware that I messed up with Ezra. I had no idea how to handle what he was going through, I still don't. But all I _ever_ wanted was to help him, all I ever did was try to make things right. I'm _still_ trying. That's why... I'm letting him move back to Tulsa."

Her draw literally drops, and I might've found it amusing if this entire conversation, and the thought of being a thousand miles away from my son for who knows how long, wasn't so fucking depressing.

"What are you talking about?" She asks finally, warily, like she thinks I'm trying to trick her.

"He told me he wants to move back, that he thinks he'll feel better there." I tell her, struggling to stay strong and not break down over every word that passes my lips. "So when my parents go home... he's going with them."

"He's going to live with Walker and Diana?"

"Yes."

"But _I_ was the one who suggested to him that he should ask to come home if he wanted to!" She argues resentfully. "You know how much I want my grandchildren back, and now you're deliberately giving Ezra to your parents instead?!"

"You're right, I am. But I'm not doing it to hurt you. Believe it or not, my life's mission is _not_ to make you hate me more than you already do. My only concern is what's best for my family-"

"So you're saying that your parents would make better caregivers than I would?"

"No, I think you'd take incredible care of him. You always have, and I will _always_ be indebted to you for that. But you're _so_ full of hate for me and everything I am, everything I do, that there's no way I could put one of my children in your care with things the way they are between us. With my parents, I know they won't be poisoning Ezra against me _or_ Tommy, they won't keep him from talking to me or coming to stay with us if he wants to, and they'll respect my wishes when it comes to any decisions that need to be made. I don't know _any_ of that about you, Pam. In fact, I'm convinced the opposite would be true, and that's _terrifying_ for me! Imagine sending your child to live with someone who hates _everything_ about you. Imagine not knowing what they'll tell them about you when you're not there, and not knowing whether you'll get to talk to them whenever you want to. How can you expect me to _choose_ that if I have _any_ other option?"

Apparently she has no response to that question, which is pretty shocking. I was expecting a rant about how they're _her_ grandchildren, and that it shouldn't be about me, it should be about them and what they want. I didn't think she'd actually _hear_ me, let alone take me seriously.

"You can see him whenever you want to, he'll be _right_ there. I just... I can't let him stay with you. Not until things between us have improved enough for me to trust that you won't say or do anything to damage our relationship even more than it's already been damaged."

"What about the others? Penny and River and Viggo?" She questions suddenly. "What if they want to move back, too?"

"No. None of them have said anything about-"

"Because they don't realize that it's an option!"

"It's _not_." I tell her forcefully.

"I thought you said you only wanted what was best for them, that you only want them to be happy. What if they'd be happier in Tulsa?"

"I gave them a choice, and _they_ chose to move here."

"That was before." She reminds me, and I can tell from her persistence that she feels she has a valid point. "They had no idea what it would be like, they couldn't have known. They've been here long enough now to understand that it's not all fun trips to the beach. They know what it's like to miss their cousins and their aunts and uncles, they know what it's like to live in a big, noisy city every day instead of a safe, small town. Maybe if they knew they could choose, they'd want to go back to how things were. And if you honestly cared more about what _they_ want rather than what _you_ want, wouldn't you give them the chance to make that choice?"

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

I can't piece together _any_ kind of response right now, let alone a decent rebuttal! I feel helpless, paralyzed by fear. That's how I _know_ she's right.

Ezra came to me and _asked_ to be allowed to go back. Pam told him he could leave Los Angeles if he wanted to, and he made a choice. Would they _all_ make the same choice if I let them?

What if none of them really want to be here anymore?

 


	93. Chapter 93

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy!Chapter

  


 

 

I was dreading having to tell Mike that I'm moving out.

He had to have known it was coming; I've barely spent any time at our apartment since Taylor moved to L.A. But having to actually _say_ the words "I'm moving out" was a hell of a lot more difficult than I thought it'd be. It's not that I don't want to go through with it, I'm honestly pretty fucking excited about the idea of having all my stuff at Taylor's place. Or _our_ place now, I guess. I mean, yeah, it's a little scary to take that leap, to not have my own apartment to run to whenever I feel the need. But that's probably even more of a reason to do it.

I need to _stop_ running, stop hiding, and be a fucking grown up.

I'm ready.

I think.

I'm more ready now than I've ever been before, anyway, so that's a good start. I'm ready enough to pack up my clothes and as many of my guitars as I can fit into the minivan. I'm ready enough that I sent out a mass text to my family and closest friends with my new address so they actually know where the fuck to find me from now on.

And I was ready enough to look Mike in the eyes and say "I'm moving out".

I felt like shit for it, because I'm giving him _no_ notice, and I offered to help out with rent for a month or two until he finds a new roommate. But he told me he already knew a few people looking for a place, and he'd just been waiting for me to "get the rest of my shit out of the room" before he offered it to someone else. I thought he'd be pissed at me, but he didn't seem upset at all. Maybe a little disappointed to see me go, but not mad at me for it.

It was a _huge_ relief, and I was excited to come to the hospital and tell Taylor that it's officially happening, and that all I need to do now is finish packing up my stuff this weekend and relocate it to the house.

But when I walk into the waiting room and see Ike and Taylor's parents sitting around, deep in discussion and looking incredibly anxious, my good mood vanishes into thin air. For a moment I don't even realize that I've stopped in my tracks. Everything feels like it's spinning, so I'm unaware of the fact that I'm not moving at all. Then everything stops spinning just as suddenly as it started, and I'm rushing towards them, my heart so high in my fucking throat that I swear I'm about to puke it up!

"What's wrong?" I ask them. "Is Taylor okay? Did something happen?"

"He's fine." Walker assures me with a small, understanding smile. "Everything's fine."

Thank _fuck_! "How come you're all out here? Are they doing some kind of procedure or something?"

"He's talking to Pam." Explains Diana, glancing in the direction of Taylor's room and then down at her watch. "She's been in there a while now..."

"That's a good sign." Insists Walker, taking her hand in his. "It must mean she's actually listening to him, otherwise they would've been done by now."

"Either that or she's trying to figure out how to hide the body." Ike notes in an half-hearted attempt to be funny.

But jokes about Taylor dying _aren't_ funny. Not to me, not after this week, not even if they're totally fucking ridiculous. "Shut up."

"I _obviously_ wasn't being serious." He rolls his eyes. "Lighten up."

" _You_ lighten up, jackass."

"That's enough, both of you." Walker snaps impatiently. "You're grown men, not children."

I don't feel like a grown man right now. I kinda wanna pout like the child I'm apparently not, or say something totally immature like "you can't tell _me_ what to do, _you're_ not my dad!" But instead I settle for slumping sullenly into a nearby chair and folding my arms across my chest.

I want to go to Taylor's room and find out what's going on. I don't want him to have to deal with that bitch alone. But having me there would probably only make her behavior worse. And if his parents aren't even in the room I guess it's safe to assume this is a one-on-one thing, and I should just accept being in the dark like everyone else. Except that I doubt whatever it is they're talking about is going to affect anyone else here like it will affect me and Taylor. They don't live with us, Pam isn't trying to take any of them to court or take their kids away from them. We're in this together, we're partners.

I should be in there with him.

Just as I'm about to get out of my chair and got to his room, regardless of what anyone says about it, Pam comes back into the waiting room and marches towards us. I can't tell from her expression how she's feeling, so I can't tell how it went at all. She doesn't look pissed, but she doesn't look pleased, either. Ike wordlessly gets out of his chair as she approaches, and then he tells his parents he'll see them later before following Pam towards the elevators like an obedient little lapdog.

"Why don't you go on in?" Walker tells me, obviously sensing how eager I am to find out what the fuck is happening. "You two probably need some time to talk."

That sounds ominous. I doubt he meant anything by it, but I'm even more apprehensive than I already was as I take a deep breath and head back to see Taylor.  I know he can't possibly be asleep; Pam only _just_ left, but when I walk into his room I find him with his eyes closed. It stops me in my tracks all over again.

"Taylor?"

His eyes open immediately, and as they settle on me I see him try to smile. But trying is about as far as he gets. "Hey."

"What happened?" I ask gently, willingly accepting the space on the bed that he makes for me. "Are you okay?"

"Not really."

"What did she say? Did you tell her about Ezra moving in with your parents?"

He nods slowly, heaving an _extremely_ tired sigh. "Yeah, I did."

"Was she pissed?"

"Kind of, at first. But I told her there's no way in hell I'm letting him live with someone who hates my guts the way she does."

"I bet she _loved_ that." I commiserate sympathetically, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

"Actually, I think she might've understood how I felt. I mean, she wasn't _happy_ about it at all, but I think she got why I wasn't willing to consider letting him stay with her."

"Seriously?" And here I was thinking that old hag was incapable of seeing reason. Next thing you know, we'll discover that there really _is_ a God!

I'm _so_ screwed...

Oh well, it's _way_ too late to do anything about it at this point. Besides, smiting is the least of my problems right now. God can take a fucking seat and wait his damn turn!

"She wants me to give the other kids the same choice." Taylor tells me quietly, sorrowfully. "She said that if Ezra gets to move back, I should let Penny, River and Viggo decide if they want to go, too."

What the _fuck_?! Is she _crazy_?! "That's bullshit! It's _completely_ different. Ezra isn't moving to Tulsa because he likes it better there, he's moving because being here is messing him up emotionally and it's the only thing anyone can think of to help him."

"But what if being here is messing them all up emotionally? What if they're all miserable?"

"What if they move back to Tulsa and they're miserable there, too?" I point out, trying to stay calm and probably failing. Because all I feel right now is fucking _panic_. It's like every five minutes for this entire fucking week something has happened to throw everything into chaos and call the future of this family we're trying to hold together into question. It has to stop sometime... right? "They're just kids. They're gonna have bad days, and it's gonna feel like the end of the fucking world to them, and they'll say they want one thing but then they'll change their mind once they get it! What happens if you let them all go to Tulsa, and then next month they're begging to come back to L.A. again? They can't keep moving back and forth, it's insane."

"I know it is, but... I don't know what to do here, Tommy." He admits hopelessly. "I just want them to be happy. I want them to be where they want to be, I don't want them to be stuck somewhere just because it's where _I_ want to be, I never wanted that."

"Which is why you let them choose if they wanted to move here in the first place."

"And now that they know what it's like here... maybe I need to give them the chance to change their minds."

"Taylor-"

"She said she'll drop the custody case."

Whoa... "What?"

"Pam agreed that, if I let _them_ choose where they want to live, she'll respect their decision. She won't force them to live with her if they truly _want_ to stay with me. But if they want to live in Tulsa..."

"Then what? She just gets them?" I frown uncertainly. "That's the only option, right? I mean, they can't _all_ live with your parents. And even if they could, that _totally_ defeats the point of Ezra moving back there to get some space from everyone and get the kind of attention he needs."

"They _won't_ be living with Pam, I won't let that happen. I don't know... I guess they could maybe stay with Zac, or Ike... or possibly Jess..."

No, they won't.

I can see it in his eyes, lingering behind the unshed tears that have been waiting to fall since before I even walked into the room. He's not gonna ship his children off to another state to stay with his brothers or his sister. Maybe he's willing to let Ezra go, to give him the time he needs to heal. But if _all_ of them want to go back to Tulsa, he's not going to stay here and wave them off like they're going to fucking summer camp. He can't, it'd kill him.

He'll go back with them.

And I...

Fuck, I don't know what I'm supposed to do if that happens!

I want to say it's not fair, that he can't just up and leave. But I knew they came first when I got into this, I've _always_ known. No, it's not fair that I'd have to choose between staying here without him or moving to a place I can't stand in order to be with him. But life isn't fucking fair. It's not fair that he finally started to live his life in the place he wants to live it, with the person he wants to live it with, being open and honest about who he is, and now he might have to let it go. And it's not fair that Natalie died in childbirth, and that those kids lost their mother and have had their entire lives turned upside down _repeatedly_ ever since.

If they hate it here, if they're unhappy, if they want to be with their family... they deserve to have the opportunity to make that choice.

It's the _least_ they deserve.

And even though I _absolutely_ believe that Taylor deserves the same, that after _everything_ he's been through and all the years he's waited, he should get to be where he wants to be and do what makes him happy... that's not how it works. If he didn't have kids, maybe he would have the option of making choices based solely on what he wants. And if I wasn't in love with a guy who has kids, maybe what I want would be a priority, too.

But it's not.

"Okay." I tell him finally, feeling like that _one_ fucking word had to be ripped out of my body. It cut me the hell up every inch of the way. "If you think it's what we should do."

"Do _you_?" He asks.

"I-I don't know. It's not my choice-"

"It's as much yours as it is mine." He argues earnestly. "I told you yesterday that you have a say in stuff. You said you didn't want anyone to just take them away without asking you, so I'm asking you."

Fuck.

I know what I said, and I meant it. But I don't think I actually believed he'd let me have any _real_ input into decisions like this. I believe he meant it when he said he would, I believe he _wanted_ to give me some kind of power in all of this. But I guess I figured that when it came right down to it, when a decision like this needed to be made, I might be heard and I might get an opinion, but I wouldn't get like... an actual _vote_.

I want to tell him no, I don't want to let them choose. I want to take our chances against Pam with all this stupid fucking custody bullshit, because I think she'll lose. I want to keep them here with us, I want us to be a family _here_ , I want to live in that house that we _just_ started making into a home. I don't want to let them leave, and I sure as hell don't want to us to leave, either.

I don't want to live in Okla-fucking-homa!

But it's not about what _I_ want.

"I think... if we honestly want them to be happy, we need to know what would make them happy. We should at least _ask_ them what they want."

He nods slowly, taking in what I've said. And then he _breaks_. "I was _really_ hoping you wouldn't say that."

"I'm _more_ than willing to take it back." I offer, even though we both know it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference if I did.

I can play at being the bad guy. I can tell him that they're just kids, and that they shouldn't get a say in major life decisions like where they live or who they live with. They should just suck it up and deal with it, they should respect their parent's wishes and life choices like every other damn kid out there has to.

But I won't mean a word of it.

And ultimately, he'll give in to what he _knows_ is right. We both will.

"I'm sorry, baby."

I wrap my arms around him, and he gladly buries his face in the crook of my neck as he weakly curls an arm around my waist. I hate this. I hate it _so_ fucking much, and it's not fucking fair! When is it enough? When has he suffered enough? When will we finally earn five fucking seconds of _peace_?! And why am I so powerless all the damn time? Why can't I ever do _any_ -fucking- _thing_ to help him! I'm so sick of seeing him like this, of watching him hurt in one way or another and not being able to do a damn thing about it besides hugging him and telling him I'm sorry.

Which fixes exactly _nothing_!

"I'm _so_ sorry." Wait... why is _he_ sorry? "I told you it wouldn't be like this-"

"What're you-"

"I promised you that this wouldn't be your life, that things wouldn't always be such a fucking _mess_." He sobs miserably, remorsefully. "But _all_ I've done is complicate things and make things hard on you."

"That is _not_ true." I protest, pulling out of the embrace we were sharing and taking his face in my hands, forcing him to look me in the eyes. "Shit happens. It just does, and it's _not_ your fault."

"Your life was simpler before I came along, you _know_ it was-"

"Fuck simple! My life was fine before you came along, yes. It was _fine_. Was it full of drama, and hospitals, and custody battles, and troubled children? No. Was it full of _anything_? _No_. I lived day to day, I never planned anything, I never thought about the future, I was just... here."

"You were happy." He counters sorrowfully.

"I was drifting. Aside from my job, I had no fucking clue what I wanted out of life. And then I met you, and... I knew what I wanted. It scared the crap out of me, but for the first time in my whole fucking life, I _knew_. I wanted you. I loved you and I wanted to be with you. I didn't know what it felt like to want anyone or anything so much until I met you." He's not hearing me, he's too busy beating himself up. But unfortunately for him, I'm not gonna shut up until he fucking _gets_ it! "Stop shaking your fucking head."

"Tommy-"

"I know you don't see it, because you can never see anything good about yourself, but you are _so_ much stronger and braver than you think you are. You think it's me, you think I'm the brave one, but it's _you_. You make me want to be the person you _think_ I already am! I mean, fuck, _you're_ the only person who has ever made me _want_ to grow up! You're the only one who has ever given me a good enough reason to. You _haven't_ made a mess of my life, Taylor. If I was happy before I met you, then I don't even know what the word is for what I feel now. I've been with you, and I've been without you, and I can tell you right fucking now that I prefer being with you to _anything_ else. And I know you told me that things wouldn't always be so messed up, but _I_ told _you_ that I would take whatever the fuck came along with being with you, and I meant it. Because it's worth it, okay? Do you _hear_ me? _You_ are worth it."

Even though he doesn't nod, or agree, or say anything at all, I know he heard me this time. I know because he stops fighting me and just falls apart. To be honest, I kinda want to do the same. But I won't. Not on the outside, anyway. On the inside, my mind is racing and my heart is pounding so hard that it's breaking itself into pieces, and I'm so fucking afraid of what might happen to us next.

But then I remember what it felt like when I walked into that waiting room less than an hour ago and I thought something had happened to Taylor. My heart didn't break, it just fucking _stopped_. I thought he was hurt, or worse, and in that moment I forgot how to fucking _exist_.

He's here, though.

He's alive, he's breathing, and he's going to be okay. So everything else is cake. I don't fucking _care_ what the universe chooses to throw at us next, just so long as he's here.

I can handle it.

God, I _hope_ I can fucking handle it...

We've only just started to pull ourselves together when a doctor comes into the room. Before he can so much as hint that I should leave, Taylor tells him that he wants me to stay. The doctor glances through Taylor's chart, nodding in approval every so often as he reads snippets of it out loud like he's going over some kind of check list. Then he (politely) shoos me off to the side so that he can inspect the dressing on Taylor's head and examine that tube thing that's been there since the operation. Finally, he announces that everything is looking "great", and that he's going to arrange to have Taylor taken to a treatment room to have the "external ventricular drain" removed. I assume that's what the tube is called, and I can see the look of absolute relief in Taylor's eyes the second he hears those words.

"Will you bring the kids by after you pick them up from school?" He asks me eagerly as soon as the doctor has left the room.

"Yeah, sure." I smile, glad to see how much the prospect of being with his kids has perked him up. "They're gonna be _so_ excited. They'll be bouncing of the fucking walls."

He laughs softly, and I swear it's like watching him exhale the stress that was weighing on him a few minutes ago. "If I could get out of this bed, _I'd_ be bouncing, too!"

"Well once you get that tube taken out, you'll be one step closer."

"God, I can't _wait_. It's not like I'm looking forward to being in a wheelchair, but anything is better than being stuck in bed all day, every day."

"Just don't push yourself too far, too fast, okay?" I warn him, trying to keep my tone light but also make sure he knows how serious I am. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"I won't." He promises me solemnly, drawing a little cross over his heart to totally contradict his serious expression. "I'll push myself just far enough."

That's _so_ reassuring. "You think you're being cute, but you're really just a pain in the ass."

"I love you, too."

I wish it didn't feel so fake to banter back and forth with him like this. But after everything we've just said, it's hard for either of us to be genuinely happy and carefree right now. I know he's excited to see his kids for the first time all week, and I'm excited for him _and_ for them. But in the back of my mind there's an annoying little voice trying to make me feel like shit, telling me not to forget that everything isn't perfect.

Like I needed a fucking reminder.

"We'll be okay." He blurts out suddenly, after so much silence has passed between us that it's impossible to keep on flirting and teasing like everything is fine. "Whatever happens."

"Yeah." I smile faintly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and lacing his fingers with mine. "I know."

"And I don't want you to think that what you want doesn't matter."

"What do you mean?"

"I _have_ to put my kids first. But... that doesn't mean I'm putting you last." He explains, squeezing my hand to emphasize just how sincere he is. "What you want matters to me, _a lot_. I want you to be happy."

"I know. But like you said... they have to come first. And sometimes what they need and what we want isn't gonna match up." I shrug helplessly, because there's nothing that can be done about it. "It's just a fact."

"Maybe it won't be an issue this time."

The smile on his face is hopeful, but it's also forced. He's trying to stay positive, and I want to do the same for his sake. But I also don't want to kid myself, and it's an established fact that I excel at the whole 'expecting the worst' thing. It'd be great if they were all happy here and they all wanted to stay in Los Angeles. But there's a chance, and it's not a small one, that they'll choose to move back to Tulsa.

And if they do, then it _will_ be an issue and we _will_ have to deal with it.

Somehow.


	94. Chapter 94

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taylor!Chapter

 

  


 

 

****

I'm free!

Well, okay, I'm not entirely free. I'm still in the same bed, in the same room, in the same hospital. But I no longer have _any_ tubes or wires attached to me! I can get out of bed. Theoretically, at least. If I actually tried to get out of bed, I'd end up falling on my face and probably breaking another part of my body. The point is, if I _didn't_ have a broken leg, I could _totally_ walk out of this room right now if I wanted to.

No more IV, no more machines, no more disturbing "external ventricular drain" thing protruding from my head!

Cut me some slack, I have to revel in the small victories. Too much bullshit keeps coming at me, and if I don't cling to the tiniest glimmers of hope I'm gonna be too fucking depressed to get out of bed when my leg finally _does_ heal!

I still don't think it's really sunk in yet that Ezra is leaving. Or that I'm seriously about to give his brothers and sister the chance to do the same. It seems too crazy. It's like it was some bad dream I had that I eventually woke up from. And even though it was vivid and unnerving enough to still cross my mind every few minutes, I can just shake it off because it wasn't real.

Except that it _wasn't_ a dream and it _is_ real.

Am I a terrible father? I can't decide. I feel like only a terrible father would willingly let his children go like this. But then I think that I'd have to be a terrible father to keep them here with me just to make myself happy and have things my own way. Maybe what it comes down to is that I'm just a terrible father. Period. Therefore, no matter what I do it's the wrong thing.

I'm sure Pam would concur.

"Howdy, stranger."

I recognize Alex's voice without even looking over at the door, so the smile is already on my face before I lay eyes on him. " _There_ you are! I was wondering where you've been hiding."

"Yeah, sorry." He sighs guiltily, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he shuffles his way closer to the bed. "I know I'm a shitty friend-"

"You're _so_ far from that."

"I haven't been to see you since you got moved out of the ICU!"

"That was only like a day and a half ago."

He shrugs. "I still shoulda been by at least once. I didn't mean to just disappear on you like that."

"Well, if it's any consolation, there have been so many other people in and out of here, you probably wouldn't have been able to find an empty chair."

"Who else has been in, besides the usual suspects?"

"Well, Ike showed up."

"Dude." His eyebrows jump in surprise, and it's as though his face can't decide exactly what expression to assume. "How's that going?"

Depends which hour of the day you ask me. "Weird, mostly. It was _really_ awkward at first, and then it got a lot better. But then we almost got into an argument this morning over Tommy, and..."

"Seriously? When's he gonna get over it and just accept the fact that you and Tommy are a couple and that's _not_ gonna change?"

"I don't think he expects it to change anymore. It's not even about him trying to talk me out of it, it's just... Ike being Ike, you know?" I sigh tiredly. "He didn't get his way, and he's not done pouting over it yet."

"Some things never change, huh?" Never. "But hey, at least you got rid of that...  thingy on your head."

"A couple of hours ago!" I inform him almost proudly, like I took the damn thing out myself. "Apparently my brain isn't leaking anymore... or whatever."

"Good, 'cause you kinda need to hold on to what's left of it." He teases, but truer words have never been spoken.

"Tell me about it."

"So-"

"Alright, Taylor." Announces Christine (one of my favorite dayshift nurses), pushing a wheelchair into the room. "Time to get out of-" She stops as soon as she notices Alex sitting here, and he waves to her cheerfully. "Oh, I'm sorry, I can come back-"

"No!" I protest immediately, ready to lunge out of bed and into that damn wheelchair to stop her from taking it away. "It's okay, I wanna get out of bed!"

She smiles understandingly, but she still shakes her head in amusement at my unabashed desperation. "Okay. But you need to take it slow, alright?"

"I will take it _so_ slow, you won't even know I'm moving."

"Here, let me help." Alex volunteers as Christine pushes the wheelchair closer to the bed and lifts the sheets off of my legs. "How do we do this?"

"We're going to shift his legs over the edge of the bed, and then Taylor is going to _very_ gradually put his weight on us, and we'll help him into the chair." She instructs him (and me), and I'm too excited to _finally_ be getting the hell out of this room to care that I basically have to be lifted out of bed like a giant baby! "Okay, Taylor, can you put your arm around my shoulders or is it too uncomfortable?"

"It's _way_ too uncomfortable, sweetheart." Insists Alex solemnly. "He's gay."

"Shut up." I snort, taking a deep breath before lifting my arm as far as I can and allowing Christine to position herself under it.

"Okay, on three."

It's so crazy that it takes so much effort and coordination to move me from one piece of furniture to another. The wheelchair isn't even two whole feet away from the bed! But they both have to make sure they're capable of holding my weight, and that they're not putting any kind of pressure on my ribs. And _I_ have to resist the urge to try to stand on both feet, or do anything stupid (like hopping or basically doing _anything_ other than being carried). It's harder than it sounds; my strongest instinct right now is to try to take a step, even though I _know_ I can't. But after only a few seconds, I'm settled securely in the wheelchair, looking back at my bed and wanting to bounce around excitedly.

I'm _free_!

"Would you like to take over?" She offers, stepping aside to let Alex take her place behind the chair. "You're welcome to walk him around on this floor for a while, but don't go too far _or_ too fast."

"Women." He sighs dramatically. "That's all I _ever_ hear from you people."

"You're lucky I'm in the business of healing, otherwise _you'd_ need a wheelchair right now, too." She shoots back at him sassily, and I have to grip the arm rest of the chair to brace myself against the pain that comes from laughing so hard. "Remember, go slow. And give yourself plenty of room to turn. If he comes back with a _broken_ broken leg-"

"You won't hurt me, you just said so."

"I know some candy stripers who are tougher than they look." She warns him, pointing a threatening finger before winking at me and walking away.

"I like her." He declares as soon as she's out of earshot. "She's feisty."

"Want me to talk you up to her? I can tell her how good you are in bed." I offer, expecting him to take me completely seriously and insist that I do just that.

"Nah. I'm good. I mean, you can tell her what a good lay I am if you want to, no harm in getting the word out. But I'm not looking to _get_ laid."

 _What_?! "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." He chuckles softly, wheeling the chair towards the door of my hospital room and carefully navigating it out into the hall. "I've just.. had a weird couple of days."

"Tell me about it."

"I know, I know. You've got me beat hands down."

"No, I mean tell me about it. Seriously, I _really_ wanna know what's going on with you, and I could _definitely_ use a distraction from all of the crap going on in my life."

"Why? Did something happen? Besides you breaking a bunch of bones and being in a coma, I mean." He asks in concern.

"It's... a _long_ story." I tell him wearily. "And I honestly don't have the energy to tell it right now."

"Right. Sorry, you just _said_ you needed a distraction, and then I'm all 'let's focus on the thing you don't wanna focus on!'"

"You're stalling." I accuse him semi-playfully, attempting to glance over my shoulder at him. Unfortunately, I can't even catch a glimpse of him without suffering a sharp pain in my chest. Guess that's what I get for prying. "If you don't wanna talk about it-"

"No, it's not that. It's just..."He exhales another quiet breath of laughter. "A long story."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere unless you're there to push me." I point out hopefully. "I am your captive but _completely_ willing audience."

"Okay... well... you remember when I came out to Tulsa a few months ago to help you pack up your house and everything? And we had that little heart to heart on the way to the airport, about how I might feel a certain way about a certain sultry, smokey-voiced siren-"

"You're in love with Z. It's okay, you can say it."

"I _did_ say it." He informs me plainly, once again leaving me wishing that I could turn around and see his face. At least I can _hear_ the smirk in his tone. "I told her."

"For real?!"

"Yup."

"Dude... this is _huge_! What happened? What made you finally go for it? I thought you said you didn't wanna risk messing with the band. And what did she _say_? Was she surprised? Does she feel the same? Is she-"

"Take it easy!" He laughs, placing a hand on my shoulder for a second to calm me down. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

"I just can't believe you actually did it!" I tell him in awe.

"Me either. I guess being here and seeing what Tommy was going through... I dunno... it seemed so stupid, you know? I was so worried about screwing up a _band_ that I wouldn't tell her how I felt. My priorities were totally messed up, and I didn't even know it until Tommy was telling me how he wished he'd said and done all this stuff sooner. He was scared out of his mind that he'd never get a chance to make it right.... it made me realize that so much shit happens that's totally out of our control. But it _was_ within my control to tell her how I felt about her. I knew that if I waited too long, and something happened that made it impossible for me to _ever_ tell her, and I then I had to spend my whole fucking life wondering 'what if', I'd have no one but myself to blame. I didn't wanna live with that."

"Wow..."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"So... what did she say when you told her?"

I hear him take a long, deep breath, and my fingers actually curl around the arm rests of the wheelchair in anticipation. "She said that she thought it was a bad idea for us to go there again." Fuck. "She loves me as a friend, but she doesn't think it's smart for us to try making it into something else in case it fucks up the band."

"Did you tell her everything you just told me? About how the band isn't as important as how you guys feel about each other?"

"I tried. But I think it probably just made it worse, you know?" He sighs. "It made her think I was having some kind of knee-jerk, end-of-the-world reaction to what happened to you, and that I'd regret it when everything wasn't so intense and scary anymore."

"I'm so sorry, Alex." I commiserate whole-heartedly. "I know it sucks to hand your heart to someone and have them throw it in your face. Or even just gently hand it right back."

"Yeah... but ya know, the sex really helped ease the pain."

Uh... "Excuse me?"

"She showed up at my place last night, told me she'd changed her mind. And then... well..."

Shocked and excited, I unthinkingly turn around in my seat and immediately regret it. Mostly. " _Shit_."

"Stop trying to fucking kill yourself!" He orders me sternly, bringing the wheelchair to a complete stop and hurrying to make sure I'm okay. "Is it your ribs?" All I can do is nod as I try to breathe through the pain. "We should go back to your room-"

"No." I finally gasp. "Please... I don't... want to. Not yet."

"Okay, but you need to sit still! I'm fucking serious, dude. I really think that nurse will sic a bunch of sadistic candy stripers on me if I take you back in worse shape than you were in when we left!"

"I'm sorry! I'm trying... but you keep withholding... important information!"

"I'm not withholding. I gave you all the information, I was just dolling it out in small doses for dramatic effect." He argues. "It's good storytelling!"

"Yeah, well, apparently the whole... 'edge of my seat' thing isn't so much fun when my seat is a wheelchair."

"Fair point."

"You can make it up to me by finishing the story." I pout at him pitifully. "And no 'dolling it out in small doses' this time; I want the whole thing in one go."

He nods and smiles amiably, giving my arm a gentle, apologetic squeeze."Okay. You sure you're ready?"

"Yes!"

"Here it is." He clears his throat and takes a breath. So much for giving up his 'good storytelling' tactics. "The end."

"What?"

"You wanted the rest of the story. That was it."

"That _can't_ be it!" I exclaim in distress as he merely shrugs and gets to his feet again.

"I don't know what to tell ya, man."

"Tell me what happened _after_ you and Z slept together."

"I made a sandwich."

I swear, if I could reach far enough to smack him right now, I would. "Alex!"

"I did!" He insists, his tone laced with smug amusement.  "I worked up a hell of an appetite."

"You guys must've talked about it, though."

"The sandwich?"

Oh my God! "Go away. I'll find someone less infuriating to push me back to my room."

"Don't pout. It's beneath you."

" _Why_ won't you tell me what happened?" I whine, which I'm sure is something that's also beneath me.

Quite frankly, the fact that he hasn't come up with any innuendo about Tommy or any number of other things that are 'beneath me' just proves that he's not really as jovial as he's pretending to be. And I know him well enough to know that if I let him keep faking this care-free attitude, he's not going to come right out and  tell me how he honestly feels.

"There really isn't much to tell."

"But there is _something_ , right?" I press persistently. "Come on, Alex. You're _always_ listening to me ramble on and on about my problems. This is my chance to be there for _you_ for a change! Are you _really_ gonna deny me the opportunity to be a good friend to you? After _all_ these years? After _everything_ we've been through together? You know... I almost _died_ a few days ago."

I think I just heard his jaw drop. "That's not fair! You can't pull shit like that!"

"Just did."

"You're a manipulative little bitch."

"Yeah, well, if I can't physically force the truth out of you, I have to resort to other methods."

"Fine. If you wanna know the truth... I don't know what happened, or what's going to happen. I know how I feel about her, and now _she_ knows how I feel, and she says she feels the same, but..." He sighs deeply, finally letting his heartfelt feelings on the subject show. "We didn't come to any conclusions on the subject. We're more than friends, obviously, but it's not like we're gonna be moving in together tomorrow."

"But you're together now, right?"

"I don't know."

"You should probably figure that out sooner rather than later."

He snorts incredulously. "I'm sorry, what makes you think I would _ever_ want to have the 'where is this going' talk? Let alone _initiate_ the damn thing."

"Fine, go ahead and live in limbo forever. Enjoy the uncertainty and doubt!"

"I will!"

"Good."

Even though I firmly believe that he needs to talk to Z and figure out where the hell it is they stand with each other now, I'm not going to harp on it any more than I already have. Right now we're teasing each other and everything is okay. But if I don't stop nagging him, I could really piss him off. He might say he doesn't want to have the 'where is this going' talk, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to know the answer to that question. And not knowing is probably driving him more crazy than he'd ever let on. He doesn't need me driving him crazier by badgering him about it incessantly.

But seriously... I wish he'd find out, 'cause _I_ really wanna know!

After doing about three laps of the Neuro department, we both get bored of seeing the same sights and sounds, and he devilishly asks if I feel like "making a break for it". It makes me feel like I'm eighteen all over again, and he's trying to convince me that egging Jeff Fenster's BMW with him will make me feel better about the fact that the asshole won't return our calls.

And, just like when I was eighteen, he's totally right.

No one really notices us or seems to care what we're doing as he pushes me over to the elevators, but he makes a big show of being "stealthy" anyway. Several times he stops suddenly and pulls the wheelchair quickly behind a cart or gurney of some kind, as though we're trying to hide. At one point he accidentally pulls us into another patient's room. Luckily they're asleep, and they have no visitors, and we somehow manage to keep our laughter under control until we're back out in the hallway again.

But just as he hits the elevator button to take us one floor down, Christine spots us and demands that he bring me back. I'm not really too disappointed though; it's the journey that counts, not the destination. And I think we had more fun attempting a jail break than we probably would've had if we'd actually succeeded.

Once his visit is over, and I find myself alone again, I end up taking a two hour nap. I didn't mean to, but I guess my mind and body needed a break. Unfortunately, only my body winds up getting any rest, because my mind is plagued by dreams again. It's exhausting, it makes sleeping completely pointless!

I don't really have time to dwell on it though, because almost as soon as I wake up from my nap, Tommy shows up with my kids.

Well, three of them.

"Daddy!"

Viggo comes charging across the room before Tommy can grab him (thankfully, he manages to catch River by the back of his shirt before he can follow suit). He clambers up onto the bed, ignoring Tommy's repeated pleas for him to stop and be careful, and I do my best to reach out and keep him at bay before he lands on me, _without_ making him feel like I'm pushing him away. It doesn't really work, but at least I slow him down a little before he barrels into me. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from making any sounds of pain, and I can only hug him with one arm because my other hand is gripping the side of the bed. But he's so giddy to see me, and too young to really understand. He's completely oblivious.

"Stop it!" Penny exclaims anxiously. "Viggo, get down _right now_! You're hurting daddy!"

"No I'm not!"

"Penny, it's okay." I try to reassure her, but I sound as though I just ran a marathon. "I'm okay... I promise."

"Can _I_ hug him now?" Whines River, pouting pleadingly up at Tommy. "Why does Viggo get to go first?"

"'Cause I missed him the most!" Viggo informs his brother, snuggling against me on the bed and wrapping both of his little arms possessively around one of mine.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Hey, Pen, when did you get your hair cut?" I ask, trying to change the subject before they get into a full on screaming row.

But judging by the way her face falls before she looks down at the ground, this was not the right topic to choose. I look to Tommy for some kind of help or explanation, and he smiles sadly as he places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze.

"That's why we're a little later than planned."

"Because she got a haircut?"

"I didn't _want_ to." She mumbles sorrowfully, reaching up to touch the tips of her jaw length locks.

"What happened?" I frown, waiting for someone to fill me in on why my daughter got an impromptu after-school haircut that she apparently didn't even ask for.

"One of the girls in her class decided to cut a chunk of it off."

 _What?!_ "Are you serious?"

"I was hoping the stylist could figure out a way to like... hide it or something, but they said they'd have to make it all the same length or it'd just look weird."

"I can't believe this." I sigh sadly, my eyes drifting from Tommy to my bereft daughter. "I'm _so_ sorry, baby girl. I'm gonna call the principal tomorrow and make sure _nothing_ like this happens to you again, okay?"

"Don't worry.," Tommy assures me. "I already went ape shi- uh... poo on the assistant principal, and he _promised_ there would be consequences for the brat who did it and anyone else who was involved."

"Rachel said I should have short hair like a boy." Penny elaborates, her voice barely audible as she continues to gaze at her feet. "Because I have two dads and lots of brothers, so I'll end up being like a boy anyway."

"That's _dumb_." Proclaims River indignantly. "You're not a boy, you're a girl."

"Yeah." Viggo agrees immediately. "You're too pretty to be a boy!"

Even though that compliment doesn't seem to have any effect on Penny's mood, I can't help but smile as I hold Viggo closer and kiss the top of his head. "Your brother's right. You're prettier than any boy I've _ever_ seen. Even Tommy!"

"Yeah, and I'm _beautiful_!" Tommy declares theatrically, leaving Viggo and River giggling like crazy.

And Penny fighting back a small smile.

"I just miss my long hair." She finally sighs, leaning against Tommy as he soothingly rubs her arm (and melts my heart). "I can't have a braid now, it's too short."

"It'll grow back." I promise her as optimistically as I can. "But until it does, how about I ask grandma to take you out and buy some new headbands and barrettes tomorrow?"

"Really?"

"As many as you want."

This time she doesn't try to restrain the grin that spreads across her face, and she hurries around to the other side of the bed from the one her little brother is occupying and climbs up onto it. She's much more cautious as she snuggles up beside me, in fact I actually have to put an arm around her and pull her nearer in order for her to be touching me at all. But as soon as I do, she wraps her arm around me and rests her head on my chest. I don't even care how much harder it is to breathe, I still feel more whole than I have all week.

" _Now_ can I hug him?" River asks Tommy.

"Viggo, can River give me a hug, please?" I ask my youngest son gently. "You guys can take turns, okay?"

"Okay." He sighs reluctantly, allowing Tommy to pick him up off of the bed (but refusing to allow him to set him down again afterwards). "But just for a second, 'kay. Then it's my turn again. You gotta share, River."

River is already on the bed before Viggo is even gone, and the second the space he was occupying is vacant, he crawls right into it and beams up at me contentedly. "I missed you, daddy."

"I missed you too, buddy. I missed all of you _so_ much. I can't wait to come home so I can see you every day."

"When _are_ you coming home?" Penny asks hopefully.

"I don't know yet. But the doctor said I might be ready to leave in a week or so, if I keep getting better as quickly as I have been."

"Keep getting better fast!" River instructs me seriously. "You gotta take _all_ your medicine, even if it tastes bad."

"I will." I chuckle softly.

Tommy and the kids stay for almost an hour, but it still doesn't feel like it was long enough when a nurse comes in and apologetically tells them that it's time to leave. The kids all whine in objection and I ask her for ten more minutes, which she's powerless to refuse us. _No one_ can say no to Viggo when his lip starts wobbling; it's inhumane!

I wish the ten minutes I'd successfully bought us could be spent lying on my bed, telling stories and talking about Viggo's birthday and Christmas, but there's an entirely different reason I requested them. As much as I hate to do it, I need to explain to them that Ezra is leaving.

And I need to give them the option of doing the same.

I was already dreading it _before_ Penny had her hair butchered by those malicious little bullies in her class. Now I'm more afraid than ever that she'll want to get the hell out of L.A.. She may not have wanted to go to school when we lived in Tulsa, but it was never because the girls in her class picked on her or cut her damn hair off. Before Natalie died and Penny stopped wanting to go to school at all, she was _never_ the victim of any kind of bullying or cruelty. She was the little girl that everyone wanted to play with. If there's such a thing as popularity amongst five and six-year-olds, she was probably the most popular girl in her class!

But she's been struggling to find her place ever since we got to Los Angeles, and I'm worried that making one potentially good friend over the course of more than a month isn't going to be enough of a reason for her to want to stay.

"Hey, guys... there's something I need to talk to you about." I announce when I've finally built up the courage to speak, and as soon as my eyes meet Tommy's he understands what's about to happen. "You know how Ezra has been kinda... angry at everyone for a while?"

"He's _always_ mad." River laments. "He _never_ wants to play with us, and he never lets me in his room."

"I know. And I know you guys all want him to be happy again, right?"

"I tried to make him happy." Viggo tells me earnestly. "I gave him _all_ my LEGOs, but he just throwed them at me!"

"I'm sorry, buddy. He shouldn't have done that."

"He throws stuff all the time." Mumbles River. "He's so _mean_."

God, I don't even know who I feel worse for at this point! Ezra _has_ been mean to his siblings for months, and it has hurt them a lot. But he's been acting that way because of how much _he_ was hurting. And hurting us has only caused him even more pain.

"He knows he's been mean to you, and he feels really bad about it." I explain to River, who seems incredibly surprised by this information. "He doesn't want to be mad all the time anymore, he wants to be happy again. But being in California isn't making him happy. So... when your grandma and grandpa go home to Tulsa in a couple of weeks, Ezra is gonna go with them."

"Like on vacation?" Frowns Penny.

"No, not exactly. He's going to live with them for a little while."

"For how long?"

"I don't know yet. Hopefully not too long, but... it just depends how long it takes for him to feel better." I tell her carefully, studying the subtle changes in the expression on her face as she processes everything she's heard... trying to figure out if she's jealous. "I wanted us all to move here because I thought it would make us happy again."

"It made me happy!" Declares River with a wide smile. "I love California! I love my new house, and I have _tons_ of cool friends now!"

"That's awesome!" I smile back as best as I can. "I'm _really_ glad you like it here, Riv. But... I don't want you guys to feel like you _have_ to be here if it makes you sad. It's not fair for me to let your brother go back to Tulsa and make you stay here if you don't want to."

"Does that mean we can go back, too?" Penny asks, the hint of hope in her tone taking a chunk out of my heart.

"If that's what you _really_ want... we can talk about it."

"Will we have to live with grandma and grandpa?"

"I don't know. I don't think so, but we'd have to figure that out." I sigh sadly. I feel as though this battle for her heart has already been won, and I wasn't on the victorious side.

"So... does that mean you're not coming with us?" She questions, sounding much less enthused than she did a moment ago as she glances back and forth between me and Tommy. "You're gonna stay here?"

"I _really_ don't know, sweetheart." I tell her honestly, apologetically. "If you want to go but your brothers don't... then I'll have to think about it. I don't want to make them leave somewhere they love, just like I don't want to make you stay somewhere you hate."

"I don't hate it!" River interjects assuredly. "I wanna stay!"

"Me too!" Agrees Viggo, which doesn't come as much of a surprise. I figured if River was staying, he would be, too. "I wanna live with you and Tommy _forever_ in our house!"

I'll have to remind him of this moment when he's in his twenties.

Knowing that River and Viggo both want to stay is a relief, but not a complete one. It means I'm staying too, which is obviously what I want. And it means I won't be faced with having to ask Tommy to leave his family and friends and move to a city he can hardly stand, which is something I _never_ wanted to do. But it also means that if Penny wants to go, I'll be losing two of my kids to Tulsa instead of one.

And fuck, that _hurts_.

Not half as much as I know it'll hurt to keep them both here and watch them become more and more miserable because of the life I'm forcing them to live, though. I know what it's like to grow up feeling as though you're in the wrong place, you're the wrong person living the wrong life, and you can't do anything about it. I swore I would never let that happen to my kids.

"Do I have to choose now?" Penny eventually asks, her big brown eyes filled with indecision and apprehension.

"No. You can take as much time as you want." I assure her, reaching for her hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "I don't ever want you to feel like you're stuck somewhere, okay? Whether it's here or there, you're _always_ allowed to change your mind."

"So if I go back and then I wished I didn't, I can still come live here with you again?"

" _Any_ time."

She takes a deep, contemplative breath, clearly weighing her options as she nibbles anxiously on her lower lip. And I do the same, waiting, wishing, worrying...

"I'll think about it." She announces after a long moment of deliberation.

Just one look at Tommy tells me that he's as unsure of how to feel about this as I am. We can't breathe sighs of relief, but there's still a glimmer of hope.

And we're just going to have to live in that limbo until she makes her choice.

 

 

 


	95. Chapter 95

  


 

 

 

_ Los Angeles, California - December 7th, 2012 _

 

I'm free!

No, _really_ this time!

I had my stitches taken out yesterday, and I'm being discharged today, and I could not be _more_ ready to get out of here. Not that the nurses haven't tried their hardest to make my incarceration... I mean stay, as pleasant as possible. But it doesn't matter how friendly they are, it doesn't make me want to be here anymore than I did the day I woke up from that coma. I'll miss Holden's daily visits and our little chats, and shockingly enough I'll even miss some of the hospital food! But I won't miss this bed, or these four white walls, or that hospital smell and all of those unfamiliar noises that were starting to become _too_ familiar for my liking.

I want to get back to my colorful house, full of comforting smells and sounds, and my kids, and Tommy.

This past week was actually a lot better than the previous one, to be fair. Ever since they started letting me get out of bed and into a wheelchair, I've been feeling a lot less confined and ineffectual. Even if I can't really wheel myself very far because it puts too much strain on my ribs, I've still been able to move around a little. And when I had visitors, they could take me out of the room for a while instead of just sitting here.

And I was _finally_ able to take a shower! I had to stay seated the whole time, and I had to have Tommy help me, but it was way better than those embarrassing bed baths I'd been forced to endure before. I was a little nervous that me and Tommy and a shower would lead to things that weren't appropriate for a hospital _or_ for my condition. But we were both so focused on the mechanics of it all, on getting me from the wheelchair to the shower chair, and then dried off and back into the wheelchair without me falling on my face, it wasn't even slightly sexual.

I was kinda disappointed.

But he helped me to shave afterwards, which more than made up for it. I never really thought that letting somebody else shave my face would feel intimate at all; it's just a mundane task that I often put off because I can't be bothered with it. But for some reason it made me feel really close to him. Maybe it was having him so near physically while he did it, or the way he gently wiped remnants of shaving cream away with a warm washcloth. Or perhaps it was the way he'd pause every so often just to meet my eyes before smiling almost shyly and refocusing his attention on the razor. Honestly, it could have been the simple fact that I trusted him enough to let him take a blade to my face! Whatever it was, it felt significant somehow. And I "conned" him into doing it again a couple of days later by pretending that it hurt my ribs to hold my hand up to my face for so long.

He didn't seem to mind at all.

It reminded me of the time he put eye makeup on me in a hotel room in Thackerville. He was so careful, every move he made was _so_ deliberate, and I was mesmerized by the focused look in his eyes as he worked. It makes me wish I'd broken my arm instead of my leg, just so I'd have a good excuse to get him to do it every day for the next six weeks!

Tommy probably wishes I'd broken my arm, too. It'd make life a hell of a lot simpler for everyone if I was capable of walking. I could get around the house unassisted, I could shower and use the toilet without worrying about falling over all the time, and I could help out more with the kids. But no. I'm me, so of course I had to go and do the most unhelpful thing possible and break my leg instead.

I've been learning some "tricks" for getting around without needing another person to help me all the time, though. They've had a physical therapist in here every day working with me on ways to get in and out of my wheelchair safely, and with minimal effort (and pain). It's still a work in progress, mostly, but at least I don't feel as dependant on everyone else as I did just last week.

My phone vibrates with a text message, and I'm expecting it to be from Zac because we've been messaging back and forth for almost an hour now. He was texting me more frequently when he first got back to Tulsa, because he had nothing else to do with his time. Half of our family was out here, and Kate wouldn't let him back in the house, so he needed the company. But he was persistent, and she eventually let him come home (but is still making him sleep on the couch). Ever since he managed to convince her to let him "move back in", our text conversations have become more... concentrated. We were talking several times a day for a few minutes here and there, but now we tend to have one lengthy conversation per day and that's it.

It's better than nothing, I guess. And at least he seems to be getting through to Kate.

A _little_...

The text I just received isn't from Zac, though. It's from Tommy.

_Parked as close as I could. Be there in a minute!_

A grin spreads across my face instantly and I read the message over and over again, letting it sink in that this is it. I'm _really_ going home now. He's going to come up here any minute, and I'm going to sign my discharge papers, and I'm going to _leave_ this building for the first time in almost two weeks!

"So the big day is finally here, huh?" Smiles Holden as he walks into the room. "It's gonna be weird not having you around. Who am I gonna have my middle of the night heart-to-hearts with now?"

"I'm sure you'll find someone." I chuckle softly. "Maybe whoever gets this room after me will adopt you."

"Maybe."

"Are you just starting your shift?"

"In about half an hour." He nods, sitting down beside the bed and dropping his backpack on the floor with a heavy sigh. "I wanted to come by before you make your great escape."

"I'm glad you did. I totally forgot to get your number before your break ended last night, and I can't invite you over for dinner if I don't know how to contact you. I mean, I guess I could just call the ICU..."

"Believe it or not, they probably wouldn't appreciate that." He smirks, reaching out for my phone as I lift it off of the nightstand by the bed. He quickly enters his info, and I can tell from the smug look on his face as he hands it back to me that he did something more than just typing in his name and number.

"Cute Male Nurse." I read aloud from my list of contacts, shaking my head at him as I struggle not to give in and smile. "You sure do think a lot of yourself, huh?"

"Are you telling me that's _not_ what you and Tommy refer to me as when I'm not around?" Damnit. He _knows_! "Thought so."

 "You weren't supposed to find out about that."

"Nurses talk."

"How much?"

He shrugs, playing at being disinterested. But the mischievous gleam in his eye proves it's an act. " _A lot_."

"I honestly don't think I wanna know what else you might have heard." I admit with an increasing sense of horror as I think back over everything that's been said and done in this room over the past week. "It's been like a Days Of Our Lives marathon around here."

"It _has_ made for some engrossing moments around the water cooler, I'll give you that."

"Oh God..."

"I'm just kidding!" He laughs, shaking his head at my self-consciousness. "I haven't really heard anything."

"Except your nickname?" I question skeptically.

"It's true! The only reason I know about that is because one of the nurses on this floor overheard you guys talking, and apparently I'm the only 'cute male nurse' in Neuro. She thought I'd get a kick out of it."

"And did you?"

"What do you think?" He grins proudly.

"You know, you're _less_ cute when you gloat." I inform him in my most unimpressed tone, even though he's actually a _little_ cuter when he's acting all conceited like this. Probably because it is just an act. If he was like this all the time, I wouldn't bother staying in touch with him once I'm out of here. "I prefer you humble and self-effacing."

"Noted." He glances around the room for a moment, and my eyes automatically follow the same path as his, looking for whatever it is he's looking for. "You sure you've got everything? All your get well cards, your phone charger, your bathroom stuff..."

"Yup." I assure him with a confident nod. "My parents took home all the cards and gifts and stuff yesterday, and Tommy packed up pretty much everything else before he went home last night. All he left behind was a change of clothes and my toothbrush. Because apparently my morning breath is worse in the hospital than it normally is, and he wants me minty fresh when he picks me up."

"Seems like a reasonable demand."

"Hey, if it gets me some mouth-to-mouth action, I'll eat the whole damn tube of toothpaste!"

Holden laughs out loud just as Tommy appears in the doorway. "You do that, you might legitimately _need_ mouth-to-mouth."

"Hey, back off, man nurse. If anyone's giving him mouth-to-mouth, it's me!" Teases Tommy, pretending to shoo Holden out of his seat and away from the bed (and me).

"Calm down, we were just having a friendly conversation." Holden smirks, holding his hands up in defense as he vacates the chair and backs towards the door.

" _Too_ friendly. I swear, every time I come in here you're angling to give him a fucking prostate exam."

"All part of the service."

"Yeah? Well go 'service' someone else." Tommy shoots back, struggling to control his own smile and trying to hide it by kissing me instead. "Hey."

"Have I mentioned how hot it is when you get all territorial." I chuckle against his lips, and he grins before pressing them to mine even more possessively. "You even make prostate exams sound sexy."

"It's a skill."

"One of many, I'm sure." Holden interjects with a wink.

"You know it."

"Alright, I'm gonna go grab your discharge papers." Holden tells me with a soft chuckle, grabbing his backpack off of the floor and hoisting it onto his shoulder. "You'd both best be fully clothed when I get back."

"No promises." Tommy informs him, not so much as a glancing in his direction because he's still too focused on me.

And my whole body suddenly feels like it's _humming_.

"You got everything?" He asks me distractedly once we're alone, but I'm pretty sure neither of us cares about making sure I have every last one of my belongings packed. We haven't seen each other since last night, and that's the longest we've spent apart in two weeks!

"Mmm... Holden _just_ asked me that."

"Fuck that guy." His mouth mutters against mine before capturing my lips again, and I can still feel them smiling.

I wasn't kidding about his territorial streak being a turn on. And it's easy to enjoy it when he gets all   
"alpha male" with Holden, because I know there's nothing serious about it. With Zac, the hostility and competitiveness is entirely real, and even with Alex there's genuine insecurity and resentment lingering behind every "playful" insult the share. But I have no history with Holden, and no interest in any kind of future with him other than an friendship. I know Tommy isn't threatened by him at all, and Holden knows it, too. When the two of them taunt each other, it really is all in good fun. There's no tension.

At least, not the _bad_ kind.

Less than a minute later Holden returns with some paperwork for me to sign, and he goes over my medication with me again even though the doctor already did it when he gave me the official all clear to go home earlier. Then he and Tommy help me out of bed and into the wheelchair, which is a lot easier now than it was the first time Alex and Christine did it. I've had plenty of practice over the past seven days. We both thank Holden for everything, though I don't think any amount of thanks would be enough. He's gone above and beyond for both of us ever since I was in the ICU, and made an incredibly difficult time in our lives a lot easier than it otherwise would've been. I know neither of us will ever forget it.

It's weird to actually _leave_ the hospital. Even when they let me leave the floor, they always gave whoever was accompanying me strict instructions to stay in the building. It's strange to think that I haven't been outside this whole time, and as soon as Tommy wheels me out through the automatic doors, I inhale a deep breath of fresh air.

But my excitement is short lived, because when we get to the car it takes us a while to figure out how to get me into the passenger seat without causing me further injury. It's stupid, it seems like it should be so simple. But I'm taller than Tommy, not to mention a bit heavier, and trying to decide how to angle the wheelchair to minimize the distance between me and the car takes a little trial and error. I guess it's something we're both going to have to get used to, and I know it's all a learning experience. Next time I have to get into (and out of) a car, it won't take as long or be nearly as troublesome.

It's still a pain in the ass, though.

Tommy seems kind of... off as soon as we're in the car and on our way home. Whenever I ask him if everything is okay, he smiles at me and assures me that it is. But his smiles aren't entirely genuine, and I get the feeling that he's got something on his mind. I hate to think it, but I wouldn't be surprised if the amount of trouble it took just to accomplish the simple task of getting me into the car has made him realize how truly challenging the next couple of months will probably be for us both. I don't blame him one bit if that is what he's worried about, and it's not like I think he's contemplating running for the hills or anything. I know better. I just wish this could've been _it_ , that getting me out of the hospital could've been the end of this nightmare rather than a mere transition to the next part of it.

Since he's obviously not in the mood to talk about whatever it is that's bothering him, and I don't want to push it and cause a fight, I try to take my mind off of the whole thing and focus on the fact that I'll be at home with my kids soon. I've seen Penny, River and Viggo a couple of times this past week, and we've talked on the phone every night before bed. Ezra hasn't made as many hospital visits as they have, and he isn't all that chatty on the phone, but at least he's not avoiding me entirely anymore. Only about three quarters of the time.

But Asta... I haven't seen her in almost two _weeks_!

The hospital had some dumb policy about young children visiting patients. They _almost_ didn't let Viggo in! Tommy and my parents tried their best to appeal to the head floor nurse, but she wasn't willing to budge on the issue. So I haven't seen my daughter in eleven days now. Apparently she's a walking machine at this point, it's impossible to keep her in one place for more than a few minutes. And I'm trying to focus on how exciting it will be to finally see that for myself rather than watching videos of it that other people take for me on their phones.

I'm trying _not_ to focus on how much I've missed, and how she not only reached a major milestone while I was in that hospital, she blew right past it and is well on her way to the next one already.

When we pull into the driveway, Tommy hurries to unload the wheelchair and get it set up so that he can help me out of the car. And I sit in the passenger seat and try not to beat myself up over the fact that I can't do anything to help. I open the door, but I can't really push it far enough open to even attempt to lift my broken leg out. Besides, as soon as Tommy realizes what I'm doing, he orders me to stop anyway. Ike comes out of the house just in time to help Tommy carefully pry me out of my seat and maneuver me back into my wheelchair, and I notice that they manage to do it without so much as a shred of bickering over _how._ Tommy tells Ike what to do, and Ike does it. Just like that.

I kinds wanna ask if he's feeling okay, but I don't want to ruin the moment.

I didn't even think about the fact that there are two steps up to the front door, and getting the wheelchair up them with me in it won't be easy. But apparently they _did_ think about it, because there's already a small ramp placed over the steps.

Someone built a fucking _ramp_?!

"Where'd this come from?" I ask in disbelief, peering over the arm rest of the chair as Tommy pushes it up to the door (with a little help from Ike).

"Dad built it the other day." Shrugs Ike, like dad builds wheelchair ramps all the time. "He noticed the steps and got all concerned about how you were supposed to get in and out of the house without it being a huge hassle, so he went by Home Depot and bought some stuff, and... voila."

"And then he went through the entire fucking house trying to figure out how to fix every other potential wheelchair hazard he could find." Tommy snorts in amusement. "Your mom kept reminding him that you're not going to be in this thing more than a few weeks, and that you probably don't want your house made over to be one-hundred-percent wheelchair accessible. It was like an episode of one of those married couple sitcoms where the wife is always sane and reasonable and the husband is always doing stupid shit that drives her crazy."

"Which is weird, because it's usually the other way around in our family." Notes Ike. "Don't tell mom I said that."

"Your secret is safe with me." I assure him with a smile.

"Well, here we are. _Finally_." Tommy announces as Ike opens the front door for us.

A soon as it's fully open, I see the giant "Welcome Home!" banner hanging in the foyer, flanked by red balloons. And before I've even had a chance to process it, my kids come running in from the family room yelling the same sentiment over and over, bouncing around in front of my wheelchair and blowing on noisemakers. They're followed at a slightly slower pace (and with a lot less bouncing) by my parents, Jenna, and Alex, who walks right over to me and gently places a sparkly tiara on my head.

"I was told to get you a crown. But we all know you're a queen." He grins at me as I glare playfully right back. "Welcome home, dude."

"Thank you."

"Were you surprised?" Asks River excitedly. "We wanted to make you surprised!"

"I was _completely_ surprised." I wholeheartedly assure him. "You all did a great job of keeping it a secret."

"I totally thought everything was gonna go wrong." Tommy admits. "I figured you'd notice me texting people and guess something was going on or whatever. I was trying to be sneaky about it, but you were like _right_ there."

" _That's_ why you were acting weird?"

"Yeah. Why, what did you think was going on?" He asks with a knowing smirk. "Did you think I was getting all stressed out over having to push your broken butt around in a wheelchair for the rest of the month?"

Yes. "No!"

"Can I push him in the chair?" Viggo pleads, already nudging Tommy out of the way and taking hold of the handles.

"Lemme help!" Exclaims River gleefully. "I bet we can make it go super fast if we both push!"

"Boys, it's not for playing with!" Mom tells them, eying them anxiously as they begin pushing me across the foyer at about one mile an hour. I'm not too worried. Except for the fact that my cast-covered leg is heading straight for a wall... "Watch where you're going!"

"Turn!" Grunts Viggo. "Make it _turn_!"

"I'm _trying_!" River pants back hopelessly as I brace for (slow) impact. "It won't go that way!"

"Here, let me help you guys out a bit." Offers Alex, stepping in and effortlessly steering the wheelchair away from the wall _and_ the hall table before anything (or anyone) ends up broken.

And with the chair pointed in a new direction, I can actually see Jenna properly for the first time since I got home. Or, more importantly, I can see who she's holding. I feel like bursting into tears as soon as I lay eyes on my youngest child. I've seen pictures and videos of her, even as recently as yesterday, but I swear she looks different. She looks bigger, older. I know it's stupid, and it's just my mind playing tricks on me, but being vaguely aware of that fact doesn't make me any less emotional. And it's crazy, because I've been away for much longer on tour, I've missed so much more, but it feels different now.

Everything feels different.

"Who's that?" Jenna coos to Asta. "Is that daddy?"

At first, Asta simply stares in my general direction like she's not quite sure what it is Jenna is pointing at. But then I smile hopefully, and her chubby little face is immediately consumed by a grin. I reach out for her, but instead of handing her to me, Jenna lowers Asta to the ground and sets her down on her bottom. After taking a second to blink up at Jenna, she turns her attention back to me and beams once again. An undeniable gleam of determination appears in her big brown eyes, and she expertly shifts onto her hands and knees as though she's about to crawl to me. But within seconds, she's pushing herself up onto slightly unsteady legs, and it's as though everyone else in the room is holding their breath right along with me, even though I know this is old news to them by now.

"Come on." I coax her anxiously, still holding out my hands towards her despite the fact that I can't actually pick her up. "Let's see your new trick!"

With a giggle of delight, she takes a step closer, and then another. And I can't tell if I'm laughing or crying or both as she shuffles across the hardwood floor towards me faster than I ever expected. When she finally reaches me, she grabs onto my (non-broken) leg to stop herself from falling down, and Tommy lifts her up off of the floor and places her safely into my arms.

"You did it!" I declare proudly, holding her tightly against me and kissing every last inch of her shoulder, neck, and cheek that my lips I can find. Tommy crouches beside the wheelchair, and I turn to look at him excitedly as he watches us with a warm smile. "She's _walking_!" I tell him, like he doesn't already know. Like he wasn't _right_ there with her the first time she ever did it.

But rather than pointing this very obvious fact out to me, he simply nods. "Welcome home, baby."

Those words, from this man in this moment, make this place feel more like home than it _ever_ has. And hearing him say it out loud makes the fact that I'm here even more real.

I'm _home_.


	96. Chapter 96

  


 

 

I never expected my parents to throw me a "Welcome Home" party, but I probably should have. They love hosting stuff like this, especially my mom. Any excuse to gather everyone together and celebrate something. I guess I just figured that since this wasn't their house, she wouldn't bother. According to Tommy, she asked if he had anything special planned for my homecoming, and when he said "not really", she immediately suggested a party. With the kids present at the time (and all of them giddy over the prospect of a party), he couldn't really say no. Not that he wanted to.

He seems a lot more comfortable around my mom and dad now than he was even just a week ago. Still a little awkward and unsure of himself sometimes, but I think that's understandable. It wasn't so long ago that he thought they hated him, and he's probably still worried that if he says or does the wrong thing he'll ruin any progress he's made with them. He's definitely less concerned about that when it comes to his ever precarious relationship with Ike, though. They definitely appear to be doing better now than they were when Ike first got to L.A. after the accident; they haven't made a single snide comment about or to each other all evening. But they aren't exactly being friendly, either. Civil is probably the best way to describe it.

Although, that term might still be a little _too_ generous...

"Having fun?" Asks Alex as he collapses onto the couch beside my wheelchair and takes a sip of his beer.

I wish I had a beer. But apparently beer and Vicodin don't mix. "Yeah, it's been really nice."

"You wanna drink so bad right now, huh?" He smirks knowingly.

"Shut up."

"Hey, you're on the good stuff, dude!"

"I think they gave me placebos." I tell him with an intentionally pitiful pout. "Gimme a sip of your beer?"

"Yeah, not a chance." He chuckles, moving it to his left hand so it's even further out of my reach. Not that I can reach very far right now anyway. "Your parents already look at me like the leather jacket wearing, motor cycle riding, tattooed bad boy who seduced their precious princess."

"They do not."

"They do! And to be fair, I did. Ten years ago, anyway."

"Yeah, but they don't know that." I remind him, but my face suddenly falls as my eyes instinctively dart across the room to my mom. "Do they?"

"I don't know. _I_ sure as shit didn't tell 'em. But maybe they read that open letter you wrote and figured it out? Or maybe Ike ratted us out."

Sounds like something he'd do. "I think you're imagining things. They don't hate you."

"Maybe not. But I'm not so sure they _like_ me either."

"They will once they get to know you better."

"I guess it doesn't really matter either way." He shrugs unconcernedly. "It's not like we're getting married or anything."

Just the _idea_ of the two of us tying the knot is enough to make me laugh out loud. Not because it's all that ridiculous (although it kind of is), but because trying to imagine what our day to day life would be like is so strange. I honestly can't see us together like that anymore. Maybe once upon a time I might have been able to picture us spending our lives together. But only vaguely. I basically saw us ending up like roommates who had _lots_ of sex. It wasn't romantic, we weren't madly in love, we just... existed together. It was easy. He had his life and I had mine, and we shared a bed at the end of the day.

 _Extremely_ simple but not exactly satisfying. Not in any ways that truly mattered, at least.

"Hey, it's not _so_ crazy." He smiles, but there's something serious in his eyes.

Unless I'm very much mistaken, I think I just hurt his feelings.

"I wasn't laughing because I thought it was crazy." I assure him. "It's just funny because I used to think about it sometimes back then, you know?"

"About making an honest man of me?" He asks in a playful tone, trying to hide the fact that he's genuinely curious. "Was I a good husband?"

"You were an _amazing_ friend. You _are_ an amazing friend."

He gives an understanding nod as he glances down at the beer bottle in his hands for a moment. "I guess that's all we were ever really meant to be, huh?"

"I think we were meant to be exactly what we are. And I _love_ what we are."

"Me too." He smiles wholeheartedly, standing from his seat so that he can lean down and kiss the top of my head with an exaggerated 'mwah' noise. "Love you, gorgeous."

I think that might be the first time either of us have expressed that very important sentiment to each other. And despite the casual tone he said it in, and the flirtatious nickname he tacked onto the end, I know he couldn't be more serious. So when I say it back, I make sure to take him by the hand and force him to look me in the eyes for a moment so that he'll _see_ how much I mean it, too.

"Daddy, Penny took the _last_ cupcake with blue frosting!" Whines Viggo, suddenly appearing at my side just in time to stop Alex from cracking a joke in order to put an end to this little moment we seem to be having. " _I_ wanted the blue one!"

"I'm sorry, buddy. Sometimes other people get the stuff we want before we can get to it, and we just have to get something different instead." I tell him apologetically, wishing there was something I could do to wipe that miserable look off of his face.

"But it was _blue_!" He insists. "Blue is for boys!"

"Viggo, why don't we-" Jenna begins, holding her hand out to lead Viggo away in search of something to distract him from his cupcake loss.

But Tommy swoops right in. "Come with me, dude. I wanna tell you something about 'boy colors' and 'girl colors'."

"Look at him go." Snorts Alex as we both watch Tommy guide my youngest son off towards the kitchen. "Who woulda guessed he'd be so good at the whole 'dad' thing?"

"He really is great with them." Jenna confirms with a smile as she sits down in the chair across from us.

"It probably helps that he has the mentality of a twelve-year-old." Alex jokes as he grabs a handful of Doritos from the bowl on the coffee table. "I'm sorry, I _gotta_ be there to see him teach your four-year-old about gender neutralism. Excuse me."

"Be nice!" I call out to him as he waves dismissively and retreats to the kitchen. "Damn. I kinda wanted to hear that conversation myself."

"You and me both! He has a knack for putting complicated stuff into terms they understand. I've been looking after kids for years, and even I don't know how he comes up with some of that stuff. I keep meaning to ask him if it's as easy as he makes it look."

"Right? I feel like I have to really think about everything I say to them when it comes to explaining more 'adult' things, but he just... talks. He's honest with them without being _too_ honest, which is something I don't think I ever really figured out how to do. There's _a lot_ of things I never figured out how to do when it comes to parenting..."

"You're an amazing dad, Taylor. Those kids _adore_ you."

"I know they do. Doesn't mean I don't have a lot left to learn."

She smiles and shakes her head at me. "You're too hard on yourself. There's no such thing as the perfect parent. And if there _was_ some kind of scale for measuring good parenting, believe me, you'd be on the higher end. I've babysat and nannied for dozens of families in the last ten years, I've seen dads come home from work at the end of the day, and sit down in front of the TV and ignore their kids entirely. You, on the other hand, come home from months of touring, and thirty-six straight hours of travel, and you let your kids jump all over you all evening without ever letting on that you're completely exhausted!"

"That doesn't count. It's the least I can do after being gone for so long. It doesn't make me a better dad, and it doesn't mean there isn't plenty of room for improvement." I tell her, because it's true (and because it's kind of fun to make her repeatedly roll her eyes at me the way she's doing right now). "Thank you, though. I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"You're completely welcome."

"But speaking of being over-worked, and tired, and having kids jumping all over you... when was the last time you took a day off?"

"Don't worry." She smirks as I narrow my eyes at her, fully expecting her to insist that she doesn't need a break. "Tommy forced me to take _all_ of last weekend off. Any time I so much as tried to help tie a shoe lace or wipe yogurt off of someone's chin, he ordered me out of the room entirely."

"Good!"

"It's not like I've been overwhelmed or anything! You guys act like I've been taking care of them all by myself ever since the accident. But Penny, Ezra and River are at school almost all day during the week, and your parents, and your brothers, and Pam have been here helping out a lot of the time, too."

"I know, but I don't want you to feel like you're _always_ 'on the clock' just because you live here. We never got a chance to sit down and figure out your hours or whatever when you got here-"

"Yeah, well, you were a little busy getting hit by an SUV." She reminds me teasingly.

"Whatever. I'm done throwing myself into the path of oncoming traffic now, so tomorrow we can sit down and talk about your work hours, and time off, and-"

"It can wait."

"No, it can't." I insist earnestly.

"Whatever you say, _boss_."

" _Good_ little underappreciated, underpaid child wrangler."

"Did I mention that it's _so_ nice to have you back?" She retorts sarcastically, but I can tell just from the look in her eyes that she's entirely sincere.

"It's good to _be_ back."

"Can I get you anything? A soda, or some cake?"

"Stop working!" I scold her. "If I want something I'll make Ike get it."

"Make me get what?" Asks Ike, stopping in his tracks on his way to the dining room to get more food. "Do you need something?"

Jenna and I share a small, conspiratorial smile before I assume my best straight face and look my brother in the eyes. "Well... I am getting kinda hungry."

"Yeah? What do you want? Some pizza? Or some salad? I think there are some cupcakes left... maybe... unless the kids ate them all."

"That sounds good."

"What sounds good? Cupcakes?"

This is too much fun. "All of it."

"Oh, okay. Well, I'll go make you up a plate." He tells me kindly. "I'll be right back."

"Thanks, man." I smile appreciatively, waiting until he's _almost_ made it all the way to the French doors separating the family room from dining room before calling out. "Can you get me some Dr Pepper, too?"

"Sure."

"No ice."

"You got it!"

"And I need a straw."

I notice him take a breath, the way he always does when he's trying to resist the urge to throw something at my head. "Coming right up."

"Thanks, Ike! You're the best big brother _ever_."

"And you're the most twisted little brother ever." Jenna informs me, unable to keep the amused smile off of her face even as she says the words. "If you're going to take advantage of the fact that he's feeling so helpful, maybe you should aim a little higher than pizza and Dr Pepper."

"Good point."

"I'm gonna go check on the kids, make sure River hasn't eaten his weight in Pringles."

"Stop working!" I order her again, but again all I get is an eye roll.

No one respects me.

It's only a couple of minutes before Ike returns to the family room, balancing a plate of pizza and salad on top of a glass of Dr Pepper in one hand, and holding another plate of cupcakes in the other. It looks like he's brought me a little of everything there is left to eat, and it makes me feel bad for messing with him.

I'm not even _really_ all the hungry!

"Here you go." He hands me the plate of pizza and sets the other plate and cup down on a nearby end table.

And then he _moves_ the table so that it's within easy reach. "Thanks, Ike."

"Yeah, no problem."

"I mean it. You've been a _big_ help through all this."

"Oh, well..." He shrugs uncomfortably, looking at anything but me. "You know..."

We've never been very good at the heartfelt stuff. Not the _positive_ heartfelt stuff, at least. When it comes to opening up about how much we _honestly_ want to tear each other's heads off, we have no trouble at all. But we don't share our problems or try to get each other to open up about personal stuff. We used to when we were younger. Not _much_ , but more than we ever do now. I'm not even really sure when or why it changed. I guess, at some point, I stopped feeling like my problems were something he could understand. And at the same time, he probably stopped feeling like he could understand me.

We both just... stopped trying.

"So... mom told me last night that you're all flying out first thing on Monday?" I ask, changing the subject for both our sakes.

"Yeah. I was gonna leave tomorrow, but I figured a couple of extra days wouldn't hurt. And this way we can all go to the airport together and all ride home from the airport together. It's just easier."

"Right, makes sense. I bet Nikki and the boys miss you, though."

He nods, a tender smile curling his lips at the mere mention of them. I always used to be so jealous of that smile, of his relationship with Nikki and how easy it all was for him. I wanted to feel that way _so_ badly.

And now I _finally_ do.

I just wish I didn't feel like it was at other people's expense.

"Hey, listen..." Oh boy. I hate it when he starts sentences like that. "Since you moved out here, me and Zac have been working on some stuff... just kinda messing around in the studio, you know? Trying to keep the creative juices flowing, I guess." He laughs softly, awkwardly. It's like he feels guilty for making music without me, but I never expected them to just _stop_. "It hasn't really been going so well."

"He mentioned something like that." I tell him sympathetically. "I'm sorry it's been... difficult."

"Yeah, well... anyway, I was talking to him this morning, and... we were wondering if maybe you'd wanna like... listen to some of the stuff we've been working on? See if you have any ideas or... opinions?"

Wow.

I didn't see _that_ coming.

"You want me to critique your music?" I ask semi-seriously. "You sure it's not just gonna piss you off?"

"Isn't that how we work?" He shoots back playfully, perching on the edge of the coffee table in front of me and heaving a deep sigh. "I know everything is really screwed up, and I know I said I didn't wanna work with you anymore, but... I miss it. The band... I miss being the band."

"I know." I agree, an intense ache suddenly taking up residence in my heart not only for his loss but for my own.

I haven't had the time to really sit and dwell on it since leaving Tulsa. And even though I don't regret the choices I've made, or my decision to put my career on the backburner for the sake of my kids, that doesn't mean I don't miss making music. With my brothers, or _at all_. I feel ashamed when I think about the fact that I haven't even started making concrete plans to put together a music room or build a studio here. My baby grand piano and my guitars are all packed into a room that's nowhere near big enough for me to actually get into with them, let alone play any of them.

I haven't so much as looked at them since I put them there.

The closest I've come to real music in over a month is watching Tommy's late night guitar practices. And as much as I enjoy those, it's not the same as actually strumming a guitar with my own fingertips, or trailing them over flawlessly smooth piano keys. I never meant to stop making music entirely.

But somehow that's exactly what happened.

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Or if you don't have time-"

"I don't think that's gonna be an issue for a while." I snort derisively as I gesture to my wonderful wheelchair. "In fact, I think my biggest problem is gonna be finding ways to occupy my time so I don't go _completely_ insane."

"So... maybe this would be good, then?" He suggests hopefully. "I know you're not in any shape to really be singing or maybe even just playing guitar right now. But you could play a keyboard, right?"

I hadn't really thought about it... and I _hate_ that. "Yeah, I don't see why not. But I meant what I said before I left Tulsa, Ike. I _can't_ be in a band right now. Not the way we always have been anyway. I have to put the kids first, I can't leave them to go tour and-"

"I know." He assures me quickly. "I understand that. And I'm not trying to get things back to the way they used to be or anything. I just..."

"Miss it." I nod in conclusion. "Me too."

"Okay, well... how about I grab a flash drive tomorrow and download some tracks off of my computer for you? You can give them a listen, make some notes, mess around with some ideas if you have any, and then maybe the three of us could like... Skype or something sometime next week? Or whenever works for you. No rush."

"Yeah... yeah, that sounds good."

It sounds _really_ good, actually.

As the evening wears on, the party slowly winds down. Alex leaves after a couple of hours, and Ike is next to go just as the kids start getting ready for bed. I feel pretty useless as I sit around and let Jenna, Tommy and my parents handle the bedtime routine, but I know there's nothing I can do to help. I can't go up and down the stairs, I can't even really help my kids get into their pajamas. I'm better off staying out of the way so that people aren't constantly tripping over me.

Once my mom is done putting Penny to bed, she starts in on _me_! I don't know why I didn't see that coming, given the amount of fussing she did while I was in the hospital. I'm kinda surprised she doesn't try to brush my teeth for me, and thank _God_ she lets Tommy handle helping me to strip me down to my boxers and a t-shirt. She watches (and worries) while dad and Tommy help me from the wheelchair into one of the movie room recliners, and then she piles so many blankets on me that I'm almost _sweating_ by the time she's done. But she insists it'll get cold in the night and she wants to make sure that I have everything I need "within reach".

I finally convince her that there's nothing else she can possibly do to make me more comfortable. And then I try to ignore the smirk on Tommy's face as she basically tucks me in like I'm two years old, kissing me on the forehead and wishing me sweet dreams. I don't whine or complain, because I know it makes her feel better.

Besides, I much prefer her being over-protective and coddling me to barely speaking to me at all!

With their goodnights said, my parents head up to our room and leave us alone. Part of me is ready to settle in for some much needed sleep. But a bigger part of me is still too busy thinking about the past twenty-four-hours, and the next twenty-four... forty-eight... seventy-two...

"I'm gonna grab something to drink." Tommy tells me as he pulls on the t-shirt he intends to sleep in. And I want to rip the cast off of my leg and beat myself over the head with it when I realize that I was so busy over-thinking that I just missed out on seeing him shirtless for the first time in two weeks! "Want anything?"

"Tequila."

He automatically wrinkles his nose. "Gross. And _no_."

"Fine, how about some ice cream?"

" _That_ you can have. What flavor?"

"Do we have any of the Ben and Jerry's coffee caramel left?" I ask eagerly as he leans over the arm of my recliner and pecks me on the lips on his way out of the room.

"Probably, since you're the only one who eats that shit. I'll be right back."

"You're amazing!"

"I know."

When he leaves, I realize it's the first time I've really been alone since I left the hospital. I've had people hovering around me and helping me every second since I got home. Even when I go to the bathroom, whoever helped me to get in there waits _right_ outside the door in case I fall over or something. And while that's better than having them in there with me, it doesn't feel all that private. I get why it's necessary, and I'm grateful to everyone for caring so much and for going out of their way to make sure I'm constantly comfortable and have everything I could possibly need. But somehow all of this being waited on hand and foot and doing absolutely _nothing_ is completely _exhausting_! Sometimes it feels hard to even breathe.

And not just because of my ribs.

Tommy seems to be the exception, though. Maybe that's because he's been so busy with the kids that I feel like I've barely seen him. I've wanted a moment to myself all evening, but now that he's gone... I really wish he'd come back.

I hear a noise from the doorway behind me, and I smile as I try to glance over my shoulder to look at Tommy. But just as I open my mouth to tell him that the two minutes he was gone was _way_ too long, I stop. Because it's not Tommy, it's Ezra. I've barely seen him since I got home this afternoon, either. He was there to "welcome" me along with everyone else, and he hung around for a little while afterwards. But he didn't really say or do anything. He stayed off to the side, away from the hustle and bustle of the party, and the next thing I knew he was gone.

"Hey." I greet him hopefully as he takes a cautious step into the room. "Can't sleep?" He shakes his head faintly, his eyes drifting from my face to the wheelchair beside my recliner. "Wanna come and watch a movie with us?"

"What movie?" He asks in a mumble, walking slowly towards me.

"We haven't decided yet. Is there anything you want to see?"

He shrugs, his attention still focused entirely on my wheelchair as he reaches out and timidly runs his fingertips over the handles. He seems fascinated by it, and at the same time almost afraid of it. It's like he's never seen one before in his life. Then again, I guess this _is_ the first time he's ever really been this close to one.

And it's definitely the first time he's ever felt responsible for putting somebody into one.

"It's just for a couple of weeks." I tell him, but he continues his silent inspection of it like I never said a word. "Once my ribs heal a little more, I'll be on crutches most of the time." Nothing. "Ez... you know it's not your fault, right?" Even though he doesn't look at me, I _know_ he's listening. I saw something change, I can't even pinpoint exactly what it was. I think he tensed, maybe. It was subtle, but I _saw_ it. "It was an accident."

"Okay."

"You don't believe me?" He shrugs faintly, his fingers falling away from the handle of the wheelchair. "You didn't mean for it to happen."

"I wished for it to happen."

"You were mad at me." I insist, trying to convince us _both_ that it's okay. That I don't care. "I did a horrible thing... you were hurt and upset, and maybe for a second you wanted something bad to happen. But you didn't know that it _would_."

"So?"

"So... sometimes we think we want something to happen, but we don't really. We just feel that way because we're upset. It doesn't make us bad people, and it doesn't make bad things that happen to people our fault. You weren't _glad_ that it happened, were you?"

He thinks about it for a moment, his eyes searching mine as though he's trying to figure out if this is a trick question of some kind. "No."

"Right. Because you didn't _really_ want it to happen."

"It's still _my_ fault. I ran out in the road-"

"And it was _my_ fault you did that." I challenge him persistently. "You wanted to get away from me because you were mad at me. And you had _every_ right to be mad at me, Ezra. I've messed up _a lot_ of things, and I can't fix any of them. And I'm _so_ sorry for that. I wish there was some way to make it all right... there just isn't."

"I know." I replies quietly, but I get the feeling he's lamenting his own mistakes as much as mine.

He's not admonishing my wrongdoings, he's acknowledging his own. For the first time all year, I think we might actually have found some kind of common ground. I wish this wasn't it, but if it's all there is, I'll take it. It's a start. And I so _desperately_ want that. A new beginning, a second chance...

Even if I have to let him go to get it.

"Okay, don't judge me, but I had a _massive_ fucking craving for-" Tommy stops in his tracks the moment he realizes that there's another person in the movie room now, and I can't help but smile as I watch him mentally kick himself for cussing in front of Ezra. "Nachos."

"Ezra's gonna watch a movie with us."

"Oh... okay. Cool." He hands me my bowl of ice cream and quickly goes about moving his blanket and pillow over to the next chair, so that Ezra can have the recliner between us. "Have some nachos."

"That's okay." Declines Ezra somewhat awkwardly as he slowly takes his seat. "I'm not hungry."

"Me either." Tommy mumbles as he looks down at the plate in his lap. "I don't know why I made the damn things, it's like I hate myself."

"I'll have some." I offer, reaching out my hand and waiting for him to offer them to me.

But he doesn't. "You have ice cream."

"So?"

"So you can't eat nachos and ice cream at the same time."

"Why not?" I demand indignantly.

"Uh... 'cause it's nasty."

"So?"

"What do you mean 'so'? So it's _nasty_!" He continues to insist in disgust, which just makes it all the more amusing for me. I don't even really want the nachos, to be honest. But if he's going to get _this_ worked up over it, you can bet your ass I'm having some! "You can't eat cheese _and_ caramel at the same time. There's like... rules."

"Yeah, rules made up by boring people."

"Fuck you." He retorts, before realizing once again that we have company. " _Shit_ , sorry." I love it when he cusses while apologizing for cussing. But what I love even more is the fact that, unless I'm very much mistaken, Ezra is actually fighting back a _smile_. "God _damnit_."

"It's okay." Ezra tells him with a small, unconcerned shrug. "I already know those words."

"I still shouldn't say them around you guys. But it's like sneezing, you know?" Tommy sighs hopelessly over his on-going potty mouth problem. "Sometimes you just _can't_ keep it in."

"You could at least cover your mouth when you do it." I tease, earning myself a playful glare in return. "I'm just sayin'..."

" _Anyway_ ," He begins, clearly trying to change the subject. "What movie are we watching?"

"Ezra was just deciding."

Ezra looks back and forth between us uncertainly, as though this is some kind of test he wasn't prepared to take. "Um..."

"I'm fine with anything." Tommy offers helpfully. "As long as it doesn't have superheroes in it. I've had enough Spider-Man to last me a fuc... lifetime."

"And no princesses." I quickly add, noting the small smirk my comment brings to Ezra's face. " _Unless_ they're named Leia. That's the _only_ exception."

"Can we watch 'School of Rock'?"

I never would've thought that hearing one of my kids ask to watch a Jack Black movie would make me emotional. But here I am getting choked up!

"Yeah... yeah, we can watch that."

I'm not emotional because I hate the movie, or because I think it's a classic and I'm proud of him for having such impeccable taste. It's because it's been so long since we watched a movie together, since we did _anything_ together (besides fighting). And he had an obsession with 'School of Rock' when he was seven. It was the most random thing, it wasn't even a new release at the time, he just happened to watch it one day on the tour bus with Zac, and suddenly he wanted to watch it _every_ day. He and Zac would quote it to each other and sing lines from the songs in it _constantly_.

I know it's probably no big deal that he asked to watch it tonight. But it reminds me of who he was before, when his life was so much simpler and he wasn't in pain all the time.

And it gives me hope that maybe, one day, he might just be that carefree kid again.

 


	97. Chapter 97

  


 

I knew there was going to be an adjustment period once I got home from the hospital. I was prepared to feel frustrated by all of the silly little things I couldn't do for myself. I was prepared for there to be more challenges that we'd have to confront, challenges I hadn't been faced with in the hospital. I was prepared to be patient.

Well... I _thought_ I was prepared.

As it turns out, I was merely "informed". I _knew_ what it would be like, but knowing about it and living with it aren't the same thing _at all_. I'm a really bad patient, and I'm even worse at _being_ patient. I'm crabby and whiney, and I've only been home for twenty-four hours! I'm starting to think that those dumb tabloid magazines were on to something when they suggested that Tommy might not what to deal with my incapacitated self.

Okay, so maybe that last part is an over-statement.

He loves me, I _know_ that. He's not going anywhere, no matter how annoying I am. But I wouldn't blame him one bit if he _wanted_ to. That's why I asked him to go to the store and get some last minute supplies for Viggo's birthday that we don't even really need. Not because I enjoy sending him on pointless errands, but because I figured an hour away from the house, away from me, and my parents, and the kids, and Ike, and _Pam_ might be just long enough for him to catch his breath and regroup so that he doesn't completely snap and kill us all in our sleep tonight!

I keep trying to come up with a better way to take care of him somehow, because I don't want him running around after me all day, every day. There's not a lot I can do to stop him, or help him, or thank him, though. Other than _saying_ thank you, which I do. Repeatedly. After a while, though, they just feel like empty words, no matter how wholeheartedly I mean them. But I can't help with the kids (unless telling them not to climb on things, or fight over things, and being ignored entirely counts), I can't make meals, I can't do laundry, or pick up around the house. And I already know that if I tell him, _beg_ him to go out for a night with his friends, or even just lock himself in the movie room alone for the evening, he'll refuse. He won't leave me, even if it's for his own damn good. I'm almost tempted to pick a fight with him just to piss him off so much that he storms out! But we've reached the point where it'd have to be a pretty big fight for him to do that, and I don't _want_ to be in a pretty big fight with him.

By the time he gets home, Ike and Pam have left for the day and everyone else has squeezed around the dining table and is halfway through dinner. I wanted to wait for him, and my parents were completely on board with the idea, but trying to get a bunch of hungry kids to put their grumbling stomachs on hold when the whole house smelled like my mom's cooking was _impossible_. Tommy doesn't seem too bothered about it, though. In fact, rather than leaving the groceries in the kitchen until later and joining us to eat, he insists on putting them away _now_.

Unfortunately for him, I'm getting pretty good at wheeling myself around in this contraption, and there are no steps between the dining room and the kitchen, so he can't stop me from following him!

"You okay?" I ask, trying to keep my voice down so that our conversation won't end up being broadcast to everyone in the next room.

"Yeah, I'm good." He replies distractedly, rooting around in brown paper bags and refusing to look me in the eyes. "Just didn't want the ice cream to melt."

"Well, you could put it in the freezer and leave the rest until later. I don't think the bread is gonna go bad if you leave it in the bag for a little while."

"It's no biggie; I'm already half done."

"You know... if you wanted to, you could go out tonight."

He finally looks up at me, frowning as though I've just said something completely incomprehensible. Just like I knew he would. "Go out _where_?"

"I don't know... wherever you want. Didn't you say Isaac was back in town now? Maybe you guys could-"

"It's late, he's probably got plans already. Besides, I don't even wanna go out. I just wanna like... hang here and watch a movie or something."

"Tommy-"

"Tay- _lor_." He cuts me off mockingly, ditching those oh-so-important groceries and walking towards the dining room instead. But just as I'm about to accuse him of trying to avoid me, he stops right in front of me to lean down and peck me on my furrowed brow. "You look like a grumpy old man when you make that face, by the way."

"Hey!"

Without another word, he grabs the handles of the wheelchair and turns it around to push me back into the dining room. Once I'm back at the table, he returns to the kitchen just long enough to serve himself some food, and then he joins the rest of us for dinner. He's doing a _really_ good job of pretending he's totally fine, but I know him better than he probably wishes I did right now. No one else notices the deep breaths he has to take every few minutes in order to keep the cordial smile plastered across his face, but I do.

Since it's Jenna's night off, Tommy and my parents tag team the kids to get them ready for bed. My mom initially told Tommy that they could handle it without him, and that he should relax spend some time with me. But Viggo had other ideas, and he refused to go to sleep until Tommy came in and read him at least one bedtime story. And I feel useless and guilty again, because I can't do _anything_ to help. He's exhausted, and yet he still has to run around after other people while I just... sit here.

I can't imagine being this helpless for weeks. _Months_.

I'm gonna lose what little is left of my mind!

When Tommy finally joins me in the movie room, it's like I can _feel_ how tired he is. It's emanating from him, no matter how hard he tries to disguise it with (tired) smiles and (weary) jokes. Every move he makes looks like an effort, he's dragging. And this is just day _one_.

"I'm sorry." I sigh, cutting him off in the middle of his rambling diatribe about how he never wants to see the book _Goodnight Moon_ again for the rest of his life. "I wish I could do more."

"That's not what I'm saying. I wasn't trying to make you feel shitty or whatever, I was just-"

"I know. But I _do_ feel shitty. I know you're totally wiped out, and I know I've been horrible all day-"

"No you haven't." He protests, and surprisingly enough he actually sounds sincere. "You're allowed to be annoyed; it's a totally fucking frustrating situation to be in."

I shrug glumly, staring ahead at the blank projector screen. "It's frustrating for you, too, but you're not complaining."

"Would it make you feel better if I did?"

"I don't know... maybe a little."

With a soft chuckle, he takes a deep breath and begins _bitching_. "Today fucking _sucked_. I know your parents are only trying to help, but everything takes ten times longer to get done when they're around because we have to fucking _discuss_ who's gonna do it. Like, does it really fucking matter _who_ changes Asta just so long as she's not sitting in a diaper full of shit for hours? I was there first! So what if I changed her last time? I don't give a fuck, it's not a big deal! I can change her more than once a day, it's not gonna kill me! But if Pam gives me one more of those pissy little looks she thinks I don't notice, I might kill _her_. I can't wait until that bitch gets on a plane back to Tulsa, it feels like she's been here for-fucking- _ever_!"

" _Breathe_." I remind him, smirking as he does just that before continuing.

"I thought things would be better when you got home, I thought the kids would settle down, but they're acting even crazier than they were when you were in the hospital! They're fighting over you and ignoring the rest of us when we tell them to do stuff, 'cause you're here so who gives a fuck what anyone else tells them to do-"

"They're ignoring me, too."

"Right! So it's like a fucking _zoo_!" He exclaims, throwing up his hands in defeat. "And all I wanna do is like... take care of you, but your mom is _everywhere_ all the time! It's like there are ten of her or something, and I can't get a fucking second alone with you!"

"I'm surprised you _want_ to. It's not like I've been the most cheerful person to be around."

"So? Neither am I most days, but you still wanna be around me."

"True." I smile, reaching across the arm rest between us and lacing my fingers with his. He automatically closes his eyes and breathes a deep sigh, trying to let the tension evaporate from his body. I don't think it worked though. It's gonna take more than deep breathing to help him unwind. "Hey..."

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

He cracks an eye open and turns his head slightly to look at me. "What?"

"Come. _Here_." I repeat slowly and clearly, tugging on his hand until he relents and leans closer. "You need to relax."

"I am relaxed." He lies as our mouths draw nearer.

"Not enough." I murmur against his lips before capturing them with my own.

At first, he barely responds. I can tell he's apprehensive, but I'm not sure why. Debating it is guaranteed to kill the mood entirely, though, so I simply continue kissing him in hopes that he'll eventually loosen up and reciprocate.

And after a moment, he does exactly that.

I wish I could say that it's amazing. That being alone with him like this, the way we've both been waiting for, feels incredible. That there are sparks, and overwhelming heat, and passion... but honestly, it's just kind of awkward.  Not because either of us isn't into it (although, he could stand to be a _little_ more enthusiastic!), but because there's a big, puffy arm rest separating us, and I couldn't really move any closer even if it wasn't there. I get the feeling that he _wouldn't_ move any closer if it wasn't there. I know he's afraid of hurting me, but I really couldn't care less. A little discomfort is totally worth it to be near to him, in my opinion.

I'd rather have a stabbing pain in my chest the entire time we're making out than not make out with him at all!

But when I try to reach over and actually touch him, I feel him shift away from my hand. It's not a big movement, or a sudden one, it's just enough so that my fingertips lose contact with his chest.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, breathless not from the kiss but from the effort it takes just to turn my body in his direction.

"Nothing."

Liar. "Do you not want to, or...?"

"It's not that." He sighs, slumping in his chair and pushing the button to recline it further. "I'm just tired."

"Okay."

"It's _not_ that I don't want to." He insists again, obviously sensing my disappointment and insecurity. Not that I was putting much effort into hiding it. "I mean it, if I wasn't so fucking wiped out I'd be totally into it."

"Yeah, I understand."

I honestly do, I'm not just saying it to make him feel better. But even if I'm not taking it personally, I'm still kinda bummed out about it. I miss him. I miss being with him. Then again, it's not like we can really do more than kiss right now anyway. I'm not brave enough to start testing my limits just yet. But just because I'm not ready to act on the way he makes me feel, that doesn't mean I don't still feelit. I feel it pretty much _constantly._

I imagine this is how an alcoholic would probably feel if they spent all day staring at their drink of choice.

When I turn my head to look at _my_ drink of choice, I find him already asleep beside me. Despite my somewhat sullen mood, I can't help but smile faintly as I take in his peaceful expression and watch the slow rise and fall of his t-shirt covered chest. He didn't even bother to change out of his jeans, he was _that_ exhausted.

I wish I was even slightly sleepy, but I'm not at all.

And now I'm stuck in this recliner, with no one to talk to, and no way of getting out of it... unless I want to risk falling on my face trying to get into my wheelchair. That idea is actually kinda tempting. But it would only wake Tommy up, as would watching a movie (which I can't do anyway, because I can't put a DVD in or reach the remote from here). At least I have my iPhone for company! I send Zac and Alex a text each, and then pass the time browsing Twitter and Facebook while I wait for one of them to reply.

But after ten minutes of skim reading my Twitter feed and swinging back and forth between being touched by people's well wishes and pissed off by their ignorance, I still haven't heard back from either of them.

Against my better judgment (if I even have such a thing), I end up back on Twitter again, scrolling through more mentions on our band account. Half of them are people complaining about us not releasing new music anymore, or asking when we'll be touring again ( _if_ we'll ever be touring again). One of the tweets is a youtube link, and the person says something about how "the good old days". Out of curiosity I click on the link and find myself watching a video of the three of us singing "Change In My Life" a cappella a few years ago. It's been a long time since I watched any performance videos, especially fan filmed ones, and it actually gives me chills to hear our voices harmonizing so effortlessly. It used to be such a common sound for me, I barely gave it a moment's thought. But now it's almost foreign. It's like I _forgot_ what we sound like when we sing together.

Watching one video leads to watching another, and then a dozen more. Until eventually I fall asleep in the middle of a clip of me performing a solo version of "A Song To Sing".

Next thing I know, I'm waking up in an all too familiar white room. My vision is distorted, I don't recognize anyone or anything, I don't understand any of what I'm hearing, and I can't move without it causing me indescribable pain.

I should be used to this place and these feelings by now, I find myself here almost every night. But no matter how many times I "wake up" in this place, no matter how aware I am of the fact that it's not real, I can't keep myself from panicking. And worst of all, I can't wake myself up.

"Baby-"

"No!"

" _Taylor_ -"

"Let me go! _Please_! I need to find my kids!" I beg, desperately trying to squirm my way out from under the hand that's holding me down. " _Where_ are my kids?!"

"Wake up!" The blurry person beside me commands. "Taylor, it's me. You're dreaming, wake _up_!"

I want to do as he says, I want to open my eyes and escape this recurring nightmare. But my mind is so mixed up, so puzzled by the fact that this faceless person sounds so much like Tommy, I can't figure out how to bring myself out of this. It's strangely fascinating, I swear I even _see_ him standing here in my dream once I recognize his voice. It's like a fog clearing or something, just for a split second, and then it's gone again.

"Taylor, wake the fuck up!"

I gasp for air, as though someone was holding me underwater this whole time and has finally let me up to catch my breath. And when I open my eyes, Tommy's face is peering at me in concern. For a moment it feels as though I'm still in the dream. The room is black, not white, but there's something about his presence, his face and his voice and his touch... it all feels just like it did in the nightmare.

"Are you okay?" He asks me worriedly.

"Yeah... yeah, I was just... it was just a dream."

"You were totally freaking out. I've never seen anyone have a nightmare like that before."

"Sorry."

He laughs softly, but it sounds tense. "Don't be. It's not like you _asked_ to have a bad dream."

"I woke you up, though."

"It's fine." He assures me, giving my hand a comforting squeeze as he settles back down against the plush headrest of his recliner. "Do you know what it was about?"

"I..." I don't even know how to explain it. I couldn't explain it to Holden the first time it happened, and I still don't have the words now. And for some reason... I don't think I _want_ to tell Tommy about it. "No... not really."

"Whatever it was, it seemed pretty intense." He frowns. "You kept saying 'let me go' and asking where the kids where and if they were okay."

"Weird." I chuckle uncomfortably, staring up at the dimmed recessed lights above us. "I don't remember."

"Well, it was just a dream."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna go get some water. You want anything?"

"Uh... water would be good, thanks." I smile faintly as he gets out of his chair, leaning down to kiss me gently on the side of my head, right where my stitches used to be. Even when I try to cover the wound with my hair as best as I can, he still knows exactly where it is.

Something tells me he'll never forget.                           

As distressing as these past couple of weeks have been for my family, I think Tommy was possibly affected by the accident more than anyone. Maybe even more than _me_. I know that sounds ridiculous, but... my wounds will heal. My bones will mend, my vision will return to normal, and my hair will grow back, completely obscuring the scar on my head until I forget I even have it. But what the accident did to him isn't something that will heal in time. It _changed_ him in a way I think is more than likely permanent. Maybe it's too soon to say that definitively, but I keep waiting for him to snap out of it and it's not happening.

And that's not a bad thing.

The change I've seen in him isn't negative at all, and it's not like he's a totally different person or anything. He's still Tommy. He's still the same foul-mouthed, free-spirited, flirtatious guy I fell for. There's still a side of him that I think will _eternally_ be stuck in his teens, the side that would rather shut himself away with a guitar or a good movie and _not_ do the dishes or make the bed. But that side isn't running the show anymore. He's grown _so_ much.

It started before the accident, but it was more gradual then. It felt as though he was merely testing the waters. He was trying to be more responsible, trying to be less afraid of it all, but it was easier said than done.

And then I got hurt...

It was like I fell asleep (or into a coma) and when I woke up he'd gone from wading in the shallow end of responsibility to treading water in the deep end. He always thought that he'd drown in it, but nothing could be further from the truth. Watching him for the last couple of weeks, especially these past twenty-four-hours, has blown my mind. I swear, I've fallen even _more_ in love with him. And I want to tell him that, but I'm not sure I should. I know it seems like it would be a nice thing to say: "I love you more today than yesterday. You're incredible. _Thank you_." But what if he's not even aware of the change? What if he's been so consumed by all of this that he never even stopped to look around and realize how far he's come?

What if it's _not_ a good thing in his eyes?

He struggled with getting to this place for so long, he was so scared of it... what if  it freaks him out to see that he's here now?

"Here you go."

I look up in surprise to find Tommy holding a glass of water out to me, and I feel my lips curl into a dopey smile as I reach out and take it from him. "Thanks."

"What's going on with you?" He chuckles bemusedly, taking his seat beside me again. "You look drunk."

"I love you, you know that?"

"Fuck it, you _are_ drunk. Where's your stash, you sneaky shit?"

"I'm not drunk!" I laugh, swatting him playfully on the arm. "I was just thinking about how amazing you are."

"Did you OD on your pain meds or something?"

"Whatever. You're wonderful. Deal with it."

" _You_ deal with it." He mutters petulantly before taking a sip of his water, but it only makes me smile even wider.

Same old Tommy.

"I'm sorry. Again." I tell him, receiving a frown in response. "For waking you up."

"I already said-"

"I know, but I know you're tired and you needed a good night's sleep-"

"I'm fine." He insists, giving an unconcerned shrug for good measure. "You know I can function on no sleep."

"Doesn't mean you _should_."

"Yeah, well, I rarely do what I should do."

That's not true. Not anymore, anyway. All he's done lately is what everyone else has needed him to do, what he "should" do, without hesitation and without complaint.

But once again, I don't know that bringing that to his attention is a good idea.

"You know, I was thinking about that dream." He says, pulling my focus away from my thoughts. "You think maybe it was like... about Ezra leaving?"

No. That's another nightmare entirely. "I don't think so."

"I don't mean like _actually_ about him leaving, but you said some stuff that made it sound like someone had taken the kids or that you'd lost them somehow... maybe it's like your subconscious or whatever making your fear of losing them into a reality. Well... reality in a dream, anyway."

"Maybe." I reply pensively, now entirely adrift in misery over the thought of Ezra's imminent departure.

I should've just told Tommy what the dream was actually about, even if it made no sense at all, and in spite of that weird feeling in my stomach. Maybe then we wouldn't be having this conversation.

Then again, whether I thought about it tonight or not, it would still be happening.

"It's gonna be okay." Tommy assures me comfortingly. "He'll be okay."

"I hope so."

"If you wanna worry about something, worry about getting through tomorrow."

I frown as I look up from my glass of water, shaking my head in confusion. "He's not leaving until Monday."

"I know."

"So... what's tomorrow?" He cocks an eyebrow at me, clearly waiting for me to give up the clueless act. But it's _not_ an act. "What?"

"My mom is coming over for lunch, remember?"

 _Crap._ "Right..."

"It's gonna be _hours_ of our mom's telling each other embarrassing stories about us, and we're just gonna have to sit there and take it." He mumbles, downing the last of his water like it's a shot of something much stronger. "It's gonna _suck_."

"You don't know that. It might be..." I don't even make it to the end of the statement before he's giving me a 'you're so full of shit' look, and I roll my eyes as I breathe a deep sigh of defeat. "Okay, you're right. It's gonna suck."

Looks like this is one responsibility that we'd _both_ rather run and hide from.

 


	98. Chapter 98

  


 

I remember the first time my mom and dad met Natalie's parents. I remember how nervous she was about it being absolutely perfect.

And how nervous I _wasn't_.

I'd already met her family and received their seal of approval, and vice versa. But our parents hadn't signed off on each other, and that seemed like the last "hurdle" in our relationship as far as she was concerned. If our families meshed well, we were home free. I could already see her planning our wedding in her mind, and that was _before_ she got pregnant and I was forced to propose.

For her, I was _it_. I was the one.

We may have been young, but I knew she could see herself marrying me and spending her life with me. Honestly, I could see the same thing. And it _terrified_ me. That was right around the time I seriously started questioning my ability to keep up the pretense. It was one thing when we were just dating, it didn't seem like _such_ a terrible lie to tell then. But suddenly she was _in love_. She was making plans for us, for our future. It wasn't fair to lead her on any further, it had already gone too far. She deserved better, she deserved to be with a guy who was as nervous as she was about that first meeting between their parents, because he was just as anxious as she was for it to go off without a hitch.

She deserved better than a guy who was hoping that the whole thing would go up in flames, and that maybe it would drive a wedge between them.

But, of course, our parents all got along perfectly, which made breaking up with her even harder.

It broke her heart completely, she barely saw it coming. Nothing had really changed between us; we hadn't been fighting, we weren't growing apart, I'd merely been a little "distant". One minute everything was fine, and the next I was snatching away that happily ever after she'd been picturing and leaving her with nothing. I don't think I had _ever_ felt worse about myself, or more guilt stricken over the way I'd treated another person in my whole life. Which is probably why, as I comforted her and tried to convince her that it wasn't her fault, that she had done _nothing_ wrong, I made the mistake of kissing her back when she kissed me. I _knew_ it was stupid, it was the wrong thing to do. But she was crushed, and she was desperately trying to hold onto me, and one tearful "please" from her when I said we should stop was all it took to shut me up.

Nine months later, Ezra was born.

It's funny how sometimes things that seem like the biggest mistakes you've ever made can wind up leading you to some of the best things that have ever happened to you.

And sometimes they can lead to some of the worst things that have ever happened to other people.

I'm still trying to figure out how to reconcile those two inescapable truths. How to be happy when people I love are hurting. How to not regret or apologize for the incredible things I've gained, even if those things involved painful losses for people close to me.

I guess maybe they're irreconcilable, and I'm just going to have to accept that.

It's hard to accept much of anything right now, though. Sitting here, listening to my mom and Pam as they hurry around the house, packing up the last of the belongings that Ezra is taking with him to Tulsa, asking each other if they remembered to grab that one pair of shoes, or if they ever found that stray winter coat. Ike's been trying to distract me, but nothing he can come up with to talk about is compelling enough to block out everything else that's going on around us and keep my mind off of the fact that my son won't be here this time tomorrow. And watching Penny as she takes in all of the commotion around her with a wistful expression on her face... I can't help wondering if Ezra is the only one I'll be saying goodbye to.

Knowing that I might be booking her a one way ticket when we go back to Tulsa for Christmas is killing me.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I look up distractedly. The second I lay eyes on Tommy I instinctively take a deep, calming breath. It's almost as though he instructed me to do it just by looking at me, like he could tell that I needed him to come over here right now, even though he was in another room entirely just a moment ago.

I must be a fucking beacon of despair right now.

"I'm gonna go pick my mom up." He tells me gently. "Need me to get you anything on the way back?"

"I don't think so."

Ike clears his throat none-too-subtly and gets off of the couch beside me. "I'll go get the kids ready for the movies."

"Okay. Thanks, Ike."

"Yeah, no problem."

"He's getting much better at knowing when to fuck off." Tommy notes as soon as Ike is out of earshot, taking his seat and idly lacing his fingers with mine.

"Yeah..." I stare down at our entwined hands on my thigh, studying the way his thumb strokes soothing circles over my palm. It's almost impossible to resist the urge to groan in contentment and let my head fall against the back of the chair. It feels better than any touch so small really should. "He has his moments."

"Ya know... I don't _have_ to go get my mom."

I frown as I tear my gaze from our hands and glance up at his completely straight face. "What do you mean? She's expecting you to-"

"I can call her and tell her lunch is canceled."

"I know you're dreading this whole thing, but my mom will _kill_ you if you cancel it."

"Okay, fine, so how about I go get my mom, and they can all have lunch and do their boring parent bullshit, and you and me can run away together?"

He still looks so serious, but I know he's not. At least... I'm pretty sure he's not. "Where exactly would we run away to?"

"I don't know... Mexico."

"Mexico?"

"They have like _really_ good Mexican food there."

"Olvera Street has good Mexican food, too." I laugh softly, shaking my head at the eager grin on his face. "And we wouldn't need passports to go there."

"Sold! Let's go to Olvera Street!"

"You're just trying to get out of having lunch with our parents."

"And?" He replies unapologetically. "What sane, self-respecting guy would wanna spend his time sitting around with his mom and his boyfriend's parents while they talk about him like he's not even fucking there?"

"It's gonna happen sooner or later." I remind him. "Even if we _did_ skip out on lunch today, there'll be other lunches, and dinners, and brunches." He wrinkles his nose in disgust and I can't help but smile even as I roll my eyes at him. He's acting like a kid who has to get a shot or go to the dentist! "We might even have to spend Thanksgivings together... or Christmases..."

"Can't we ditch those, too?"

"I think they might disapprove a _little_."

"So? That's what parents _do_! They disapprove! But they can't disapprove if they don't have anything to disapprove of. It's like... we have to do shit like this so that they have a purpose in life. They can't do their job if we don't do ours!"

"Wow. You've put _a lot_ of thought into this, huh?" I smirk in amusement as he attempts to sway me by batting those big brown eyes of his.

"Let's go get some tacos. _Please_?"

"I would _love_ to run away with you."

"Yeah?"

"But I _can't_ run right now. So I think we're both just gonna have to man up and have lunch with our parents."

His hopeful smile instantly morphs into a disappointed pout. "This is such _crap_."

"I know."

"I _never_ had to do shit like this for anyone else I've dated."

"I'm sorry." I sigh melodramatically. "I know I'm more trouble than I'm worth."

He shakes his head at me as he gets out of his chair, leaning down until his lips are only inches from mine. "You're worth more trouble than you are."

"I don't know if that's a compliment or not, but thank you."

"You're welcome." He chuckles, kissing me tenderly before groaning in dissatisfaction and forcing himself to pull away. "I'll be back in like an hour."

"Drive safe!" I call out to him as he heads for the front door.

Once he's gone, I realize I'm alone. The house is full of people but they're all busy doing their own thing, whether it's getting their shoes and jackets on to go to a movie, or packing, or preparing food. And I'm just... here. My wheelchair is right next to the armchair I'm sitting in and I _should_ be able to get into it by myself, I practiced this kind of thing in the hospital before I was discharged. I just haven't had the chance to try it since I got home because there has always been someone around who jumped right in to help whenever I needed to move.

I guess now is as good a time as any to put my practice to work...

I scoot to the edge of my seat and reach out to pull the wheel chair a little nearer. It's awkward and I can't really get it exactly where I want it to be because it keeps bumping into my stupid cast. But it's as close as it's going to get, and that's gonna have to be close enough. With a deep breath, I push myself up and put as much weight as I can on my good leg, quickly grasping at the arm rest of my wheelchair and trying to turn my body enough that I can carefully lower myself (or carelessly drop myself) right into it.

It's all going pretty well, right up until River and Viggo come tearing into the room, excitedly talking over one another about the "awesome castle" they just built with Viggo's birthday LEGOs... and subsequently scaring the crap out of me. Next thing I know I'm on the floor with pain radiating throughout my entire body, and my sons are anxiously _screaming_ for help.

And because the universe _loves_ to fuck with me every chance it gets, the first person on the scene is Pam. I'm half expecting her to just stand there and lecture me on scaring the kids and being stupid enough to attempt to get into my wheelchair without any help, but to my immense surprise she hurries right over and asks me if I'm hurt. I guess being a former nurse makes it hard for her to disregard potential injuries, no matter how much she may hate the guts of the person who has them.

"I'm okay." I tell her, struggling to catch my breath. "I just... lost my balance."

"It was our fault." Explains River remorsefully. "We scared him and he fell down."

"We didn't mean to!" Viggo quickly insists. "We're sorry, daddy!"

"It's okay, buddy, it _wasn't_ your fault. I'm fine, I promise."

"What's going on?" Asks Ike in concern as he comes to a stop behind his nephews. "What happened?"

"I just fell, it's no big deal."

"Help me get him into the wheelchair." Pam orders Ike, snapping him out of his confusion and bringing him quickly to my side. "On three."

By the time the two of them have helped me up, everyone else in the house is present and asking what's going on and if I'm okay. I understand why everyone is so concerned, but I wish I could just say _once_ and for all that I'm fine and have that be the end of it. Yes, it hurt, but compared to everything else I've been through recently it was _nothing_. It's only a big deal if they make it one, and sadly they seem intent on doing just that.

Ike and dad usher the kids out of the room and into the foyer, assuring them that I'm okay and trying to redirect their attention back to getting ready to go out for the afternoon. My mom stays close by to fuss over me, and Pam continues to freak me out by switching into full on "medical professional" mode and questioning me about where and how much it hurts as opposed to berating me for falling on my ass in front of _her_ grandchildren. But once she's confident that I haven't broken any more bones, her demeanor switches back to the one I've become so familiar with these past few months. She excuses herself to make sure that the kids weren't "too upset" by my accident, telling me I should be more careful in the future. Not for my own sake, but for theirs.

I should just let her leave, it's not like I'll miss her thinly veiled insults and slights on my parenting abilities. But as she makes her way out of the room, I hear myself calling out to her and bringing her to a halt.

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"It's not necessary-"

" _I_ think it is."

"Well... you're welcome." She replies dismissively, turning to leave again.

But again, I stop her. "You should stay."

"Excuse me?"

"For lunch." I elaborate. "You can meet Tommy's mom-"

She frowns at me, exhaling a derisive chuckle at the suggestion. "Why on Earth would I want to do that?"

"Look, I know you don't like him, and you're not my biggest fan. But unless you're planning to go back on your word and fight us for custody, we _are_ going to be raising the kids together. And his mom is probably going to be spending time with them every now and again... so I thought you might like to meet her."

Apparently Pam hadn't bothered to think about it that way, because I can practically see her working through this new logic right before my eyes. It's obvious she can think of a million things she'd rather do than have lunch with me and Tommy, but she knows that all of those things should come in a distant second to getting to know the woman who will someday possibly be viewed as another grandmother in her grandchildren's eyes.

"I meant what I said when we talked in the hospital." I press, trying to knock her off of that fence she's on. "I want us _all_ to be a family. So if you want to stay for lunch, you're welcome to."

"I already told Viggo that I'd go to lunch and to the movies with him. It's his birthday, I don't want to miss it. And I wouldn't want to make Isaac take all five of them out by himself." She says eventually, though the coldness she normally addresses me with is _mostly_ absent from her tone. "Maybe another time."

"Sure."

A moment later, I feel my mom kiss me on the top of my head, and when I look up at her in question, I find her smiling fondly. "You did a good thing."

"Must be a full moon or something."

"Oh, shush." She chuckles, smacking me playfully on the shoulder. "You do _lots_ of good things. You're a good person, and I'm _incredibly_ proud of you."

"You're only saying that 'cause I'm in a wheelchair." I tease her, and she rolls her eyes at me.

"You're _impossible_ sometimes. You get it from your father."

Ike and Pam herd the kids out of the house and off to the Cheesecake Factory and a movie in the minivan, while mom busies herself in the kitchen. I wheel myself over to the dining room archway and watch her for a while, but eventually I just get too frustrated by the fact that _I'm_ not the one in there making lunch for everyone. Listening to her slicing peppers and sauteeing onions, smelling the chicken as it grills and knowing that just a pinch of oregano would make it even better... it's depressing. I miss cooking.

I miss _creating_.

Reaching into the pocket of my jeans, I pull out the flash drive Ike gave to me this morning. He said it had some rough demos and "bits and pieces" of songs on it, and he told me to give them a listen and let him and Zac know what I thought. So, holding the small piece of plastic between my teeth, I wheel myself slowly back through to the family room in search  of my laptop. It's getting a little easier every day for me to get around in this chair by myself, but it still takes a hell of a lot of effort and leaves my arms and chest feeling like I've been lifting weights for _hours_. I wouldn't mind so much if it left me _looking_ like I've been lifting weights for hours at the end of it all, too! But I highly doubt it will.

As soon as I plug in the flash drive and click on the first audio file, my heart jumps.

Piano.

 _Fuck_ , I miss that, too!

The sound of it... it's incomparable. I love all kinds of instruments and all kinds of music, but piano was always the one for me. Just the feel of the keys beneath my fingertips is like being completely at home. Playing guitar or drums is fun, like a vacation, but they're not where I want to stay. They're not where I belong. I always, _always_ want to come home at the end of the day.

I find myself smiling as I listen to the heavy handed playing coming through the speakers of my computer. I _know_ it's Zac, I've known from the first few seconds. He plays piano like he plays drums, with strength and power, and _way_ more force than necessary sometimes. It's not a bad thing, it's just his style. The songs he writes on piano always have great rhythm, they have a _beat_ , whereas mine generally tend to have a gentler quality to them.

 _This_ song has an _awesome_ beat.

Although, I guess it's not really a song yet. There are no lyrics, it's one short piece of music that he's repeating over and over, and every so often he'll "sing" to himself. Not words, just sounds. That's how he works through lyric-less songs. Ike and I usually try to get _something_ in place that makes sense, and then we'll beat the hell out of it for hours, days, months (or sometimes even years) until it's just right. The lyrics we start with might not even be remotely present in the finished song, but at least we're singing _something_. Zac isn't so bothered by the "making sense" part. The words always seem to come to him when they're ready to, and he's unbelievably patient about it. Honestly, I've always kind of envied that about him. Whenever I get a song idea in my head, I become _so_ obsessed with it that I can't stop until it's done!

Unfortunately, this isn't going to be one of those times.

Dad calls out that he "thinks they're here", and I sigh as I somewhat grudgingly close my laptop and put it back on the end table I got it from. By the time someone comes to push me over to the foyer, I've already wheeled myself halfway there. But dad insists on escorting me the rest of the way even when I tell him I can do it myself, so when Tommy and Dia come through the front door a moment later, I look more feeble and pathetic than I actually am. Dia's face immediately adopts the same "oh you poor thing" expression as everyone else's always does as soon as she lays eyes on me, and before she can utter the words out loud, I hear myself telling her that it looks worse than it is.

"He just likes to milk it for sympathy." Teases Tommy, earning himself a playful glower from me.

"Obviously it stopped working on Tommy about two weeks ago." I jibe right back, causing his mouth to fall open in offence. "Don't dish it out if you can't take it."

I can tell from the devilish smile that graces his lips that he would love nothing more than to make some crack about how he _can_ "take it", but thankfully he keeps it to himself. His mom might be used to his sense of humor, but I'm not sure my parents would be able to handle it. I don't think _I_ can handle him making jokes about that kind of thing in front of them. Not yet, anyway.

"You must be Diana?" Dia asks politely, ignoring our playful banter and reaching out a hand for my mom to shake. "I'm Dia. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise!"

"And you're Walker?"

"I see you've heard all about us." He smiles back warmly as the shake hands in greeting. "I hope Tommy hasn't told you _too_ many bad things."

"Actually, he hasn't told me much at all." She replies, casting a pointed look at her son. "He's not the most forthcoming person. Sometimes I think he assumes everyone is psychic."

" _Mom_."

"Don't 'mom' me. If you told me things every once in a while, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Dia informs him smugly, turning her attention back to us. Or more specifically, me. "Although... I suppose sometimes mothers aren't the easiest people in the world to tell things to, are they?"

"Not your fault." I shake my head knowingly. "If we didn't do things that weren't easy to tell you about, there wouldn't be a problem."

"Still... we don't always handle it as well as we could. I'm sorry for how I behaved the last time we talked, Taylor. I've already apologized to Tommy, and I'm _so_ glad I have the chance to apologize to you, too."

"You don't need to apologize. You had _every_ right to be upset with us."

"Is everything okay...?" Mom asks uncertainly, clearly wanting to be let in on the cause of all of this regret.

Dia smiles sadly as she addresses my parents curious expressions. "Just before Taylor's accident, he and Tommy told me the truth about how their relationship started, that Taylor was married... I didn't take it very well at the time."

"Oh, believe me, I think the two of us very likely have you beat on bad reactions." Dad assures her understandingly. "There are _a lot_ of things we wish we could take back when it comes to what has been said and done in our family since Taylor first told us about Tommy."

"How about you guys all go drink tea and talk about what terrible parents you are or whatever, and me and Taylor will go-"

"You're not going _anywhere_." Dia cuts Tommy off, smiling sweetly as she links her arm with his. "You're not leaving my sight, I don't see you enough as it is."

"Nice try." I smirk , still finding his futile attempts to get out of this lunch date entirely too adorable.

"Fine, but if I so much as suspect that you're about to tell a story that starts with 'I remember when' and ends with you embarrassing the crap outta me, I'm getting the hell out of here." He tells her petulantly, and I immediately glance up at my mom.

"What he said!"

Mom rolls her eyes at my shameless immaturity, and she and Dia share a look of mutual exasperation. "Honestly, you two, you're acting like a pair of big _babies_."

"We're having lunch to get to know each other, not to embarrass you." Adds Dia, though the hint of mocking in her tone suggests otherwise.

"Exactly! Dia, can I get you something to drink?"

"Some coffee would be great, thanks."

"I _just_ brewed a fresh pot." Mom smiles, gesturing for Dia to follow her. "The kitchen is right through here."

They exit the foyer, leaving Tommy and I alone with my dad. And the look of irrepressible amusement on his face is all the confirmation I need that we're not getting out of this without embarrassment. _Especially_ not now.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you _not_ to provoke your mothers?" He taunts us with a chuckle, following in the direction that the two of them just left in.

"Run." I tell Tommy as he heaves a heavy sigh and walks towards me instead of making a beeline for the front door. "Save yourself!"

"It's too late." He grumbles, turning the wheelchair around for me and pushing me into the dining room. "We'd never make it. They have fucking radar or something."

"No matter what happens, I just want you to know that I love you."

For a second I see a crack in his miserable exterior, and a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. But it's gone just as quickly as it appeared, and the scowl he's now wearing is even more pronounced than it was before to compensate for his momentary lapse.

"If you _really_ loved me, we'd be half way to Tijuana right now."

"It's not my fault! I recently suffered a traumatic brain injury and I think my judgment has been _severely_ impaired!"

This time there's nothing he can do to even attempt to conceal his smile. "Right. Plus, your judgment wasn't exactly stellar to start with, so..."

Touché.


	99. Chapter 99

  


 

 

Despite our melodramatics, lunch isn't _so_ bad. Our moms end up doing most of the talking, with dad chiming in whenever he feels the urge. At first their main focus is on getting the food served and making sure that we all have everything we need to settle in for a long lunch in the dining room. Then they go through the requisite "getting to know you" life history bit, filling each other in on where they grew up, how long they've been married, their kids, grandkids, jobs, etc.

The only time the conversation becomes even slightly uncomfortable is when Dia is forced to tell my parents about Ron and his passing. It's obvious to everyone that it's not her favorite topic (or Tommy's), so my parents avoid asking any probing questions. And once they've offered their sympathies, the conversation is quickly diverted away from that emotional minefield and back to more cheerful things.

But my hand continues to hold Tommy's under the table for a good ten minutes or so after that. Partly because I want to be touching him, but mostly because I can tell that he _needs_ to be touching me. Any mention of his dad tends to leave him a little gloomy, even if the mention was a fond memory and the resulting melancholy only lasts for a few moments. But I think recent events have intensified that feeling for him. Seeing me in the hospital, being in the ICU with me and not knowing if I was going to be okay, it reopened an old wound that had barely closed. It also caused plenty of _new_ wounds, and even though he seems fine and _says_ he's fine, I know he's still healing from it.

We both are.

"It's going to take a while to get used to the fact that you _live_ here." Dia tells Tommy as she gazes around the dining room with a small smile of approval on her face.

"I know, right? I mean, I was basically already living here ever since Taylor moved to L.A., but it's still kinda weird that all my stuff is here now, too. Like... it's home, but part of me keeps thinking I have to go back to my apartment and get some clean clothes or whatever."

"Well it's _definitely_ a step up from the apartment, that's for sure." She chuckles. "I know you were fine with it, but I'm glad to see you move on from that whole 'perpetual bachelor' stage. It's about time!"

"Honestly, I was surprised to learn that they hadn't already moved in together before now, too." Dad confesses, talking to Dia as though we're not even in the room, let alone sitting at the same table. "I can't speak for Tommy, because obviously we didn't know him very well until recently, but Taylor was clearly _very_ serious about their relationship. For him to move all the way out here, away from his family, and to finally 'come out' to us after all of this time... he must have been extremely sure of their future together to take such a leap."

"I was." I chime in immediately. "I _am_."

"We know, honey." Mom assures me, reaching over to pat my hand in an effort to wipe the scowl off of my face. But my mother attempting to mollify me has only ever resulted in me pouting even _more_. "All your father is saying is that we were a little confused by the fact that you two were so serious about each other and yet you were still living apart."

"We just didn't want to rush anything." I shrug, like it's that simple. Like it's not a total lie, and I wouldn't have loved to have Tommy move into this house the exact same day I did. "We wanted the kids to get used to things and get to know him better."

"That's very responsible of you both." Dia nods proudly before offering Tommy a sheepish smile. "Now I feel bad for assuming that you were putting it off because you weren't ready to give up all of your precious 'Tommy time' and _finally_ move in with someone."

"Thanks!" He shoots back, his tone half amused and half wounded.

But I think he knows he can't be completely offended when her assumption was completely spot on.

"So.... is this the first time you've _ever_ lived with someone you've been in a relationship with?" Mom asks Tommy uncertainly, and I have a hunch that she's not exactly impressed by the thought.

"Uh... yeah, I guess."

"Oh."

She smiles, but it looks pretty forced from where I'm sitting. And the silence that falls over everyone at the table does nothing to make me feel any better. I'm seriously considering falling out of my wheelchair on purpose just to distract us all! But thankfully I don't have to go to those lengths, because Dia seems to be as eager to escape the tension as I am.

"Let me help with the dishes-"

"No, no. You're our guest!" Mom insists, instantly rising from her chair and beginning to gather up the dirty lunch plates. "Besides, God created husbands for a reason."

"That would be my cue to get out of my chair, yes?" Jokes dad, though Tommy and I are still feeling too awkward to do more than smile faintly in return.

My parents flit around the dining room for a while, and eventually retreat to the kitchen with armfuls of dishes and half-full serving plates. Once they're gone I turn to Tommy and give his hand a gentle squeeze, which helps to pull his attention away from the table top.

"Why don't you give your mom the grand tour?"

"Yes, _why_ don't you?" Asks Dia in a mocking tone, already getting up from her seat. "Thank you, Taylor. If I'd waited for him to offer to show me around, I'm sure I still wouldn't know where the nearest bathroom is in five years from now!"

"Nice." Tommy mutters, grudgingly standing up and dropping his napkin onto the table. "What is it? 'Rag on Tommy Day' or something?"

"I wasn't 'ragging' on you, but you have to admit that you're not exactly proactive when it comes to keeping people informed. Look how long it took you to give me your new address!" She taunts as she pokes him playfully in the side and follows him towards the family room. "It was like you didn't want me to know where to find you."

"It's not that I didn't want you to be able to find me. I just didn't want you coming over with meatloaf and shit whenever the hell you felt like it and claiming you were like 'in the neighborhood' or whatever." He teases right back.

"Oh, hush! You love my cooking and you know it."

I wait until I'm confident that they're not going to be coming back any time soon, and then I carefully wheel myself around the dining table and over to the kitchen. I can hear my parents talking in hushed voices, but half of their conversation is obscured by the sounds of running water and dishes being moved around on the counter top. I can just about make out enough of it to know that whatever they're saying isn't positive, though. Their use of phrases like "only upset him" and "not the time" don't really leave me with the warmest and fuzziest of feelings.

I _knew_ it was too good to be true; everything was going too smoothly, so of course there had to be _something_ stupid for them to get hung up on. They couldn't just accept Tommy for who he is and respect our relationship, they _had_ to find a problem.

"Well we have to say _something_ , Walker." Mom exclaims as I slowly make my way into the room behind them. "He deserves to know."

"Deserves to know what?" I interrupt, causing them both to visibly jump before turning to face me.

I'm not used to seeing them look so shamefaced. Probably because I'm not used to catching them doing anything wrong. But right now, they look like a couple of kids who got caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Uh..." Not a great start, dad. "We were just discussing..."

"Christmas." Mom quickly interjects for him when he can't seem to come up with a believable lie fast enough, and I notice him sigh and roll his eyes.

Which is kinda what I feel like doing right now, too. "Christmas?"

"Yes."

"Right. So you _weren't_ discussing how worried you are about the fact that Tommy hasn't ever lived with anyone he's been in a relationship with before? And how you think it makes him irresponsible, and that it makes it more likely that he's not gonna stick around?"

Mom's mouth immediately falls open in a very realistic show of indignation. But I'm not buying it. "No! Of course not!"

"You're wrong, you know. He's _not_ irresponsible, and he's _not_ gonna leave me and the kids."

"Taylor, we never-"

"And it's ridiculous for you to jump to that conclusion, not to mention _completely_ hypocritical! I mean, you guys never lived with anyone else before you got married. Zac has never lived with anyone but Kate, and Ike has never lived with anyone besides Nikki, but you've never doubted _their_ relationships-"

"Honey, we _don't_ doubt your relationship with Tommy." Mom beseeches me earnestly as she sets down the plate in her hands and finally turns off the running water. "And we don't doubt that he's responsible, or that he's going to stand by you and the children. After everything he's done for them and for you these past few weeks, we'd have to be fools to think he wasn't completely committed to you!"

" _We're_ not the ones jumping to conclusions here."

"But... I... it's just... you seemed _so_ put off when he said he hadn't lived with anyone before." I frown, looking back and forth between their soft, sincere smiles.

"We were surprised, perhaps." Shrugs dad unconcernedly. "But I promise you, anything else you thought we might have been feeling was all in your head."

"So if you weren't talking about me and Tommy just now... what were you in here whispering about? You were saying you didn't wanna upset me and that I deserved to know." Their faces automatically resume the same guilty expressions they were wearing before, and my body is automatically flooded with the same sense of dread as before. " _What_ do I deserve to know?"

"We really _were_ talking about Christmas." Mom swears wholeheartedly, though I'm not quite ready to believe her yet. "We've been trying to find the right moment to tell you..."

"Tell me what?"

"Well... when you and Tommy decided that you were coming to Tulsa with the children for Christmas, Pam decided not to go back to Georgia for the holidays like she was planning to." Uh-oh... "And since she doesn't have any family in Tulsa-"

" _Please_ tell me you haven't done what I think you've done?"

"We felt bad for her, Taylor! She just wants to be with the children. Besides, we've been her family for years now, we've spent _so_ many holidays and birthdays together, we couldn't _not_ invite her."

"But she _hates_ us! Do you really think anyone's gonna have a merry Christmas if she spends the whole time taking shots at Tommy and reminding me of what a shitty father I've always been? She's probably going to bring Natalie up every five seconds, and talk about past Christmases, and it's just gonna make everyone uncomfortable and make the kids miserable!"

"She won't." Dad tells me so confidently that I feel as though he must have some kind of control over Pam that he's never mentioned to anyone before. "We made it very clear that this Christmas is about being together as a family, it's about starting over and making new memories, not rehashing the past and dwelling on the way things were."

"We told her that it's fine to mention Natalie if the moment calls for it, no one wants to forget her or pretend she never existed. We know you don't want that, and hopefully Tommy can appreciate and respect the fact that she will _always_ be part of all of our lives. Just as he will be from now."

"I just... I want this Christmas to be special." I sigh heavily, wondering if I sound as foolish as I feel. "Not just because it's our first Christmas together as a family, but because it's their first Christmas without Nat, and I don't want them to spend it feeling like something isn't right. I mean, I know that's probably unavoidable, but I guess I just thought that if I could make everything as perfect as possible-"

"Then they wouldn't notice that she's not there?" Dad finishes for me, offering me a small, knowing smile. "They're going to notice, buddy, no matter how perfect you make things."

"Maybe you shouldn't focus so much on trying to distract them from the bad." Suggests mom in that nurturing tone that comes so naturally to her, the one that has always made me feel like she has all the answers and everything is going to work out okay. "They're going to think about her, and they're going to want to talk about her. So if we all focus on making it _okay_ for them to do that, then they'll be able to experience whatever emotions come up for them, and they won't feel that they have to hold it all in. It may not be the perfect, merry Christmas you've envisioned, but it might be exactly what they need. This year, at least."

"I just... I don't know how to help them move on _and_ keep them from forgetting her. I tell them about her all the time, River and Penny ask to hear stories about her before bed more than they ask to hear regular bedtime stories. But even when I tell them happy things, they always end up looking sad. I try to tell them things that will comfort them, but they never seem comforted at all. I feel like I'm getting it wrong."

"You're _not_ , sweetheart. You're doing everything you can to make things better for them, whether it's what _you_ want or not. They're incredibly lucky to have such a selfless and supportive father, and I _know_ they feel lucky to have you."

I wish _I_ knew it.

"We're sorry we didn't ask you before inviting Pam to join us for Christmas. But we're going to make sure things go as smoothly as possible." Dad promises me comfortingly. "It's going to be okay."

I nod, even though I'm not entirely sure if I believe it. Nothing ever seems to be completely okay, no matter how hard we all try to make it that way. "I'm sorry I accused you guys of doubting Tommy. I didn't mean to assume the worst, I just..."

"You don't have to apologize. After everything that's been said and done, it's completely understandable that you'd think that way." Mom concedes with a regretful sigh. "I wish we could go back and do things differently, but since that's obviously not possible, all we can do is try harder from now on."

"We know that this is it for you, and we aren't here trying to change your mind or plant any kind of doubt. We've seen for ourselves how much Tommy obviously cares for you and the children, and we have _no_ reason to question how the two of you feel or try to undermine your relationship."

"Really? So... are you're saying you're _honestly_ okay with it? With me and Tommy, and... me being gay?"

Dad smiles at the apparent look of shock on my face, and he gives a sole nod. "We're definitely more okay with it than we have been until now, that's for sure."

"We just want you to be happy, sweetheart. And despite the difficult circumstances we've all been living under these past few weeks, we've _seen_ how happy you are when Tommy is around." Admits mom, clearly still struggling a little with the idea of it all, but no longer allowing that reserve to dictate her opinions or actions. "We always believed that you were in love with Natalie, and now we realize that we only saw what we wanted to see. Or perhaps what _you_ wanted us to see. Because when you're with Tommy it's _blatantly_ obvious how you feel about him, and vice versa. We've never seen you look at someone that way before. And that's what we want for you. We want you to be _so_ happy, it's all we've ever wanted, even if we haven't always done a very good job of showing it. We didn't understand before, we were so concerned with what we believed was right... but now we see what truly _is_ right."

"I don't know what to say..." I admit in astonishment. "This means so much to me... it means _everything_."

"I know." She smiles fondly as she wraps her arms around me and hugs me as tightly as she dares to. "I'm sorry it took us so long to catch up. You should've _never_ had to wait to hear all of this."

I open my mouth to argue, to tell her that it's not her fault. If I'd been honest with them sooner, if I'd given them more time to adjust instead of dumping every last truth I could think of on them all in one go, maybe they would've handled things better and we all would have suffered a lot less. But no matter what I say, I know she'll disagree just as adamantly. Arguing about who owes who an apology is still arguing, and I'm so tired of it. So instead I close my mouth, and I close my eyes, and I hug my mother back.

It's all either of us needs right now.

Dia winds up staying for another hour or so to have coffee and to spend a little more time chatting with my parents. At first Tommy and I try to participate in the conversation, but we very quickly feel as though our presence is completely unnecessary. It is, however, still expected. So since we're being left out of the discussion almost entirely, I decide to start a separate one via text. It's pretty funny, actually. We're two grown men, sitting in a room together with our parents, smirking and snickering to ourselves as we message each other like we're in entirely different places. Every few minutes one of the _real_ adults in the room will glance at us and roll their eyes or shake their heads, but neither of us cares.

It feels good to be a teenager in love.

Things finally wind down right before Ike and Pam arrive home with the kids, and my mom and Dia exchange every form of contact information either of them has. The grown up part of me is glad they hit it off so well and want to stay in touch, but the teenage part of me is totally paranoid about our parents communicating in any way without our knowledge or consent. Who knows what lies (or worse, truths) they might tell each other; it shouldn't be allowed!

Once Dia has said her goodbyes and Tommy has taken her home, mom goes straight back to the kitchen to start cooking again. Tonight is not only Viggo's birthday dinner, it's Ezra's last meal with us in this house for who the hell knows how long. So mom is making _two_ meals: mac and cheese with hotdogs, which is Viggo's favorite (this week, at least), and tacos, which is Ezra's. I think she can tell how frustrated I am about not being able to be the one doing all of the cooking, either that or she just gets sick of having me lingering in the kitchen. Because after almost tripping over my wheelchair for the tenth time, she pushes me out into the dining room with a dish full of cooked pork and orders me to start shredding it. And once I'm done with that, I'm given the _vital_ role of cutting up hotdogs.

But at least I get to contribute _something_ to both Viggo's birthday dinner and Ezra's goodbye dinner.

The house goes from abnormally quiet to overflowing with noise and activity as soon as the kids get home. Penny, River and Viggo are all still hopped up on candy and excited to fill me in on every detail of what they had for lunch and what movie they saw with Ike and Pam. I don't really understand most of what they're telling me, though, because they're talking over each other and jumping from one all-important point to another like they all have ADD. They're happy, though, that much is clear. And that's the only thing I need to know.

Ike and Pam say their goodbyes to me and the kids (well, Ike says goodbye to me. Pam kind of looks at me like she might say something but never actually does), and he takes her back to her hotel as soon as Tommy gets home. Mom and dad are next to leave, with mom joking that she's making dad take her out for a night on the town, since it's their last evening in Los Angeles. But I know that they're really just giving me and Tommy some time alone with the kids. Time to be a family.

Which is why it surprises me when Tommy tries to excuse himself, too!

He says he'll be in the movie room if we need anything, but I manage to grab him by the back of his shirt before he has a chance to make it out of my limited reach. He can obviously tell just from the outraged expression on my face that I expected him to stay, just as I can tell from the apologetic expression on his face that he never intended to.

"You should have some time with them." He tells him, his voice lowered enough that the kids remain oblivious to our conversation. The mountains of food on the table in front of them are also a helpful distraction. "It's okay-"

"No, it's not okay! I can have time with them while you're here."

"I know, but... it's Ezra's last night. It should just be like... family."

"You _are_ family." I implore him earnestly.

"You know what I mean."

"No, I-"

"Daddy, can we _please_ eat now?!" River desperately exclaims. "I'm _starving_!"

"Yeah, dude. Just a second, okay?" I turn back to Tommy, ready to resume trying to convince him that he belongs at that table with us tonight rather than sitting alone in separate room.

But once again, my hungry kids can't contain themselves.

"Tommy, come have some tacos!"

He smiles gratefully at my youngest son and shakes his head. "That's okay, buddy. I'm not really hungry right now."

"But they're your _favorite_!" Objects River, leaving Tommy staring back at him in surprise.

"How'd you know that?"

"'Cause you said so."

Tommy frowns faintly, clearly failing to recall the moment when he divulged that particular piece of information. "I did?"

"We had tacos after the movies one time, and I said they were my favorite, and you said they were _your_ favorite. That was when you started being my friend."

It takes him a moment of rewinding back through his memories with my kids to figure out if this was something that ever actually happened, or if it's something River made up in his mind. But when he goes back far enough, all the way to the beginning, the look in his eyes changes in a heartbeat.

"You remember that?"

"Uh-huh." River shrugs, like it's no big deal.

"Me, too." Chimes in Penny. "You told me you wore a tutu once, and I thought you were weird. I _still_ think you're kinda weird."

"Wow..." He laughs softly, awed by the fact that any of the can recall any details from that one, random day.

It meant something to the two of us, for reasons none of them could have known, but we both just assumed that there was nothing remarkable about that day for them. Apparently, we were wrong. There was something remarkable about it for them, and that something is standing right here beside me.

"You guys have _freakishly_ good memories!"

Penny smiles proudly at him over the back of her chair. "We know."

"We played tag at the park." Ezra suddenly pipes up, and even though no one else was talking when he spoke, it feels as though the room just fell even _more_ silent than it already was. "It was fun..."

I notice Tommy and Ezra lock gazes, and I realize that one small statement holds _so_ much more importance for the two of them than the rest of us understand. I'm not really sure what the significance behind that comment is, exactly, but I _know_ I'm not just imagining it the way I was imagining the tension in the air at lunch.

I also know that now isn't the time or the place to ask about it; I wouldn't dare do anything to ruin this moment.

"Want a taco?" Ezra asks him simply, like whatever it was that just passed between them never happened at all.

Tommy's eyes flit from Ezra's almost stoic expression to the hopeful, pleading ones of the other irresistible little faces seated at the table. And when he ultimately heaves a deep sigh, I know he's been won over.

"I never say no to tacos."


	100. Chapter 100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy wow! Chapter 100! I kinda can't believe it (and if you're reading this, I can't believe you're still here)! Thank you guys for sticking with me and the boys on this bumpy journey we've been dragging you all along for. ;) We'll try not to keep you too much longer (though I honestly can't tell you exactly how much further we have to go)...

  


 

 

There was something different about dinner tonight.

It wasn't just the fact that we were all there together; we all sat down to Thanksgiving dinner together a few weeks ago, too (although, it feels like it's been a hell of a lot longer than that). And to be honest, Ezra didn't say much more tonight than he did at Thanksgiving. At first we were all so focused on the food that it didn't really matter who was and wasn't speaking. But once we all had mountains of mac and cheese on our plates, I noticed his brothers and sister chancing curious looks his way, probably wondering what mood he was in and whether it was okay to say anything to him.

It was River who finally worked up the nerve to directly address his big brother. His former best friend. All he did was ask him to pass the guacamole, which Ezra did, and it was as though that one simple gesture proved to everyone present that it _was_ okay. He wasn't going to throw a taco at anyone just for speaking to him, or storm off from the table if they said the wrong thing. Maybe he didn't feel up to doing much more than nodding or offering one word replies, but it was still better than nothing.

Better than it has been for a _long_ time.

After both dinner and an (un)healthy amount of birthday cake had been devoured, we all settled in for a movie of Viggo's choosing (with minimal disagreement from his siblings). I had Tommy gag River with his hand so that he couldn't make any "helpful" suggestions and sway Viggo's decision. And without any outside input, Viggo chose to watch ' _Cars 2_ ', which thankfully didn't spark any whining from anyone else. Even I was pleasantly surprised by his selection, though I really didn't end up paying a whole lot of attention to it once it started, to be honest. I spent most of the movie watching the light from the screen dancing across the rapt faces of my kids. Staring down at Viggo's little fingers as they distractedly played with one of the buttons on my shirt. And gazing down the row of recliners at Tommy, who seemed to be equally as captivated by the sight of Asta sleeping on his chest as the kids were with the movie.

I really can't get enough of the way he looks at her sometimes. It's like he can't quite believe she's real. I know the feeling; I still have moments like that myself. Not only with Asta, but that with all of my kids. They'll say something or do something, or look at me a certain way, and it stops me in my tracks. All I can think is "Wow. _How_ is it possible that something so incredible came from _me_?"

They're _amazing_. It's the most wonderful and terrifying thing in the world to know that they're mine, and I think he's starting to feel that more and more, too. Because they _are_ his now. At least in our eyes.

And every day they become more so.

None of us really want to move once the credits begin to roll. Viggo is barely awake, and his older siblings are yawning almost constantly, each setting the other off over and over again. Tommy and I aren't exactly immune, either. So when Penny asks if they can sleep in the movie room with us tonight, neither of us is about to deny her request. Although, in an effort to be a _somewhat_ responsible parent, I tell them that they have to go and get into their pajamas and brush their teeth first, which they reluctantly force themselves to do.

"Where are you going?" I ask as Tommy groans wearily and carefully shifts himself (and Asta) out of his recliner.

"Nowhere." He yawns, gently laying her down on one of the empty chairs between us. "I figure we have five minutes max before they come back, which is just enough time for me to get _us_ changed."

"I can just sleep in what I'm wearing."

"No, you can't." I want to argue but I'm momentarily distracted by his bare chest. And as soon as he notices me staring, he scowls and throws his t-shirt at my head. "Stop perving."

"I'm not _perving_ , I'm just... admiring the view."

"Whatever." He snorts, rolling his eyes and pushing his jeans down without even unbuttoning or unzipping them.

I don't know why I never thought of that. I've wasted _so_ many precious seconds undoing his pants over the course of our relationship, but it's always been entirely unnecessary! Even when he's wearing a belt, they rarely stay as far up as they're supposed to; his trunk is so void of junk that one swift tug on his jeans would leave them around his ankles!

I'll have to remember that for next time.

Whenever the hell that'll be...

"Okay. Your turn."

"But-"

His fingers are already unfastening the top button of my shirt before I can get more than one word of protest out. And he's gotten four more of them undone by the time I've made the very mature decision not to smack him away like a sulky child. I think I'm just gonna have to sit back and let him undress me.

What a _chore_.

"I never woulda thought this could be like... not a sex thing." He observes as he very cautiously peels the sleeves down my arms. "But it's like my brain has totally switched that part of me off or something."

"What?!" I exclaim in absolute horror, leaving him smirking up at me in amusement.

"Not forever, loser. Just for right now, you know? It's like I know there's no point in getting worked up over getting you naked, so I don't."

"That's depressing."

"You think _that's_ depressing? Try being me!" He retorts indignantly, skillfully unbuttoning my pants and yanking down the zipper. "I'm the one who has to take your pants off and _not_ go to town on you. _Such_ a fucking waste..."

Maybe he has enough restraint to undress me without getting turned on by it, or acting on any impulses it might stir in him, but I'm not known for my self-control. All I can think right now is "don't get a hard on, _don't_ get a hard on". Not just because it'll be a pain in the ass (among other things) to be aroused and not be able to do anything about it, but because I don't want to make this any worse for him. And I _definitely_ don't want my kids to notice it!

Thankfully, that thought is enough to keep me calm while he slowly helps me maneuver into my sweatpants.

Tommy was entirely right about us having just enough time to get changed before the kids all come piling back into the room with their pillows and blankets. While they make themselves comfortable in the recliners, he takes Asta up to the nursery to put her to bed. Because he's amazing like that.

I _really_ need to come up with way of showing him how truly grateful I am for everything he's done for us all since the accident, and everything he'll have to do until I'm fully recovered. If there even _is_ anything I can possibly do to show him how grateful I am.

How the hell do you adequately thank someone for something like that?

By the time Tommy returns, we're all snuggled up in our chairs, and Ezra has selected and started the second movie of the night (which everyone will probably sleep through, including him).

Excluding me.

I _can't_ sleep. I watch the rest of my family slip into unconsciousness one by one, like a line of dominoes falling. But I can't. I don't want to. It's really starting to hit me that this is my last night with my son, and I can't take my eyes off of him for fear that he'll disappear if I do. I think tonight has made the prospect of saying goodbye even harder than it was already going to be. If he was giving me the cold shoulder, ignoring us all in favor of his video games, refusing to eat with us or come out of his bedroom, I'd still be heartbroken to see him go but at least I'd know it was the only way to help him. Seeing glimpses of who he used to be has made me wonder if there's some small chance that he could get better if he just stayed here and we all tried harder.

Realistically, I know that's not the case and I know it would be a mistake. I've made the right choice. It's what he needs even if it's not what I want. The only reason I've seen flickers of hope these last couple of weeks is because he actually _has_ hope now. And the only reason he has hope is because he knows that he won't have to stay here and continue feeling this way for much longer. If I make him stay, I'll be snatching that hope away from him.

If I do that to him now, after everything he's been through, it's very likely that I'll _never_ get him back again.

I _have_ to let him go.

Despite my best efforts to stay awake all night, I can't keep my eyes from closing and I'm forced to succumb to sleep like everyone else. For once my sleep isn't plagued by bad dreams, but it sure as hell feels as though I'm having a nightmare when I wake up to find my mom quietly coaxing Ezra out of his recliner, whispering to him not to disturb the rest of us. My heart _immediately_ starts to race so fast that it makes my head spin, and my mind is flooded with panic to the point where I can't remember how to speak!

"Wait!" I finally gasp, reaching out and grasping at my mom's arm, startling her so much that she cries out in surprise. "You can't just take him-"

"We're not." She assures me quickly, prying my hand from her wrist and holding it tightly. "We're not going anywhere yet. I'm just having Ezra come and get dressed and washed up so he's ready when we _do_ need to leave."

I consider saying "okay", but it's _not_ okay. Nothing feels okay right now.

"What time is it?"

"Early. You still have plenty of time."

Plenty of time to say goodbye, is what she means. And I can tell from the apologetic look that crosses her face as soon as the words leave her mouth that she knows I don't see it that way. That no amount of time would be long enough.

"What's goin' on?" Asks Tommy groggily, frowning as Ezra climbs out of his seat and begins gathering up his blanket. "Is it time?"

Mom shakes her head, giving my hand another squeeze even as she responds to Tommy's question. "We're just getting ready."

"Oh..."

"Maybe you could bring Taylor into the kitchen, though?" She suggests, her tone making it clear that it's less of a request and more of an order. "Walker is making coffee."

"Yeah, sure."

Despite her efforts to put my mind at ease, seeing Ezra leave the room with her leaves _me_ on the verge of a panic attack. It doesn't matter that he's not going anywhere yet. He _is_ going. _Soon_.

Too soon.

"I can't do this."

"Hey, it's okay."

All I can do is shake my head hopelessly as Tommy crouches down beside my recliner and places both of his hands soothingly on my arm. "How am I supposed to go out there and say goodbye to my kid? I have _no_ idea when or _if_ he's ever coming back! This is _insane_ , it's a mistake, I can't-"

" _Yes_ , you can." He tells me simply, indisputably, looking at me with nothing but absolute certainty. Because for some strange reason he's always completely fucking sure that I can do _anything_. "It's not a mistake. It's what he needs right now, and you _know_ that. And that's why you're gonna let him go."

"Tommy-"

"I know." His fingers give my arm a gentle squeeze, but I pull it out of his grasp and immediately clutch at his hand instead. "It fucking _sucks_."

"Yeah, it does."

"But it's gonna be okay. You'll see him in a few weeks for Christmas, and then..."

"And then _what_? Say goodbye _again_? Only next time I'll have no clue when I'll see him again." I ask him tearfully, knowing that he can't provide an answer that will offer me any real comfort. But seeing the disheartened look that crosses his face as a result of that fact is enough to make me try harder to reel in my unraveling emotions. I don't want him to feel as helpless as I do. "I'm sorry. I just... I _hate_ this."

"Me too." He concurs, his lips twitching into a small, sympathetic half-smile for the briefest of moments. "I wish I could do something... anything."

"Are you kidding? You do _everything_."

"Well it sure as shit doesn't feel like it."

"I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

"You'd be okay." He smirks faintly. "You survived twenty-seven years without even knowing I existed."

" _Barely_. I can't even remember _how_ anymore, it seems totally impossible. You know you can't go anywhere without me _ever_ again, right?" I inform him pitifully, but as soon as he opens him mouth to reply I know exactly what he's going to say. " _Unless_ it's work related."

"Not fucking fair."

"Life isn't fucking fair. Suck it up."

This time his smile isn't a mere flicker, it's a near grin. "Yes, ma'am."

Per my mom's request, Tommy helps me out of my recliner and into my wheelchair, and we make our way through the eerily quiet house to the kitchen. Normally the scent of freshly brewed coffee would be enough to perk me right up, but my stomach is in so many knots right now that the smell actually makes me nauseous. And when I happen to glance at the clock on the microwave, it only exacerbates the feeling.

Less than an hour from now they'll be on their way to LAX.

Dad and Tommy make somewhat awkward small talk about how they'll probably miss rush hour traffic, the best breakfast options at the airport, and how much Tommy _hates_ flying. Once or twice they try to include me in the conversation, but they quickly seem to realize that I'm not in the chattiest of moods, and so they carry on without me. When I hear footsteps on the stairs, my heart starts to beat faster all over again. Ezra's done getting ready, which means that the only thing left to do is wake up his siblings and say our goodbyes before the airport shuttle arrives.

I don't know which I'm dreading more: watching him say goodbye to his brothers and sisters, or saying goodbye to him myself.

Honestly, I have no idea what to expect in terms of his goodbyes with everyone else. Until last night, he hadn't spent a whole lot of quality time with anyone. Over the past year, his younger siblings have gone from being miserable over his mistreatment of them, to being almost entirely indifferent to him. They missed him at first, but their concern for him gradually became frustration and irritation. They stopped trying to include him in their games, stopped inviting him to watch movies with them, and started reciprocating his apparent contempt for them. I've tried to explain to them that it's not his fault, and that he doesn't mean to be so harsh with them, but I'm not sure that they're old enough to understand.

And even if they are, I'm not sure they actually believe that he still loves them.

By the time the doorbell rings to alert us all to the fact that the shuttle is waiting outside, my parents and Jenna have woken Penny, River and Viggo up and are in the process of ushering them into the foyer. They seem confused by what's going on at first, even though they all knew that Ezra and their grandparents were going back to Tulsa today. But being half-asleep makes the reality of the situation harder for them to grasp. As soon as dad picks up the first suitcase and carries it towards the front door to begin loading up the shuttle, mom's eyes begin to get teary.

"No crying." I tell her gently, even though I know if won't make a damn bit of difference.

It never does.

She'll nod and sniff, wiping delicately at her eyes as she struggles to compose herself. But she'll just well up all over again within thirty seconds. _I'm_ usually fine. Goodbyes are never easy or fun, but it's always been because of other people's emotions rather than my own. I hate seeing people cry, or hearing the hurt in their voice as they tell me they'll miss me. I've never enjoyed leaving my kids behind, but I've always known that I'll see them again soon. I've never been the one _left_ behind, not really. Not like this.

Now I know why my mom gets so emotional.

"We'll see you in a few weeks." She tells the kids, forcing a smile for their sakes as she crouches down and coaxes them all into her arms. "Be good, okay? You have to be big helpers until your daddy is feeling better."

"We will." Penny promises.

"I'm gonna put my toys away!" Adds Viggo earnestly. And though I don't think any of us believe he'll actually do it, I believe that _he_ believes he will. And somehow that's all that really matters. " _And_ I'm not gonna whine."

"Me either!" His brother agrees, puffing his little chest out proudly as he recites one of Natalie's favorite sayings. "You get what you get, and you _don't_ throw a fit."

I instinctively glance up at Tommy, and the fact that I can see him _literally_ biting back a chuckle makes the whole thing even more amusing to me.

"Good!" Mom coos approvingly, giving them all another big squeeze. "I love you all _so_ much."

They chorus "we love you, too", along with their own individual pleas for her not to be sad, and reassurances that they'll be good and that they'll help Tommy take care of me. It's all intended to make her feel better about letting them go, and it all makes me _so_ overwhelmingly proud to be their father. They might be little kids, but they're not oblivious to other people's emotions. Sometimes I think they're more in tune with what we're all feeling than we are, even if they can't comprehend the "why" of it all. And they never hesitate to reach out and try to comfort anyone they think might be upset for any reason, offering the purest and most heartfelt empathy you could imagine. It's one of those things that leaves me in awe of the fact that I have _anything_ to do with their existence.

It makes me believe I'm a better person, and at the same time it makes me want to _be_ a better person.

With the bags loaded into the van, my dad returns to say his own goodbyes to his grandkids. I can tell it's as hard for him to let go as it is for mom, but he always disguises his sadness with smiles and jokes, keeping them giggling the entire time rather than holding them so tightly that they can barely breathe. When he eventually kisses them all one last time and gets to his feet, I'm expecting him and mom to move onto their goodbye with me next. So it pleasantly surprises me when dad holds his hand out to Tommy instead. And it takes Tommy a second or two of staring at him before he quickly reaches out in return.

"It was nice to _finally_ meet you." Dad tells him sincerely, making it clear that nothing that came before these past few weeks counts in his eyes anymore.

"Yeah, you too." Replies Tommy, effectively agreeing to wipe the slate clean.

Dad has barely let go of his hand before mom has him wrapped in a hug that leaves both of us slack-jawed and speechless! Half of whatever it is she's saying to him is muffled by his shirt, but I can make out just enough of it to know that she's apologizing to him and asking him to take care of me. And, most importantly, she's _thanking_ him. Suddenly my already imperfect vision is rendered even less perfect by the tears gathering in my eyes.

And it only gets worse when she lets him go and almost immediately pounces on me instead.

"We love you _so_ much, sweetheart."

"I love you, too." I sniffle, summoning as much strength as I can to hug her back as tightly as she's hugging me. " _Thank you_ for being here."

"I wouldn't have been _anywhere_ else." She tells me unconditionally as she dotingly presses a kiss to my forehead and finally gives me the chance to meet her eyes.

"I know."

I didn't know before.

After I told them that I was gay, I didn't _know_ that they would drop everything and fly to another state to be with me if I was hurt. Even as things began to improve between us before the accident, I couldn't have said for sure that they would acknowledge Tommy as my partner and cooperate with him in order to take care of the kids. I never would've thought that they would actually share our home with him and let him have a say in how things were handled! Not having that certainty was painful, but I thought it was something I was going to have to get used to. I wasn't sure it would ever change.

Now there's no doubt in my mind that my parent's love for me is completely unconditional. For the first time in my _whole_ life, I know that they'll love me no matter what. They know who I really am, and they're still here. I have nothing to be afraid of anymore, there's _no_ question.

I'm not really surprised when my dad hugs me just as tightly as mom did. He's never been one of those fathers who refrains from showing affection, he doesn't believe that boys shouldn't cry or that sensitivity equates to weakness. I honestly don't think that Ike, Zac and I ever could have started expressing ourselves musically and writing songs about love and loss at the ages we did if our dad hadn't been the man that he is. I've _always_ been so incredibly grateful to him for that, and for countless other things.

After everyone else's goodbyes have been said, it's time for Ezra to say his. But it's obvious that he's as unsure of how to go about it as everyone else is. Mom tries to guide him closer, but once he's standing in front of us all, the only thing his brothers and sister can think to do is stare at their feet and fidget awkwardly.

How do you say a fond goodbye to someone who has barely said a kind word to you in ten months?

"Are you gonna come back?" Viggo suddenly blurts out, leaving the rest of us glancing back and forth between him and Ezra with bated breath.

To Viggo it was probably a very simple question with absolutely no hidden meaning to it. But for everyone over the age of ten, it's more. He's not just asking if Ezra will come back to Los Angeles and live with us again one day. He's asking if _Ezra_ will come back.

With a non-committal half-shrug, Ezra's eyes flit to my face for a second, holding my stare before settling back on his brother. "I don't know."

" _I_ hope you come back."

That one simple statement visibly stuns Ezra (and not only Ezra), and for a moment he can't seem to think of anything to say. But when he eventual does find the words, the ones he chooses fill me with relief.

"Me too."

It takes another few seconds of quiet before Viggo musters whatever courage is necessary for him to approach Ezra and wrap his arms around him, and it takes even longer for Ezra to hug him back. But it's obvious from the look on his face that it's not because he doesn't want to. In fact, the faint, sad smile on his lips proves to be some kind of silent signal to Penny and River that it's safe to step forward. And suddenly they're both hugging him, too.

My hand instinctively reaches out for Tommy's, but I miss it and end up grabbing at his pant leg instead. I immediately feel his fingers comb through my hair as he shifts even nearer to the wheel chair, until my head is resting against his hip, and my arm is hooked securely around his thigh. I wish there was a pause button that I could press. I just want to watch my kids hold each other this way indefinitely and pretend that all of the horrible, hurtful things that have been said and done between them since they lost their mom _never_ happened.

I want to freeze this moment so that I won't have to deal with the next one.

All too soon they're letting go, and I know that my own goodbye is closer than it's ever been. But when Ezra turns towards us, it's Tommy who he directs his attention to first. He takes a hesitant step nearer, and I untangle my arm from Tommy's leg so that he can mimic Ezra's movements. I've never seen them hug before, but it looks too familiar for both of them for it to be the first time it's ever happened. I get the feeling much more has happened between the two of them than either of them have made me aware of. And rather than feeling out of the loop or uneasy about it, I feel nothing but _thankful_.

In a perfect world, my son would have felt that he could come to me. I would have been the person he opened up to, and I would have helped him through whatever he was feeling. But I couldn't be that person, for a myriad of reasons. Ezra needed someone, and Tommy was that someone.

I couldn't have, _wouldn't_ have, chosen anyone else for him to connect with and confide in.

"Thank you." Ezra murmurs quietly, and Tommy gives him a gentle, supportive squeeze.

"Any time, dude." Tommy tells him, making sure to meet his eyes as they part and silently reinforce that those words were one hundred percent sincere.

This is it.

I don't even know how to begin, and I can see that Ezra has even less of an idea of how we're supposed to do this. In an effort to literally reach across the divide between us, I hold my hand out to him. He takes it almost instantly, and I give him a hopeful tug nearer. It's forceful enough to let him know that it's okay, but not so much that it doesn't give him the choice to hold back if he chooses to.

But he doesn't.

We haven't hugged since he came to see me in the hospital and asked me to make this moment happen, and that was the first time he'd hugged me since Natalie died. That moment was a release, for both of us. It was something he'd been holding back for months, because he hadn't known how to let go of his anger and resentment and allow himself to be close to me. This time, it's different. It's no less significant, but it's much less intense.

"I'm sor-"

"Don't." I cut him off, holding him a little tighter as I shake my head. " _Don't_ be sorry. You don't need to be sorry, okay?"

He nods against my shoulder, and I hear him choke out an unconvinced "Okay."

"I need you to be good for grandma and grandpa." I tell him, trying to keep my own voice steady and strong so that this all sounds less like the plea it actually is. "They want to help you, but you have to _let_ them."

"I will."

"And if you need anything, _anything_ , you call me. I don't care what time it is, you can _always_ call me."

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

I know I have to let him go, but I don't know _how_ to. It's like I'm physically incapable of it. My brain is telling my arms to loosen their grip, but they refuse to listen.

"We'll see you in a few weeks." I reassure us both, but a soft sniffle is the only response I receive. "You can come home whenever you want. You know that, right? To visit, or to stay... just say the word."

He nods again, releasing his hold on me just enough to wipe at his damp eyes. But that somehow forces me to let go of him, pulling back until we're face to face, and taking his tear stained cheeks in my hands. He looks so much younger right now than he actually is. It's funny... all year he's looked far too bitter and angry to be barely ten years old. Suddenly he's just a little kid again.

He's _my_ little kid again.

"I love you."

His glassy eyes stare intently back into mine, searching, and it's heartbreaking to know that some part of him isn't entirely convinced that I mean what I've just said. I don't know if it's me he still doubts so much, or if he doubts that he's someone worth being loved. Either way, it doesn't matter.

Either way, I'm going to do _everything_ I can to prove him wrong.                   

The shuttle driver honks the horn outside, pulling us out of our staring match (and making me aware of the fact that everyone else present was staring at us, too). Even as I let him pull away from me my hands still hold onto him, feeling him slip through my grasp bit by bit until he's out of my reach entirely. I'm not empty handed for long, though, because Tommy is quick to lace his fingers with mine, giving me something steady and secure to cling to while I watch Ezra back away towards my parents.

"We'll call you when we land." Dad tells me.

"I'll text you once we've checked in for our flight." Mom quickly one-ups him, sensing that I need a little something more, and I need it a lot sooner than six hours from now.

"Thanks."

"We'll see you soon, honey." She reminds me tearfully, just as I did for Ezra a moment ago.

"Yeah..."

Dad wordlessly places a hand on Ezra's shoulder, letting him know that it's time to leave, and mom quickly wipes her eyes before picking her carryon bag up off of the foyer floor and lifting it over her shoulders. No one speaks as they make their way to the front door, and when someone finally does break the silence it's only dad quietly asking mom if she has everything or if she needs him to carry something. I don't even realize that I'm holding my breath until the door closes behind them, and then a sudden exhale escapes me out of nowhere. A rush of tears threatens to follow, but I know I can't let them all out. Not now, not with my kids all watching me intently, looking to me for some sign of how to handle this.

"Okay..." I sigh, my voice wavering faintly and forcing me to clear my throat. "Who wants breakfast?"

"Come on." Jenna encourages them all with the brightest smile she can muster. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm in the mood for chocolate chip pancakes."

"Me too!" Exclaims Viggo gleefully. "Can I have mine shaped like Christmas trees?"

"It's not Christmas _yet_." Penny reminds him, smiling faintly even as she rolls her eyes.

"I still want Christmas trees!"

Jenna chuckles softly, placing an arm around Penny's shoulders as the three of them accompany her through to the kitchen. "You can have _whatever_ shapes you want, how's that?"

I can _feel_ Tommy waiting for them all to leave the room before he asks me if I'm okay or tries to comfort me. But as badly as I want to be comforted, I _need_ him not to attempt it right now. If he gives me permission to be weak, I'll break down. I don't want to break down, at least not until the kids are out of the house and oblivious to it. I need them to believe I'm okay, that everything is going to be okay.

They've spent enough time worrying about me, I want them to have some _peace_ for once!

Thankfully, before Tommy can say anything more than "are you", the distinct sound of Asta crying comes drifting through the house and fills the room around us. She may not be able to really talk yet, but that wail of hers speaks loud and clear.

_I'm awake! Where is everyone? My diaper is wet! Feed me!!!_

"Can you...?" I begin to ask him apologetically, but I don't even need to finish the question because he's already on his way across the foyer in the direction of the nursery.

"I'll be _right_ back." He turns on his heel to reassure me, as though he's worried I might think he's abandoning me in my time of need. But I know better.

I know I'm not alone.

Well, I mean, I _am_. At this very moment, I'm _literally_ sitting here alone.

But I don't _feel_ alone.

Sad? Yes. Disappointed? Absolutely. But not even slightly alone. I know my family loves me, whether they're right here with me or a thousand miles away. I know my children love me, and I know how _incredibly_ lucky I am to have them. I'm incredibly lucky to have a best friend like Alex, who knows me better than almost anyone, knows all of my darkness, and still thinks the world of me. And I'm lucky to have somehow managed to come out of these past few weeks with a new friend like Holden.

And Tommy...

Lucky doesn't even begin to cover it.

I don't know what I did to deserve him, or why he wants someone like me, but I've _finally_ resolved to stop questioning it and just fucking _appreciate_ it. More than that, I'm going to do _everything_ I can to live up to it. To be _worth_ it. Because for whatever reason, he's chosen me. He doesn't want anyone else, and god knows he could certainly _have_ pretty much anyone he wants.

He's not going anywhere. He's not leaving me.

I've got him, and _nothing_ could ever convince me to let go.

The day progresses as normally as it probably can when everyone is aware that something is missing. And without mom and dad around to help out with the morning routine, Jenna and Tommy have to get used to tackling the before-school-runaround with half as many hands on deck. They end up running a little behind schedule, but not so much that the kids will be late for school. Tommy hands Asta off to Jenna so that she can take her back to the nursery and get her dressed, and then he hustles River and Penny (and Viggo, because he insisted on tagging along) out to the minivan.

The sound of their busy chatter comes to an abrupt stop when the front door closes once again, and for the second time in less than two hours I find myself sitting in an empty, silent room. The exhaustion of faking normalcy all through breakfast finally fits me like a wall, and the next thing I know I'm hunched over in my wheel chair, head in hands, _sobbing_ like a baby.

 _Fuck_.

"Daddy?"

Penny's voice startles me, and at first I'm not even convinced that it's real. I look towards the French doors that separate the family room from the dining room, and sure enough I can just about make out her small form through my blurry vision. Like an idiot, I bat quickly at my eyes and take a deep breath, forcing a weak smile and trying to act like I wasn't just blubbering.

"H-hey... what's wrong? Did you forget your backpack?"

She shakes her head slowly, staring at me in obvious concern. "No..."

"I'm okay, Penny. _Really_. I-"

"You're crying."

"I'm just a little sad about Ez leaving, that's all. But I _promise_ I'll be fine."I insist wholeheartedly, wheeling myself closer to her as she takes a cautious step into the room with me. "You should get back to the car, you're gonna be late for school!"

"I just needed to tell you something."

"Oh yeah? What's up, baby girl?"

"I don't wanna go."

"To school?" I frown worriedly, wondering if those bratty little bullies have done something else to make her want to hide away in her bedroom all day.

"No... to Tulsa." She corrects me. "I don't wanna go back to Tulsa like Ezra did."

Oh God...

 _Please_ let her be serious.

"Are you sure?"

With a single nod of her head, she boldly closes the gap between us and carefully climbs up into the wheelchair with me, settling herself on my non-broken leg and wrapping her arms around me. And I don't pause for a second before clutching her too me, squeezing my eyes tightly shut as a few more tears roll off of my cheeks and into her sunny blonde hair.

"You're not staying because you think it's what _I_ want, are you?" I ask her anxiously. "Because I want _you_ to be happy, that's all that matters. I'll be okay as long as you're okay."

"I'm okay." She assures me, snuggling against my chest. "Besides, who's gonna look out for Asta if I'm not here? She needs a big sister."

"Well, I don't know about that... you never had a big sister, and I think you turned out pretty perfect."

I feel her giggle softly as I kiss the top of her head, and she shrugs as she looks up at me with those deep brown, _hopelessly_ honest eyes of hers. "I had mommy."

"Yeah, you did."

"Asta doesn't have mommy. She needs me, it's _my_ job to take care of her... mommy said so."

She did.

From the day we found out that the baby growing inside of her was another little girl, Penny became ten times more involved in every aspect of planning for the baby shower, picking out baby clothes, and even choosing a name. She'd talk to Natalie's baby bump, tell her unborn sibling stories and sing to her, or sometimes simply sit beside Natalie on the couch and lovingly stroke her belly. She's always loved her little brothers, even when they intentionally drive her nuts, but her little sister was something extra special. Her little sister was _hers_ , and Natalie would always remind Penny of how much Asta was going to need her big sister to teach her things and keep her safe.

She told her that they needed to stick together. _Always_.

"I'm proud of you, Pen." I tell her in a near whisper, placing another kiss to the tip of her nose, which she wrinkles and exaggeratedly wipes with the back of her hand. "Mommy would be proud of you, too."

"I hope so." She sighs pensively, resting her head back against my shoulder. "I wanna be _just_ like her when I grow up."

"You already _are_ justlike her."

"Really?"

" _Really_." I swear sincerely. "Next to grandma, your mommy was the kindest, sweetest woman I've _ever_ known. She was nice to everyone, and she took care of everyone, and everyone loved her. _I_ loved her. And I love you more than _anything_."

"I love you too, daddy."

Having my daughter in my arms doesn't make up for the fact that my son is about to board a plane bound for another state. Hearing her say that she loves me doesn't make up for the fact that he hasn't expressed the same sentiments in longer than I can remember. But it's still _exactly_ what I needed this morning.

The Ezra shaped hole in my chest is still there, but the love and compassion emanating from this precious little girl is more than easing the pain, smoothing the jagged edges, and making that dark spot a little brighter. I'm lucky. I'm loved.

And I'm _not_ alone.


	101. Chapter 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S TOMMY TIME! I don't know about you guys, but I missed being in this guy's brain. lol He's back for a couple of chapters, and we'll probably hear from him at least a few more times before we get to the end of this "little" journey. ;)

  


 

 

_ Los Angeles, California - December 20th, 2012 _

__

Fuck Christmas.

I'm _so_ over this bullshit, it's the worst idea anyone has _ever_ fucking had. I blame the Christians. And Bing Crosby. Those fuckers. If I have to hear 'White Christmas' one more time, I'm gonna start hanging random people by their necks from holly wreaths and doing horribly sadistic things to them with tree toppers!

My days are neither merry _nor_ bright. They're long and chaotic and _exhausting_.

If I stay home I'm surrounded by children _all_ day, because some childless motherfucker thought "Christmas Break" was a good idea. Well it's _not_. Kids should be in school getting a goddamn education, not hanging around the house for a whole fucking week leading up to Christmas day! And whenever I leave the house, I almost get sideswiped by crazy ass drivers who're apparently too busy singing along to 'All I Want For Christmas' to signal before they change lanes on the fucking freeway! Or I'm nearly trampled to death by frantic Christmas shoppers while 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas' plays for the zillionth fucking time in the background!

The next person who chirps "Happy Holidays" at me is getting bitch slapped. Man, woman or child, I don't even care.

Because I haven't gotten laid in almost a _month_!

In fact, I haven't gotten any action below the waist _at all_ , and according to Jenna it's starting to make me "cranky".

She didn't _say_ that lack of sex is the reason, because she doesn't know (at least, I hope she doesn't...). She just casually noted over breakfast this morning that I'm "cranky" and that I need to "get into the holiday spirit". And all I could think was "fuck you, I don't _want_ to get into the holiday spirit! I want to get in my boyfriend's pants!"

The worst part is, I actually _do_ get in his pants. More than once most days. But it's never for the reasons I wish it was, it's just to help him get dressed in the morning and changed for bed at night. It's fucking _torture_.

Actually, that's not the worst part.

The worst part is that _I'm_ the one holding back. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't say no if I tried something, in fact _he's_ tried to start something multiple times. And every damn time I find an excuse to stop it before it goes anywhere! He touches me, and it makes my whole freaking body _buzz_ , my heart starts to race, I forget to breathe, I want him _so_ fucking badly...

And then I pull away and tell him that I forgot to turn the coffee maker off, or that I think I hear Asta crying, or I need to use the bathroom.

And it's all _bullshit_.

The real reason I don't wanna start anything is because I don't know if we can finish it. He's doing better all the time, but he's not one hundred percent healed yet, not even _close_. Some days he'll push himself too hard, or try to turn too far around in his wheel chair to reach something or look at someone, and the _agony_ is written all over his face. I _hate_ seeing him in pain, and I definitely don't wanna be the cause of it. So I keep telling myself that we have to wait. _I_ have to wait.

But _all_ I wanna do every time I'm helping him get undressed is tear his boxers off and-

"Fuck you, asshole!" I yell at the jackass driver who just cut me off. "How about you use your fucking turn signal next time?! _Douchebag_."

"Have I ever told you that I fear for my life when you drive?" Isaac chuckles beside me.

" _He_ cut _me_ off!"

"Yeah, after signaling to get in this lane for almost an hour!" He points out. But I still say there _was_ no fucking turn signal. "Maybe you just couldn't see it from that other planet you were on?"

"Whatever."

"Don't you mean 'bah humbug'?"

"Why you gotta be a dick?" I mutter, swerving into the exit lane and mentally flipping off whoever it was that just honked at me. "Don't make me hate you; you're one of the few people left on the planet right now that I can actually stand to be around!"

"That makes me feel special." He tells me condescendingly, and out of the corner of my eye I notice him place his hand to his heart. Melodramatic motherfucker. "But you know what'd make me feel even _more_ special?"

I just _know_ I'm gonna regret this. "What?"

"Living long enough to eat lunch."

"Fuck you. I got us here in one piece, didn't I?"

"It was touch and go there for a- _ow_!" The fact that he's laughing as he cries out in pain makes slapping him in the chest a hell of a lot less satisfying. "Jeez, you're hostile today!"

"I'm _not_ hostile." I'm horny. "Shut up."

"Fine, I'll shut up. But only because I don't wanna jeopardize my chances of enjoying one last meal before I let you drive me home."

"At the rate you're going, you're not _getting_ a ride home."

He's not the only one who's not getting a ride...

 _Damnit_.

I cannot _not_ think about it, and it's driving me _crazy_!

When we arrive safely at our favorite lunch destination, Isaac makes a show of practically falling out of the passenger seat and onto the sidewalk, pretending to kiss the ground as passersby watch in amusement. And yeah, okay, I'll admit it's pretty fucking funny. But I'm old and set in my grumpy ways, so I refuse to so much as crack a smile before kicking him in the butt and ordering him to stop making out with the parking meter he's currently latched onto like it's a piece of driftwood.

"In all seriousness, you really _do_ seem more cranky than usual." He tells me as he holds the door of the restaurant open for me like I'm his goddamn date or something.

"I _hate_ that word."

"I'm getting the feeling you hate pretty much everything right now."

"Not _everything_." I mumble, coming to a stop at the hostess stand. "Just things that annoy me."

"I would point out that _everything_ is annoying you today, but we're in a building full of chopsticks now and I don't wanna have to have any of them removed from my body by a medical professional."

I don't wanna debate this with him; I don't have the energy. Besides, he's right. Everything is annoying me today, and yesterday, and the day before. And it'll all probably annoy me even more tomorrow. That seems to be the way it goes. I wake up more and more pissy every morning.

By Christmas day I should be about ready to strangle Taylor's entire family with a string of twinkle lights!

The hostess _finally_ bothers to greet us after what feels like a fucking week, and she shows us to a table about as far away from everyone else in the restaurant as she can get. But even after we're seated and I'm busy browsing the menu and wishing my appetite would put in an appearance, I can still feel Isaac staring at me. I try to ignore it, but it's irritating the crap out of me, and eventually I lose what little patience I have and practically slam my menu down on the table.

" _What_?! Do I have a fucking sign over my head that says 'please stare at me like a fucking creeper' or something?"

"Tommy-"

Ugh. He's using his 'understanding best friend' voice. "I'm fine."

"No, you're being a total jerk. And I'm letting it slide, 'cause I love you and I know you don't treat people like this for no reason. But if you don't tell me what the hell is going on in the next five minutes, you're gonna be eating lunch alone."

"You're threatening to walk out on me in public? Don't you think that's kind of a bitch move?"

"I'm not gonna walk out on you, I'm gonna get another table and eat by myself." He corrects me, offering me a hint of one of his mischievous grins. "Your bad attitude isn't keeping me from having my spicy tuna. I've been dreaming about it all week!"

I open my mouth to make some petulant crack about how pathetic that is, but I stop myself. He's right, I'm being a jerk. I _hate_ being a jerk. He doesn't deserve to have to deal with my bullshit just because he happens to be here right now and there's no one else for me to treat like crap.

Except the waitress.

I should probably get my mood under control so I don't end up with saliva in my miso soup...

"I'm sorry." I sigh, feeling both defeated and relieved as the words leave my mouth. "I didn't mean to be such an asshole."

"I know."

"I'm just...I don't know." It's the truth. I _don't_ know what I am. Besides horny. And tired. "It's been a _long_ month."

He nods sympathetically, tilting his head to the left as he studies my face carefully. It's like he thinks that looking at me from a different angle might actually allow him to _see_ something that will help him figure out what the fuck is going on in my messed up mind. Who knows, maybe he can. Maybe that's how he always manages to make sense of all my crap.

"You've had _a lot_ to deal with." He reminds me (as if I could forget). "Between Taylor's accident, and moving in with him, and rehearsals for Bali... and now his kids are home all the time, and you have to pack for Tulsa-"

"Ugh." I groan miserably, dropping my head into my hands on the table top in an attempt to hide from that looming responsibility. "Don't say it."

"That's not exactly the most enthusiastic response you could've had."

"Yeah, well, how enthusiastic would _you_ be about spending Christmas in Oklahoma with a bunch of crazy -religious freaks?"

"You realize that's your boyfriend's family you're talking about?" He chuckles softly, sipping on his water the moment our waitress is done filling the glass. "I thought you said his parents weren't so bad once they loosened up a little."

"They aren't. But this is different. It's like... _Christmas_. It's _all_ about Jesus and angels and donkeys and shit."

"That was pure poetry, dude. You should work for Hallmark."

For what feels like the first time in days, I hear myself exhale a chuckle. It sounds as worn out as I feel, but it's better than nothing. The waitress asks us if we need more time to look at the menu, but we both knew what we wanted before we even walked in the door. We order the same things we always do, because sometimes it's nice to know exactly what you're getting yourself into. There's plenty of opportunities in life to be adventurous and try new things. Right now I just need something familiar, comforting, something I can count on.

"I dunno, man... " I sigh heavily, running a hand through my unkempt hair. "This whole Christmas with the in-laws thing seemed like an only _semi_ -awful idea at the time. But that was back when Taylor was in the hospital, you know? I was just so goddamn grateful that he was okay, I would've agreed to pretty much _anything_. Now that it's actually happening, it sounds less like a semi-awful idea and more like fucking suicide!"

"I'm sure it's not gonna be anywhere near as bad as you're expecting."

"I'd rather expect it to be shit and be pleasantly surprised. If there's one thing these last few weeks have proved to me, it's that you should never let your fucking guard down. 'Cause just when you think the universe is done crapping all over you, you'll find yourself swimming in shit all over again."

"Seriously, this stuff is greeting card _gold_!" He laughs softly, shaking his head at my less than optimistic outlook on life. But it's not like I don't have plenty of damn good reasons to be pessimistic! "I take it things aren't so rosy on the home front?"

I give a faint shrug as I stare down into my ice water. I don't know where these sudden pangs of guilt I'm experiencing are coming from, but they're making it impossible for me to look him in the face anymore. Maybe I feel bad for being disappointed by anything anymore; Taylor's alive and that should be all that matters. It _is_ all that matters in the grand scheme of things. But all of the everyday bullshit makes it harder and harder to see the big picture and really appreciate how fucking lucky I am sometimes.

And lately there has been _a lot o_ f everyday bullshit crudding up my view.

"It's just... different."

"Different how?" He frowns in obvious concern.

Where do I even start? "I knew things were gonna be crazy for a while after he got home from the hospital and everything, but it's still not like I thought it'd be. It's not like I expected everything to be great or whatever, but I thought it'd be... better."

"But it's not?"

"No. And yes. I don't fucking know." I mumble, slouching lower in my seat and kick my heel against the chair leg like a sullen teenager. "The kids are happier, at least. Most of the time, anyway. But he's just..."

"Different?" Isaac finishes when it seems as though I'm not gonna be able to come up with a word on my own. "It's probably normal. I mean, he went through _a lot_. You both did."

"I know, and I keep telling myself that. I just feel like he's forcing things, you know? He's acting like everything's fine, but I know it's not. I _know_ him, I know when something's up with him, I'm just not used to him lying to _me_ about it."

"Are you sure you're not just imagining it?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty fucking sure. I mean, I tried to ignore it at first, but it's like this nagging feeling that won't stop. I know he's not okay about Ezra leaving, even though he says he is. It's like he thinks he _has_ to be okay or something. And he keeps having nightmares, he's been having them since he got home from the hospital, but he won't tell me what they're about. He says he doesn't remember, and the first couple of times it happened I believed him. But now..."

"You think he's lying?" Asks Isaac, his frown deepening further. "Why would he lie about a bad dream?"

"'Cause maybe it's about me?" I shrug glumly, admitting out loud the only conclusion I've been able to draw. "When he's dreaming, he starts _begging_ someone to let him go, to let him be with his kids. And I was the one who convinced him to let Ezra leave, so maybe I'm the one keeping him from his kids in the dream?"

"I don't know, Tommy. That seems like kind of a stretch..."

"Yeah, well, I don't know what the hell else to think! He won't tell me the truth, it's like he's put this wall up and I can't get past it, and I _hate_ it. It's _never_ been like this between us before, Isaac. We've always just been like... honest. The only thing he's ever lied to me about is..."

Shit.

Way to go, Tommy. Let's tell _everyone_ about your boyfriend's incestuous relationship with his little brother!

"What?"

"Just... who the other guy was that he was with before me." I cover as nonchalantly as I can. "He never told me anything about him. But that's not even a lie, that's just... withholding information. And I get it, you know? The other guy doesn't want anyone to know, he was respecting his privacy and that's totally fair... it doesn't even matter anymore."

"Right." He nods slowly, and I can feel him staring at me just as intently as I'm staring at the drops of condensation on my glass of water.

I wish he'd stop.

"I just... I hate all the distance between us right now. And the fact that we haven't fooled around since before the accident is definitely _not_ helping."

"Is he _still_ not feeling up to it?" Isaac questions in surprise, a small smile tugging at his lips. "So to speak."

"I don't know!" I exclaim in frustration, raising my voice to a much louder volume than I intended and drawing several curious glances from tables on the other side of the fucking room as a result. "I don't know anything about how he's feeling, 'cause he won't tell me! He keeps trying to start something with me, but I don't know how to _let_ him. I don't trust him. He'd probably fuck me even if it killed him, because he doesn't know when to fucking _stop_!"

"I think you might be exaggerating a _little_ -"

"I'm not! Those dumbass doctors cleared him to be on crutches a few days ago, so now he thinks he can spend all damn day hobbling around the house on them even though they _told_ him to take it easy and only use them when he _needs_ to. But _no_ , he's Taylor, so he has to push himself as hard as he fucking can. And there's nothing I can do about it; I've tried telling him to slow down, but he won't fucking listen. He's in pain, I can _see_ it every time he moves, and he's making it worse. But he won't admit it because he doesn't want to be in a wheelchair anymore. And I get that being stuck in that thing made him feel like shit, but watching him hurt himself is making _me_ feel like shit."

"Have you told him that?"

"Every time I try to, he brushes me off or changes the subject. And the one time I _really_ got on his case about it, we ended up fighting. And I'd be fine fighting him over this if it made _any_ fucking difference, but nothing fucking changed. I don't wanna fight with him for nothing. All this 'everything's wonderful' bullshit is making me feel disconnected from him enough as it is without us being at each other's throats all the damn time, too."

After giving everything I've just thrown at him a long moment of silent thought, he finally shakes his head. "Sorry, man. I don't know what to tell you."

"I didn't expect you to. Everything is just totally fucked up, and I'm dreading going to Tulsa with him and the kids if he's gonna be like this the entire time. I don't wanna snap in front of his whole fucking family on Christmas day or whatever, but I feel like I'm _this_ close to losing my shit entirely."

"Maybe you need to." He shrugs, smirking at the look of total disbelief that suggestion brings to my face. "Not in front of his family on Christmas. But if you're really that sick of it all, maybe you need to just _say_ it. I know you don't wanna fight with him, but if you keep holding it in like this you _are_ gonna end up snapping at him. Probably when it's least appropriate, knowing you."

"Thanks."

"I just don't wanna see you let this thing get any worse than it apparently already is. Maybe he needs you to lose it for him to realize how it's really making you feel, you know? You keep tiptoeing around him and trying to avoid a fight, but all that's doing is letting him believe that this act you think he's putting on is actually working. If you stop hiding how _you_ really feel, maybe he will, too."

"So you think I should like... yell at him until he yells back?" I ask, wondering why this actually sounds like a pretty good idea.

"It's worth a shot, right?"

A week ago, hell even just one day ago, I would've said no. Yelling at Taylor, dumping everything I've been feeling lately on him while he's still recovering from everything _he's_ been feeling, wasn't an option. It was the last thing he needed. At least, that's what I thought. But maybe Isaac's right, maybe it's exactly what he needs.

Or maybe it's exactly what _I_ need, and I'm just too much of a selfish jackass to give a shit how it makes Taylor feel anymore.

I do my best to avoid talking about Taylor and the kids and Christmas again for the rest of lunch, because I don't wanna become some whiney little bitch who can't talk about anything but his relationship. It's kinda tough, though. _Not_ because I'm a whiney little bitch, but because they're such a huge part of my life now. I see them _every_ day, I split my time between rehearsals and them, and that's pretty much _it_. Today is the first time in weeks that I've hung out with anyone who isn't related to me or a member of Adam's band. And that's fine; it's _my_ choice. I could go out if I wanted to, Taylor's constantly reminding me of that fact, but I choose not to. Partly because I want to spend time with them, but...

Mostly it's because I don't trust Taylor to be by himself. I know Jenna's there, but it's not like she's gonna be telling her boss what he should and shouldn't be doing. Even if she did, he wouldn't fucking listen.

He doesn't listen to me, either.

I was planning to go home and unleash my Grinch-like fury on him, but after spending a couple of hours with Isaac, I'm not feeling quite so pissy anymore. We talk about work, and how things are going with him and Sophie, and their plans for Christmas. And before we go our separate ways, we make tentative plans to get together once I'm back from Bali in the New Year (assuming I survive the holiday season). I'm more relaxed than I have been in a while as I make the drive back to the Hollywood hills; I only yell at one idiot driver, and she totally had it coming!

But the second I open the front door and call out a lighthearted "honey, I'm home!", I'm greeted by the sound of glass smashing followed almost immediately by Asta crying. It feels as though my heart stops and I'm frozen in place. But it can't be for more than a fraction of a second because before I know it I'm sprinting into the kitchen, calling out Taylor's name in a voice so full of panic that I don't even recognize it as my own.

"It's okay!" He assures me calmly, like it's no big fucking deal that he's basically standing in a pool of shattered glass and marinara sauce. "It just slipped out of my hand, that's all."

"It just slipped out of your..." Apparently I'm too angry to speak, because the rest of the sentence is lost in a breath of incredulous (and entirely unamused) laughter.

For a moment, all I can do is shake my head in wordless disbelief as I take in the sight before me. There's a pot of water boiling away on the stove top, various sliced and diced vegetable on the cutting board sitting on the kitchen island, pasta sauce all over the fucking floor, and a red-faced, _hysterical_ infant desperately reaching out to us from her high chair.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?!" I ask him, hurrying over to Asta and lifting her into my arms. "What is all this?"

"I'm just cooking dinner."

"I thought we were getting takeout."

He sighs and rolls his eyes, shifting his weight on his crutches as he moves away from the mess around him. "I was getting sick of takeout, it feels like it's _all_ we've been eating lately. It's not good for the kids, they need a home cooked meal."

"Where _are_ the kids? And where the hell is Jenna?"

"Viggo's napping, and I had her take River and Penny out for a walk a little while ago."

"So you could do _this_?!" I accuse him, and I take his lack of an answer as an admission of guilt, even though he doesn't _look_ guilty at all. "Why couldn't you have waited until I got home?"

"What good would that have done? You can't cook." He reminds me with a playful smile.

Unfortunately for him, it's gonna take more than that flirtatious look on his face to _un_ piss me off right now. "I could've _helped_!"

"I don't _need_ help."

"Right. You've got this _totally_ under control."

"I do! I dropped a jar of sauce, it was an accident, it's not the end of the world."

"What if you'd dropped that pot of water on yourself, huh? Or a knife?" I question him crossly. "You could've _really_ hurt yourself, Taylor!"

He laughs softly, shrugging his shoulders as he looks down at the cast on his leg. "Been there, done that, got the t-shirt."

"This isn't fucking funny!"

"No, it's not!" He yells back at me suddenly, startling me so much that I actually _feel_ my eyebrows jump in surprise.

It's the first time he's raised his voice to me that much in a _long_ time, the first time he hasn't joked his way out of a looming argument or brushed off my concerns with reassurances that do absolutely _nothing_ to reassure me. And I don't even have time to recover from the shock of his reaction before a sleepy little voice behind me startles me all over again.

"Daddy, what happened?"

"It's okay, buddy." Taylor smiles at Viggo from across the room, but it looks way more forced than any of his fake smiles have recently. "I just dropped something, I didn't meant to scare you."

"Why're you guys yelling?"

"We're not." He lies, and it's obvious from Viggo's anxious expression that he's not buying it. He's four, he's not an idiot. "We were just..."

"Come on." I hold my hand out to him, forcing a smile of my own and hoping it looks a lot more convincing than his dad's did. "We need to go to the store real quick."

"Okay..."

"Tommy-"

"I'm gonna go buy some more sauce." I inform Taylor shortly, throwing a pointed glance at him over my shoulder as I escort Viggo and Asta out of the chaos in the kitchen. " _Don't_ try to clean up. I'll do it when I get back."

I guess I'm all done _not_ fighting with him.

 

 

 


	102. Chapter 102

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay. Life feels so crazy lately and I'm always too tired to write. But I'll be traveling a lot this week, so hopefully I'll have some sitting-around-time to write with...
> 
> TOMMY!CHAPTER!!!

  


 

 

As soon as I back the minivan out of the driveway, I feel like crap for getting so mad at Taylor. But within a few minutes, I'm even angrier over the fact that I feel like crap about it! _I_ didn't do anything wrong, I wasn't out of line to yell at him like I did. Maybe I could've handled it better, but so what? Maybe _he_ could try _not_ doing a bunch of dumb shit that could land him back in the fucking hospital!

I spend pretty much the entire journey to the store trying to calm myself down so that I won't still be fuming when I get the kids out of the car. It doesn't matter so much while I'm driving (except for the fact that I drive even worse than usual when I'm mad, which is why I shouldn't be on the road right now); Asta is perfectly content in her car seat and Viggo is watching cartoons on the DVD player. But if I'm this pissy when we get to the store, he's going to be able to tell.

I'm learning more and more all the time that kids have an annoying habit of picking up on bad moods.

Even though the only thing I need to buy is a jar of pasta sauce, I give into Viggo's pleading and get a shopping cart so that he can ride in it for the whole thirty seconds I intend to be here. But once I'm actually in the store, I find myself wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles, like I have no fucking clue what it is I'm looking for. Truth is, I'm still trying to let go of my anger and cool down. I'm looking for an excuse to stay out of the house for an extra ten minutes. I'm desperately searching for an answer to all of the questions cluttering up my head right now. Unfortunately, I don't think Fresh & Easy has the solution to my relationship problems in stock.

"Can we get this?" Asks Viggo hopefully, holding up something I'm absolutely _certain_ we don't need.

"Sure." I reply without really even looking at it. If it's crap, I'll throw it out later. "Throw it in the cart."

"Okay!"

By the time we make it to the check out, I've only placed two items in the cart and yet somehow it's almost half full. One of my items is a six pack, and it makes me feel all kinds of responsible to have it sitting there right next to Viggo while he pretends that the shopping cart is a race car. It's kinda like taking a baby into a bar or something. But whatever, I _need_ a damn beer tonight.

Or six.

"What a little cutie!"

I blink the blank stare off of my face and look at the girl working the checkout, frowning at her in confusion until I realize that she's referring to Asta. And, of course, Asta is grinning right back at her. I swear she knows when she's being called cute or adorable, she probably thinks it's her name. And she acts even _more_ adorable when she hears those words, just to make a point.

"How old is she?"

"Eleven months." I answer without a moment's pause. The fact that my reply rolled right off of my tongue so easily is the thing that gives me pause.

It's fucking _weird_.

"I'm four!" Viggo informs her proudly from his seat in the front of the empty cart. "I just had my birthday!"

"Wow! Four?" She gasps in exaggerated awe, scanning and bagging our random array of purchases without so much as glancing at them. "You're gonna be all grown up in _no_ time!"

"I know!"

The check out girl (whose name is Kim, if the badge on her shirt is to be believed), reaches over the stand and gives Asta's stomach a tiny tickle, and Asta responds by giggling and burying her face in my shoulder like she's shy or something, which is such bullshit. She's just playing hard to get.

"Your kids are _adorable_."

Awkward.

I open my mouth to correct her, but just as I'm about to utter the words "they're not mine", I stop. It's like the statement gets stuck in my throat and it just _won't_ come out. So instead I force a small smile and simply tell her "thanks".

"Look at those beautiful brown eyes!" Kim continues to fuss over Asta (who continues to bat her eyelashes and milk it for all it's worth). "They're _just_ like your daddy's."

Oh, great, now I'm being flirted with via my boyfriend's baby.

What comes _after_ awkward?

"Nice try, honey." A contemptuous voice behind me interrupts. "But they're _not_ his eyes, 'cause they're not his kids."

Apparently _this_ is what comes after awkward.

Kim casts an uncertain glance at the middle-aged woman standing in line behind me, and then looks back at me as though maybe I have some idea who she is or what she's talking about. My first instinct is to tell this nosy bitch to butt out and go back to the piece of crap tabloid she's flipping through. But with Asta in my arms and Viggo sitting right beside me, that's not really an option. At least, it doesn't feel like one. Besides, that's probably _exactly_ what she wants me to do. She wants me to make a scene and snap at her so she can fucking Facebook all about it or something.

Well fuck that.

"Do you know her?" Kim questions in a lowered voice, though probably not low enough.

"No. She doesn't know me, either. She just _thinks_ she does."

That statement does absolutely fuck-all to clarify what's going on, and she shakes her head at me in bewilderment. "I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. Never mind." I mumble, thrusting a couple of twenty dollar bills in Kim's direction. She hesitates for a moment, still trying to figure out what's going on, but eventually she takes them from me and begins counting out my change. "Keep it."

"What?" She asks in surprise as I begin loading the bags of groceries back into the cart.

"Keep the change."

"But..."

I don't stick around long enough to hear the rest of her protest. My afternoon is sucking enough already without getting into it with some gossip hungry wench in a crowded grocery store. It's just one more thing that's changed since that goddamn accident. Not that I would've relished the opportunity to cuss her out before, but I wouldn't have thought twice about doing it if she'd pushed me.

She _wouldn't_ have pushed me, though, because I wasn't worth pushing.

I was nobody. No one recognized me in line at the store, no one really knew anything about my private life unless they were already a fan. Even after that paparazzi picture of me and Taylor at the airport, people were only _mildly_ interested. But then Taylor got hurt and suddenly the media gave a fuck about him again. And they gave a fuck about me, too, because it made for a compelling magazine article.

Especially with all the damn speculating and embellishing they did.

So now everyone thinks they know everything about us. Bitter old women at Fresh and Easy know that these kids aren't mine, and they feel justified in sharing that fact with anyone who happens to be uninformed. And I can't defend myself against any of it, because it's all true. And if I tell her to shut the fuck up, it'll probably end up on Perez Hilton or something. I can see the headline now...

_Taylor Hanson's MMMBoyfriend Yells at Woman In Public (and Buys MMMBeer While Holding MMMBaby)!!!_

No fucking thank you.

"Tommy?" Viggo asks from the backseat, pulling me from my increasingly gloomy thoughts and automatically causing my fingers to loosen their white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

"Yeah?"

"Are you mad?"

Shit. "No, dude. I'm fine."

"You looked mad at the store."

"I..." What am I supposed to say? Yes, I was mad at a total stranger for reminding me that I'm not your dad? "No, I'm fine."

"Who was that old lady?" He presses curiously. "Was she mean to you?"

"She was just... she was just some lady at the store, buddy. I don't know who she was."

"I didn't like her."

Despite my lingering bad mood, I can't help but smile to myself. "Me either."

"'Cause she made you mad?"

What's the fucking point of lying to him? I suck at it and he can see right through me anyway. "Yeah."

"How come?" He frowns in concern as I glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

"She said something that wasn't nice, that's all."

"What did she say?"

"Just... " Ugh. "She said that you and Asta aren't my kids. Which is true; I'm not your dad. But she was being mean about it."

The car falls silent again, except for the soft sounds of singing coming from the Disney movie on the DVD player. But just when I stupidly assume that I've answered Viggo's questions to his satisfaction and he's returned to his cartoons, he speaks up again.

"Do you wish you were really our daddy?"

Right now, I mostly wish I wasn't driving in early rush hour traffic while having this conversation!

"Um... I-I mean, I love you guys, and I'd be really proud if I was your dad... but I get to hang out with you all the time and stuff, so it's not like I-"

"Tommy?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"You know how you make me cereal for breakfast lots of times, and you help me tie up my shoes, and you tell me stories when I go to bed? And you always give me hugs when I get sad?"

"Yeah."

"That's just like all the things my daddy does." He notes simply, because it really _is_ that simple to him. "Right?"

"Kind of..."

"So how come you can't just be another daddy?"

Oh boy...

"Well... because... like..." Seriously, can I _please_ just get the hell out of this traffic jam so I don't have to split my focus between his very important questions and everyone else's shitty driving?! "You have a dad already, and he loves you a lot. So... I can still be _like_ a dad to you, but I can't really be your dad. Does that make sense?"

"But what if I want you to be?" He asks, like it's no big fucking deal. Like he's asking why he can't have another slice of pizza or something!

"That's... that's not really my call, dude. That's something you should probably ask your dad about, okay?"

Ha! Take that, Taylor! You wanted to feel like you were helping out more with the kids? Well how about _you_ field their complicated, life-altering questions?!

"And if daddy says yes, _then_ will you be my daddy as well?"

"I..." It's not like I can fucking say no to _that_! And honestly, it's not like I even want to. "Yeah, if... if you want."

"I do! But I'll still just call you Tommy though." He informs me, his little face taking on the most insanely pensive expression. "'Cause I call my daddy 'daddy', so if I call you daddy _and_ I call him daddy, you wouldn't tell if I was talking to you! And I called him daddy first before you, so that's fair. Okay?"

"Okay." I laugh softly.

"Tommy?"

"Yeah?" I ask, looking up into the rearview mirror once again to find him gazing back at me with a pleased smile.

"Are you not mad anymore?"

"No, dude." I smile sincerely as we come to a stop at a red light, which gives me the perfect excuse to glance over my shoulder at him. "I'm not mad anymore."

I'm honestly not. How _can_ I be after that conversation?

It's not like it really changed anything for either of us, but it was still important, and it still makes me _feel_ differently. I'm not even sure what about, exactly. I don't care about him more just because he asked if I could be his dad. And I certainly don't feel more like a parent just because he pointed out that I play that role for him most of the time now. But there's something there now that wasn't there before. At least not to this extent. It's just... a warmth, I guess? A sense of certainty. _Contentment_.

That is, until we _finally_ get home and I remember why I had to venture back out in that hellish traffic in the first place.

Part of me just wants to let the whole thing go and pretend it never happened, but apparently a slightly bigger part is too annoyed to give Taylor a "Get Out of Relationship Jail Free" card this time. I _can't_. I can't let him think it's okay to pull shit like that, and if I back down and tell him to forget about it, that's exactly what's gonna happen. It's what's _been_ happening, and it needs to fucking stop before he pushes himself too far.

But we can't exactly discuss it with the kids around, and they're no damn good at taking a hint and leaving the room when people need to have adult discussions. Even when you ask them to, guaranteed that one of them will be back within two minutes to tattle on someone, or to ask if they can have a cookie, or to confess to having broken something or "accidentally" drawn all over something with a fucking Sharpie.

It's impossible.

So we end up spending the rest of the evening giving each other the silent treatment, basically. It's not like it's even a cold shoulder kind of thing. It's just that we can't say any of the stuff we wanna say, and it doesn't feel right to say anything else until that stuff has been said. So we just... don't talk. Not unless we have to, and even then it's only so he can ask me to pass the salad at dinner, or so I can ask him what he wants for dessert.

It's not until the kids are finally in bed and we're alone in the movie room that we have the chance to get back to the conversation (or fight, whatever) we were having before I walked out and left him standing in a puddle of pasta sauce this afternoon. And by that point, neither of us really seems to know where to start.

"You're sleeping in here tonight?" He asks me as I wordlessly approach the recliner that's unofficially been designated as mine these past few weeks.

I shrug, picking up my blanket and dropping down onto the plush leather. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know. I just thought..." He pauses for a moment, shaking his head and looking down at his hands as soon as I force myself to meet his eyes. "I don't know."

"You thought I was gonna sleep on the couch 'cause we had a fight?"

"You don't have to sleep on the couch. Our bed isn't taken anymore, you could sleep there."

"I don't want to." I fidget in my seat, struggling to get even slightly comfortable. I just don't think it's gonna happen while we're having this conversation. "I hate sleeping in that bed alone."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd wanna sleep next to me right now anyway, whether it was in a bed or a recliner." He mumbles miserably.

"Just 'cause I'm mad at you, that doesn't mean I don't wanna be anywhere near you." His only reply is a quiet breath of distinctly cynical laughter.

Apparently he's pissed at me for walking out on him mid-fight earlier, which... yeah, okay, was my bad. I shouldn't have left the way I did. But I wasn't doing it to get away from him, I was just trying to get the kids out of the line of fire! It wasn't like we could've continued arguing with Viggo standing right fucking there!

"Look... I'm sorry I left before. I didn't mean to be a jerk and walk out like I did, but I was just trying to calm the kids down-"

"I know."

"Then why are you still pissed at me?"

"I'm not." He shrugs, refusing to look me in the eyes for even a second.

Ugh. Whatever. I'm too tired for this shit. "You could've fucking fooled me."

"I'm _not_ pissed, Tommy. Not about that, anyway."

"Then what _are_ you pissed about?" I exclaim in total exasperation, throwing my hands up for good measure just in case my tone didn't get my frustration across. "I have no fucking clue what's been going on with you lately, it's been like living with someone who's only capable of showing one goddamn emotion! You're _always_ happy and optimistic-"

"God forbid I actually try to look on the bright side and be thankful for what I have rather than what I've lost!" He snaps resentfully, folding his arms across his chest so irritably that I can _see_ it actually fucking _hurt_ him.

"That's not what I'm saying. I have no problem with you being positive and thankful, but no one is _that_ positive and thankful _all_ the fucking time, Taylor! It's like you refuse to be anything else anymore, and it's such _bullshit_. But then suddenly today you're the complete opposite! So forgive me if I'm totally fucking lost right now!"

I watch in hopelessly hopeful expectation as he shakes his head and continues to avoid my eyes. I figure he's either gonna come clean about his behavior or tell me to go fuck myself, and right now I can't tell which one it'll be. But when he finally quits staring at his own hands and turns his face towards mine, it feels as though an invisible wave of pure guilt has just crashed right into me.

All I can see written across every inch of his face is _hurt_ , and for once I wish it actually _was_ the physical kind.

"You're not the only one who's lost." He tells me, his voice nowhere near as steady and strong sounding as it has been during our other arguments today. "I've been _trying_ to be optimistic, to think positively and be grateful for what I have, because it's what _you_ deserve. You deserve a break. You've been through enough, we all have, and I just wanted things to be _good_ for once-"

"But you can't _force_ them to be good, Taylor. It's not real, and it doesn't _feel_ real."

"I thought that if I could just try to find the good in things, then they'd _be_ that way. I wanted that for us. Everything's so fucked up, it feels like it's always fucked up in one way or another."

"I know, but that doesn't mean it's always gonna be." I sigh sadly, reaching across the armrest between our recliners and taking his hand in mine. "I don't believe it will be."

"I don't know..." He murmurs, leaving that less-than-promising statement lingering in the quiet between us while he watches my thumb soothingly stroking the back of his hand. "You don't touch me anymore."

My thumb comes to an abrupt standstill, because I'm too stunned and confused by what he's just said to do any-fucking-thing right now. " _What_?"

"You don't touch me." He repeats sorrowfully, faintly shaking his head.

"I... I don't..." I don't know what to _say_ because I still don't understand what _he_ is saying! "I touch you all the time!"

"Not the way you used to. Yeah, you help me get dressed, and you help me into and out of my wheelchair, but... before the accident, even if you were just holding my hand like this, I could _feel_ that you wanted me. No matter what else was going on, if you touched me, it was like... electricity. Goosebumps and tingles and all of that other cliché stuff I never believed people could _actually_ feel from just a touch. But _I_ felt it, because I knew how much you wanted me." His fingers grow heavier in mine until eventually they fall away completely, and I'm painfully aware of the emptiness left behind. The lack of him. "Now when you touch me... there's nothing there."

"That's _not_ true!" I insist wholeheartedly, horrified by the accusation. "I _want_ you, you don't even _know_ how fucking much-"

"Then how come you're always making up excuses to avoid kissing me? Every time I try to initiate anything, you can't get away from me fast enough! It's like you're totally turned off by me or something. I've tried telling myself that you're just worried about hurting me-"

"I am!"

"Which is why I've been trying _so_ hard to prove to you that I'm okay. I don't want all of this to change the way you see me, I don't want you to think of me as broken and useless... I don't want it to ruin what we had before."

"It's not going to!" I assure him, turning my whole body towards him until I'm practically kneeling on my seat, _begging_ him to believe me. "I don't see you that way, Taylor."

"But it's how you treat me. And I get it. I _was_ those things when I first got home from the hospital. And you said it yourself, you shut off the part of you that thinks about me sexually because you couldn't do anything about it. But you said it was only temporary, and I've been trying _so_ fucking hard to make you see that I'm fine, that you can turn that part of you back _on_ now. Only it's like you don't even know _how_. Like you just don't feel that way about me anymore or something, or you've spent so much time having to take care of me that you can't see me as anything but weak and feeble-"

"I swear on my fucking _life_ , that's _not_ how I see you! I _do_ want you, and that part of me _isn't_ switched off. I wish like hell it was, 'cause it's so fucking hard to keep my distance-"

"Then _don't_!"

"I have to, Taylor! I know you think you're fine, and you're ready, but you're not! I see how much pain you're still in most of the time, and I can't fucking _stand_ it. It's the worst feeling in the world to watch you suffer. I don't wanna cause you even more pain or do anything that might slow your recovery down. I want you to heal as fast as you can, and most days it feels like you're totally fucking determined to sabotage yourself by pushing too damn hard and putting too much stress on your body-"

"Because being this pathetic, incapable, chair-ridden invalid is even more debilitating than a broken leg and a bunch of busted ribs! It's _killing_ me!"

"No, it's not. The accident could've killed you. The surgery could've killed you. This part is _nothing_ , okay? It's a couple of months, a tiny _fraction_ of your goddamn life. A life you're fucking lucky you still have-"

"You don't know!" He snaps impatiently. "You don't know what it's like to feel trapped, to just sit by and be incapable of doing _anything_! You have _no_ idea what it feels like to be this helpless-"

"Fuck you, I don't know what it fucking feels like!" I suddenly explode, practically jumping out of my seat and leaving him visibly taken aback. " _You_ don't know what it feels like! Try being told that the person you love more than _anything_ might not make it, that they might not wake up, or they might not know who the fuck you are if they do. Try only being allowed to see them for five fucking minutes an hour, and watching a machine breathing for them, and not knowing if they can hear a goddamn word you're saying to them, or if you'll ever get to talk to them again. Try comforting their kids and telling them it's gonna be okay when _you_ don't even know that for sure yourself. Try watching them get hit by a fucking SUV while you just _stand_ there and do absolutely _nothing_! _Then_ you can talk to me about how it feels to be helpless!"

Okay...

That was... a lot.

And judging by the look on his face, he's as surprised and overwhelmed by every last word out of my mouth as I'm am. I guess that's what happens when you keep everything in for too long. It's kinda like blowing up a balloon; if you put too much air into it, eventually it's gonna explode in your fucking face and shock the living shit out of you.

"I'm sorry." He exhales, as though he'd forgotten how to even breathe until now. And then he says it again, only this time it's more than just a breathless whisper. "I'm _sorry_. I... I didn't mean... I didn't _think_ , I..." He shakes his head, lost for words. "I'm _so_ sorry."

It's weird, but... I don't want him to apologize. I don't _need_ him to. I'm not even angry anymore. It's like it's all just... gone. All of the frustration and fear has subsided, and now all that's left is exhaustion. I'm tired, I have _zero_ fight left in me. So when he reaches out to me, I don't hesitate to step closer to the recliners again and take his hand. I don't _want_ to hesitate; I'm more than ready for this to be done.

I let him draw me nearer, but then he shifts in his chair to make room for me. And _that's_ when I hold back. It's obvious that he felt me resist, and his hand squeezes mine reassuringly as he attempts to coax me forwards again.

"It's okay, there's plenty of room." He promises knowingly, offering me a hopeful hint of a smile. "It's not like you take up much space."

"Shut up." I mumble, fighting back a small smile of my own and finally giving in to his insistent tugging on my hand.

After carefully squeezing myself onto the recliner beside him, I try to let myself relax as much as I can. But it's not easy when all I can think about is making sure I don't lean on his chest at all or accidentally elbow him in the ribs or kick his cast! The more he tries to pull me closer, the more tense I become, until I can actually feel the hostility beginning to bubble up inside me all over again.

"See, this is _exactly_ what I'm talking about!" I sigh, shrugging off his attempts to touch me.

"What?" He asks in genuine bewilderment. "I just wanted to hug you!"

"But you're not thinking about yourself! You don't give a shit that it might hurt you for us to share the recliner like this, you're not being careful-"

"I'm fine! Tommy, I promise, it's _not_ gonna hurt me to be close to you."

"It _could_."

He shakes his head at me, giving me a 'you're so silly' look that only irritates me more. "Yeah, and it could hurt me to laugh too hard, or cough, or sneeze-"

"But you can't control that stuff. You _can_ control all the dumb shit you keep doing that isn't good for you-"

"Who says it's not good for me? Maybe that stuff causes me a _little_ pain, but that's not gonna stop me from healing. I _will_ get better, I already _am_. But if I have to stop hugging you, or holding my kids, or cooking, or doing everything else I love until I'm completely back to normal, it'll take a _hell_ of a lot longer. I know you think I'm not taking care of myself, but it's honestly the opposite. I'm keeping myself motivated-"

"But you're taking too many risks." I mumble dejectedly. "You're not being safe, and I _need_ you to be safe, okay? Do you fucking get that?"

"Yeah, I get it." He nods in understanding, cupping my cheek lovingly in his palm. And god-fucking-damnit, it makes my whole stupid body melt into his. "I'll try to be more careful."

"Don't try, just _do_ it."

"I will, I promise."

I can't help but roll my eyes and mutter a skeptical "yeah, right", because I know him. I know his idea of what it means for him to be more careful is probably _nothing_ like mine. I want him to suck it up and sit in his fucking wheel chair for _at least_ another week. But I bet he thinks I just don't want him trying to cook dinner or do laundry.

I guess that would be a start.

"I _promise_." He reiterates with complete sincerity, holding my doubtful gaze when I meet his eyes. "If it's what you need-"

"It _is_."

"Then I'll do it."

God, I hate him. Why does he have to stare at me like that? With those big blue eyes of his...

Fuck it, I can't! I can't even _look_ at him!

There's something so completely fucking pureabout those eyes. I swear it's like there's some kind of light in them, an innocence... it sounds dumb, but they really do just _shine_. It's enough to convince you that he's never told a lie in his whole damn life! And because I'm the fucking devil, that fresh-faced wholesomeness he so effortlessly puts across has always, _always_ made me want to do entirely _impure_ things to him.

I'm so fucked up.

We just established that I can't do any of the things I want to do to him right now. I _won't._ That whole conversation will have been for nothing if I give into the depraved voices in my head! I don't want him thinking I've changed my mind about everything I just said just because I'm horny. I can't tell him to be more careful and to stop over-exerting himself, and then five-fucking-seconds later be climbing him like a damn tree!

 I just need to take long, slow breaths, and _not_ look at him, and not think about how good he smells, or how warm he is. Or how fucking badly I want to get laid right now.

You can do this, Tommy. You can prioritize the wellbeing of the guy you love over your own libido!

In an effort to _not_ jump his bones, I force myself to look away from him. I repeatedly tell myself not to look into his eyes, or at his lips (but god-fucking-damnit, I _love_ those lips!), and I rest my head against his shoulder to stop myself from giving into temptation. Snuggling seems harmless enough. Now all I need to do is think about completely unsexy things until no part of me wants to get off anymore.

So I think about Tulsa. And Christmas. And spending prolonged periods of time with Ike and Zac.

And Pam.

Behold! The ultimate boner killer!

 


	103. Chapter 103

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!
> 
> Hopefully it goes without saying that I'm thankful for each and every one of you who reads this fic and has been cheering Tommy & Taylor (and me :p) on for the last 103 chapters (170 chapters, including SNAFU!). You're awesome, and I appreciate the support SO much. <3 
> 
> I'm also thankful that I have time off this weekend to write!

  


 

 

_ Los Angeles, California - December 23rd, 2012 _

__

Christmas in Tulsa...

Why did I _ever_ think that would be a good idea?

Maybe it was the head injury; I wasn't thinking clearly when I agreed to this whole thing. So really, it's everyone else's fault for allowing me to make decisions when I obviously wasn't capable of it!

We're not even there yet, and I already wish I'd just told my parents that we'd come and visit them some other time. You know, some time when I'm _not_ semi-incapacitated and incapable of helping my boyfriend and our live-in nanny to wrangle four over-excited children into an airport shuttle van.

 It all seemed so simple before it actually started happening. But then the closer we got to the big day (aka _today_ ), the less simple it all became.

The original plan was for us to stay in my childhood home in Tulsa, so that we wouldn't have to deal with over-crowding at my parent's house (and so that Tommy would be able to breathe), and to save on hotel costs. But then when Tommy agreed to go to Bali for New Years, those plans had to change. Now he's only going to be in Tulsa with us for four days instead of the entire trip, and there's _no_ way I can take care of four kids by myself while I'm still in a wheelchair (and sometimes on crutches, when Tommy is feeling daring enough to let me use them). It didn't make sense to ask my family to get the Jenks house set up for us if we were only going to be staying in it for a few days. So we've decided to stay at a hotel until Tommy heads back to L.A. to fly to Bali with the band, and then I'll go and stay at my parent's house with the kids until we come home in the New Year.

It's not ideal, but it's the only workable plan we could come up with.

Of course, in order for us to put that plan into action, we actually have to make it to the airport in time to catch our flight. And as I sit here alone in the airport shuttle, watching the driver loading up the insane amount of luggage we've managed to accumulate, and wondering whether or not Tommy and Jenna are ever going to join me with the kids, I feel as though the chance of us making it to LAX before take-off are disappearing faster than a six-pack at a frat party!

If I'd been able to help, we'd already be there by now. Or at least on the freeway fighting traffic.

I guess "able" isn't the right word; "allowed" would be the more accurate term. Tommy is still being ludicrously over-protective, even though I'm doing better and better every day. Right now, for example, I could be holding Asta while he and Jenna try to drag Penny, River and Viggo out of the house without anyone making another last minute bathroom trip or suddenly remembering a toy they _desperately_ need to get from their bedroom. But he didn't want to "risk it" in case she needed a diaper change or got too restless waiting out in the shuttle with me.

Apparently it made _much_ more sense in his mind for him to carry her around while trying to do ten thousand other things with only one free hand.

Don't get me wrong, I understand why he's so wary about letting me do too much. After everything he said when he blew up at me the other night, I appreciate how he feels more than ever. But I'd be lying if I said that knowing _why_ he thinks he needs to treat me this way makes this situation any less frustrating for me. If it was anyone else asking me to live life as though I'm paralyzed from the neck down just so they can worry about me a little less, I would have said hell no and told them to find another way to deal with their absurd fears. But it wasn't anyone else, it was Tommy. So I said okay. And even though it's driving me _completely_ fucking crazy, I'll let him keep me in this bubble for as long as he feels the need to.

Or until he leaves for Bali, at least. Then I figure it doesn't really matter what I do; what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Just like pouring my own coffee in the morning won't hurt me!

But honestly, I'd rather be handled like a china doll for the next month and have him here than let him go in a few days time and be able to do whatever I want to. I know it was my idea for him to go to Bali, I practically forced it on him, and if I could go back and do things differently I wouldn't. But I'm going to miss him _so_ fucking much. It's the longest we'll have been apart since I moved to L.A., even longer than his trip to Africa last month. And now it's looking more and more likely that Adam will be spending at least a few weeks touring overseas again soon, and obviously he wants Tommy to go with him. We've talked about it a couple of times, but Tommy always ends up shrugging the entire conversation off and saying nothing is set in stone yet so it's not worth discussing.

Really though, I know he just doesn't want to deal with the idea of being away from me and the kids for that long.

I don't want to face that possibility, either, but I also don't want to hold him back in any way. I _refuse_ to. At the end of the day, a month on another continent is basically the same as ten days; it's nothing in the grand scheme of things. I told him to go to Bali because we'll have dozens of New Years to spend together in our future. And I'll tell him to go wherever the hell else Adam asks him to go, because as long as he comes home to us eventually, that's _all_ that matters. It's not forever, it's not even a full tour (and when it is, we'll figure out a way to deal with that, too). We can do it. After this past month, there's no doubt in my mind that we can do _anything_.

Except maybe get to the damn airport before Easter!

 _Finally_ , the door of the shuttle van opens again, and I hear the excited chatter (and bickering) of my kids. They pile into the van, with Penny and River calling dibs on which seat they want to ride in to the airport, while Tommy loads Viggo's booster seat into the back and Jenna tries to get Asta's car seat situated.

"I can help." I offer eagerly, already unfastening my seatbelt.

"I've got it." She assures me with a somewhat weary smile, before returning to the battle of wills she's having with the buckles on the base.

"It can be kinda tricky. You have to-"

"Done!" She breathlessly exclaims, brushing her hands together in a display of accomplishment.

I guess that means I should just refasten my seatbelt and do some more sitting. "You guys sure you got everything?"

"Everything but the damn swimming pool." Tommy mumbles to himself as he helps Viggo get settled. "You're gonna have to buy more suitcases for all the gifts they're gonna get in Tulsa, 'cause the ones we're taking are so damn full that they're about ready to burst."

"Only because they're crammed full of gifts for other people. The gifts we get in Tulsa will just take up the space of the gifts we're taking _to_ Tulsa." I inform him confidently. "Besides, I told everyone not to get them anything big."

"Does that mean I'm _not_ getting a dog?" Whines River disappointedly. "I wrote it in my letter to Santa, and he said if I was _really_ good I might get what I want most!"

"I know, kiddo. And you have been _really_ good this year. And I bet Santa is gonna bring you something really awesome."

"But not a puppy?"

"I don't know, dude." I crane my neck to glance over my shoulder at him, offering him a small, apologetic smile. "I tried to call the North Pole and ask him, but the elves kept putting me on hold and no one ever returned my calls."

"Santa's really busy right now!" Viggo reminds us.

"I know how he feels." Chuckles Jenna as she and Tommy practically collapse into their respective seats while the driver closes the doors behind them. "But I bet driving a sleigh of six reindeer is way easier than trying to get four kids onto an airplane!"

Tommy snorts, closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of his seat. "Maybe we should put them all on reins next time?"

"Sounds like a plan to me!"

"You can't do that!" Gasps Penny in horror. "We're not reindeer!"

"She's right. Reindeer eat a lot less. And are _way_ more cooperative." I tell Tommy under my breath, smiling triumphantly as a grin spreads across his face and he cracks one eye open to look at me.

At least I can do _something_ to help.

Amusing my boyfriend and bringing him a moment of calm in the middle of one of the most hectic mornings we've had in a long time might not seem like much, but I'm learning to savor the small things I'm capable of doing. If I don't, I'll go insane focusing on everything I still _can't_ do. For example, if I focused on the fact that I promised Tommy I'd use the wheelchair instead of my crutches for the entire time we're in Tulsa, I'd probably scream. But instead I'm choosing to focus on the fact that I convinced him to at least let me use my crutches while we're at the airport. He wasn't on board with the idea at first, but when I started pointing out how busy it'd be, and how hard it would be for me to navigate through the crowds in it, he came around.

 _Slowly_.

Of course, he's still totally freaked out that someone is gonna bump into me with a baggage cart and knock me over or something. I wouldn't be surprised if he and Jenna have the kids form a protective circle around me so no one can get close!

Just call me Bubble Boy.

If getting out of the house was an ordeal, there are no words to describe the chaos at LAX. It's not even the kid's fault this time, there are just _so_ many people and it's completely overwhelming for them. They've spent their whole lives traveling, usually they know exactly where to go and what to do. But in Christmas crowds it's as though everything they thought they knew goes out the window. Viggo won't let go of Tommy's hand for anything, which is probably for the best, but it once again leaves Tommy with only one free hand.

Thank god for curb-side baggage check, because no way in hell could Tommy and Jenna have maneuvered a baggage cart, a stroller, and three kids through this mess without my help. Especially not with Tommy trying to act as my personal human shield the whole time, too!

By the time we've fought our way through the throngs of travelers, survived a lengthy wait to make it past security, and made another pit stop so that Viggo can go to the bathroom _again_ , we have barely enough time to get to our gate before the final boarding call is made. You might think that would be the end of any and all travel drama, at least until the plane touches down in Tulsa.

You would be wrong; we still have to deal with seat assignments.

Let me tell you something, I've had people fighting over me in one way or another for as long as I can remember. I have been proposed to by complete strangers (starting when I was fourteen!), I've had thousands of girls screaming for me, girls crying from the overwhelming emotion that apparently comes from being within ten feet of me. Some have even been known to pass out because they were so excited by my mere presence that they couldn't _breathe_ when they saw me! But nothing makes me feel quite as popular and beloved as having my own children bickering over who gets to sit beside me.

Jenna expertly settles the matter with a quick round of "ip dip sky blue" before we annoy the other passengers too much. It ends up going in River's favor, which is an outcome that Viggo isn't particularly happy with (but you can't argue with "ip dip"!). Besides, once I remind him that they each have a special early Christmas present to open as soon as the plane takes off, he puts his pouting on hold (mostly) and takes his seat with Jenna and Penny. The presents are just little activity books to keep them occupied throughout the flight; it's more of a gift for the adults in this traveling circus _,_ honestly. But the kids certainly don't see it that way, so I'm calling it a win-win.

It took some convincing, but I managed to get my parents and my brothers to agree _not_ to meet us at the airport when we arrive. We have to pick up a rental car anyway, so it made no sense for anyone to battle mid-west winter weather in order to get to the airport and welcome us home, only for us all to go our separate ways again five minutes later. Jenna's parents are waiting in baggage claim to greet her with open arms, though. And after she's given us all several big hugs and wished us a merry Christmas, we say goodbye to her for the next couple of weeks.

As soon as she's disappeared out of sight, I start to think that maybe I _should_ have let someone come to the airport to greet us. If only to help Tommy get the bags and the kids into the car!

After debating it for a couple of minutes, we agree that it makes the most sense for him to pick up the rental car alone and then swing by arrivals to pick us up. It all sounds simple enough, but as with everything else about this trip so far, it's more complicated in practice. He hates driving rental cars (or _any_ kind of car, for that matter), and it's snowing, and finding your way back into Tulsa International once you've left it can be tricky if you don't know your way around. Not to mention the fact that I'm now taking care of four cranky kids by myself. While on crutches.

Seriously, why do people continue to let me have ideas?

Thankfully, Tommy makes it back with the car before any serious damage can be done. I've somehow managed to _not_ fall over, there's been relatively minimal amounts of complaining from the kids about boredom or hunger or wanting to see their cousins right _now_ , and Asta's only _just_ started to smell absolutely terrible. It could've been _a lot_ worse.

It's almost dinnertime when we finally arrive at our hotel and check in. Even though I was originally excited about the idea of visiting one of our old favorite restaurants downtown, at this point I'm thinking that reaching for the phone and calling room service is just about all Tommy or I will really be up for tonight. Being on crutches all day was exhausting, I'll admit. And I _know_ Tommy had to fend off the urge to scream obscenities the entire drive over to the hotel. He hates driving in California, where the weather is generally great and the roads are rarely, if ever, icy. So navigating through unfamiliar streets in a snowstorm after dark was _definitely_ a challenge for him.

And once again, I feel shitty about the fact that I can't do anything to help. I'd _love_ to offer to take over driving duties for the rest of our stay in Tulsa, but I physically _can't_. At least he only has to deal with it for four days. But it's hard to see that as a silver lining when the reason he won't have to put up with it any longer than that is because he won't be here at all. I'm trying _really_ hard to keep up the selfless, responsible adult act here, but the closer I come to seeing him go the stronger the urge to beg him to stay becomes.

When Tommy opens the door to our suite, I'm expecting that the kids will charge right in and go about jumping all over their beds, begging to be allowed to eat all the minibar snacks, and bickering over who gets control of the TV remote. And I'm also expecting that Tommy will collapse on our bed and pass out inside of five minutes. What I'm _not_ expecting is to almost fall over Penny when she comes to a sudden stop just inside the room. She gasps, River exhales and awed "wow", Viggo begins bouncing up and down excitedly, and Tommy murmurs a stunned "what the..." (and somehow maintains enough self-control to stop there).

"Look, daddy!" Squeals my youngest son in sheer delight. "It's like Christmas!"

"It _is_ Christmas." Penny reminds him, still gaping in surprise as she slowly makes her way into the room. "It's so pretty!"

River charges right in with much less trepidation than his sister, all but spinning in circles in his attempts to take it all in. "Look at the tree! And the lights! And the _stockings_!"

"Did you do this?" Tommy asks me in a hushed voice. "I mean, I know _you_ didn't do it, but did you like... arrange it?"

I shake my head slowly, my eyes doing their tenth sweep of the festive scene before us and still refusing to believe what they're seeing. "No... I didn't even know about it."

"Them who...?"

A smile begins to curl my lips as I consider his question, and it doesn't take me more than a few seconds to come to a very reasonable conclusion. Zac was the only person besides Tommy and me who was authorized to pick up a room key. He said he just wanted to stop by before we checked in and make sure we had everything we need. And, being a naive fool, I believed him.

Shifting my weight on my crutches, I fish my cell phone out of my jacket pocket and select Zac's name from my favorite contacts list. It barely rings once before he picks up, greeting me with almost as much excitement as my kids just expressed over our fully decorated hotel suite.

"Merry Christmas!"

"So it _was_ you!" I laugh, unable to adopt the playfully accusing tone I'd been planning to use.

"What was me?"

"The hotel room! You're insane, you know that?"

"That I am." He chuckles softly. "But it actually _wasn't_ me."

"Was it mom and dad?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if the thought had crossed their minds, but they've been crazy busy getting everything ready at their place."

So then... "Was it Ike?"

"Nope." He tells me almost smugly, keeping me in suspense for a moment longer, just because he can. "It was the girls."                                                               

"The girls?" I frown to myself, casting a brief glance at Tommy and seeing that his expression probably mirrors my own.

"I think Avery was the mastermind, but Jess and Zoe helped."

I'm speechless, shocked... and beyond moved.

I knew that Avery was supportive of my relationship with Tommy and was excited to meet him, and things with Zoe and Jess have been gradually improving from the awkward limbo we'd been in before the accident. But I never thought they'd band together to do something so thoughtful for us. I'm sure it was just as much about making sure that their nieces and nephews had a tree to open their gifts under on Christmas morning, but I can't help seeing it as an olive branch. This is them reaching out across the void and trying to reconnect. This is my little sisters welcoming me home, and maybe even welcoming the man I love into our family, as well.

This is the best gift they could've possibly given us.

"You still there?"

"Yeah, I just... don't know what to say."

"How about, 'God bless us, everyone'?" He suggests mockingly. "Or maybe, 'Merry Christmas to all, and to all a-'"

"Are you gonna be done after this one, or will there be more? 'Cause I have stuff to do."

"Like what? Your boyfriend won't _let_ you do anything." He reminds me, though his tone is still more teasing than scathing. "Maybe you should ask Santa for some self-sufficiency?"

"I think you're confusing Santa with The Wizard of Oz, dude."

"Right. If I only had a brain..."

"If only." I chuckle softly, lowering myself off of my crutches and onto the end of the hotel bed.

It's _so_ ridiculously soft, and suddenly all I wanna do is lay down and sleep. As I watch Tommy tip the bellhop, and then lift Asta out of her car seat and begin searching through the piles of luggage for her diaper bag, I can't fathom how he's still functioning. He's done ten times more than I have today.

 _More_ than ten times more!

"Hey, listen, I've got everyone's gifts for the kids at my place." Zac notes, snapping me out of my contemplative daze. "Is it okay if I bring them by tonight once they're all asleep?"

"Yeah, sure! I'll text you when the coast is clear."

"Awesome!" He grins, I can _hear_ it. And the thought of getting to see him before the end of the day leaves me grinning from ear to ear, too. "Relax, recharge, enjoy the relative calm. I'll see you in a few hours."

Recharge is probably the best word he could have chosen. It's _exactly_ what Tommy and I need to focus on doing tonight, because tomorrow is when the Christmas craziness officially begins. And no matter how welcoming my family might be feeling, there's no way that having us all in the same place for the first time isn't going to be at least a little overwhelming. Especially for Tommy. Hell, I've had my whole life to get used to our "little" family gatherings, and sometimes the sheer volume of people, and noise, and activity still leaves my head spinning! It seems to get more and more chaotic every year, because almost every year there's at least one new addition to the Hanson clan (yes, I realize I'm mostly responsible for that).

I just hope this week doesn't send him running full speed in the direction of the nearest flight to Bali, desperate to get the hell away from me and anyone else I share DNA with.

Something tells me that, after today, he's already well on the way to reaching his limit.

 


	104. Chapter 104

  


 

 

Despite being tried and irritable when we got off of the plane, walking into our winter wonderland of a hotel suite was like an injection of pure sugar into my kid's veins. They were bouncing off of the walls for a good hour before room service delivered our dinner, and even then it was a struggle to get them to sit still and eat. But with ' _A Christmas Story_ ' playing on the TV, they soon settle down and begin stuffing their faces with quesadillas, mac and cheese, and fudge brownies.

Tommy and I haven't even finished picking at our over-priced entrees when Viggo starts yawning every ten seconds like clockwork. Before I can stop him, Tommy has put his salmon and veggies aside and scooped my sleepy son off of our king size bed to carry him through to the kid's adjoining room. I open my mouth to tell him that he doesn't have to give up his first few minutes of calm all day in order to get the kids ready for bed, but really... he does. Penny and River are capable of getting their pajamas on and getting their teeth brushed with no help, but Viggo isn't. And they're _all_ going to need help getting to sleep, whether it's a diaper change, being tucked in, having a story read to them, or having a special song set up to play on a loop.

Usually Tommy and Jenna take care of the bedtime routine without me, since I can't get up and down stairs without a struggle. But tonight there are no stairs, so I get to properly put my kids to bed for the first time in weeks. I didn't even realize how much I'd missed it. It's yet another one of those little things I always took for granted until I couldn't do it anymore. I guess if there's anything positive to come out of all of this limitation and frustration, it's that I appreciate things _so_ much more now. Things I never would've thought twice about before, like simply being able to walk, being able to cook dinner for my family, or shower standing up, or drive my kids to school, or pick my baby girl up when she cries...

Then, of course, there are the things I already knew I was grateful for and that I never wanted to not be able to do.

Like making love to my boyfriend.

But even if I could convince him that I'm physically capable of it tonight, nothing could convince me that _he_ is. I don't think he has the energy left to do anything but crawl onto our bed and fall asleep.

"I think I'm gonna see if the bar is still open."

Okay, so maybe he _does_ have enough energy for something else.

"Oh...uh... sure."

"Is that alright?" He asks, though I can tell it's more out of curiosity than concern.

He's planning to go to the bar whether I'm okay with it or not. He just wants to know if it's going to be an issue between us later so he can prepare himself.

"It's fine... I just figured you'd be too tired to go anywhere tonight."

"Yeah, me too." He smiles wearily, exhaling a tired chuckle as he pulls on his boots. "But I need to like... unwind, you know? I need a beer or something. And since we had the hotel take all the stuff out of the mini bar fridges so the kids couldn't get into it-"

"Well you could always order a drink from room service?" I suggest hopefully, following him across the room in my wheel chair like a lost (crippled) little puppy. "Then you don't have to go all the way downstairs."

"I know, but... I kinda just wanna get out for a while. Besides, Zac's coming by any minute, and you guys will probably wanna catch up and everything."

"You don't have to leave just because he's coming over." I sigh sadly. "I thought we were _way_ past all that."

"We are." He insists so easily and so sincerely that I almost believe him. "I mean, I'm still not the guy's biggest fan, but it's not like I'm trying to avoid him or whatever. I seriously just need some down time and a drink."

"Okay... if you're sure."

With a relaxed smile, he leans down and pecks me gently on the lips. "I'm sure."

I know it's pointless to hold onto him; he's not going to let this kiss develop into anything more. But that's never going to stop me from trying. I can't _not_ reach up to cup his face between my palms, or draw him in even deeper when he sighs softly, his warm breath sending a shiver through my entire body. One that makes it impossible for me to contain a needy moan...

And, of course, that's his cue to pull away entirely.

"Tommy-"

"Not tonight, Josephine."

"Then _when_?" I whine, sounding a hell of a lot like River did every time he asked how much longer the flight was going to last this afternoon.

"Soon." He promises, and I immediately roll my eyes before I can even think to stop myself.

It's obvious he saw, and that he knows I don't believe him. But I don't know _how_ to believe him. At the rate things are going (or _not_ going) between us, nothing is going to happen before he leaves the country in a few days. I'm starting to think that's what he's hoping for, honestly. Because by the time he gets back from his trip, my ribs will be much closer to fully healed and he won't have to worry so much about causing me pain. And while I totally understand why that's a more appealing alternative for him, I personally would much rather be in agony and be with him _now_ than have to wait two more weeks. It's already been more than a month since anything has happened between us, and being around him day in and day out but not being allowed to act on the way he makes me feel is completely inhumane!

He steps closer to me again, and my breath catches in my throat as he places his hands on the arm rests of my wheel chair and leans into me, his mouth mere inches from mine.

" _Soon_."

It takes me a moment to swallow the lump lodged in my throat and lick my now _very_ dry lips. "That's not a Hanson 'soon', is it? Because our idea of soon isn't the same as the dictionary definition of-"

"You talk _way_ too fucking much."

"So I'm told."

"You should just sit there and look pretty." A playful smirk curls his lips as I narrow my eyes into a glare. "I like 'em sexy and silent."

"Fuck you." I grumble, giving him a pitiful shove to the chest. "Go drink your stupid beer. I _probably_ won't lock you out of the room."

"You wouldn't lock me out of our hotel room on Christmas." He taunts, backing away from me slowly with his hands clasped over his chest in mock hurt.

"It's not Christmas _yet_."

"You gotta be nice or Santa won't bring you any presents."

He thinks he's being cute. And yeah, okay, he totally is. But I'm not gonna let _him_ know that. "Whatever."

"He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake..." He continues to caution me as he opens the door. "He's a creepy motherfucker when you get right down to it."

"Takes one to know one!"

"Don't wait up." With a cheeky grin and one last wink, he disappears out into the hallway and closes the door behind him.

And suddenly I'm aware of how _quiet_ it is. It's like I've gone deaf or something. It's _never_ this peaceful at home, there's always some kind of noise. Whether it's the kids, or the TV, or Tommy practicing guitar, or even just the hum of the microwave... but right now there's _nothing_.

It's both relaxing and unnerving. Part of me wants to enjoy it, and part of me wants to banish it with some music.

Thankfully, there's a knock at the door before I'm forced to hunt down my iPhone or the TV remote. I wheel myself across the room and pull the handle down just enough to unlock the door so that Zac can push it the rest of the way open. As soon as he steps inside, he dumps two large garbage bags full of gifts (at least, I assume that's what's in them) on the floor and lets the door fall shut as he practically tackles me. I seriously feel the need to reach out for something to grab onto incase my wheelchair tips over! But even if it did, I don't think I'd care.

It's just _so_ fucking good to see him again.

"You look great!"

"You lie." I snort softly as he finally lets go of me and takes a step back. "Besides, you dived on me so fast you didn't even have chance to _see_ what I look like."

"True." He grins, giving me an obvious once over from head to toe before tilting his head to the side in deliberation. "I take it back. You look like crap."

That's more like it. "Gee, thanks."

"What can I say? Sexually frustrated has never been the best look for you."

I wish I could remember how to close my mouth, but I'm too busy trying to remember when I _ever_ mentioned anything about my sex drought to Zac, or even hinted at it. I don't recall saying a word to him, because I _didn't_. That's not a topic we discuss. We might make off-handed comments or jokes about it, but I don't confide in him about my sex life.

It just seemed like off limits territory to us, considering... everything.

"I-I'm not... I mean, we-"

"Come on, Tay." He cuts me off, giving me that old and familiar 'who're you trying to fool?' look.  "If anyone knows what you look like when you're not getting any..."

Good point. "Is it really _that_ obvious?"

"Only to someone who knows you in that... special way. To everyone else you probably just look worn down and fed up."

"I _am_ worn down, though. I never do anything, and somehow it's _exhausting_."

"Well, then, maybe that's all it is."

"No." I sigh, backing my wheel chair up and pushing myself further into the hotel room so that he has enough space to really come inside. "You were right the first time."

"So Tommy doesn't wanna play doctor?" He teases, though his playful smile doesn't reach his eyes. All I see in them is empathy, and maybe even a little of the lingering regret that neither of us can seem to shake when it comes to discussing matters of the heart (and other body parts, apparently). "He probably just doesn't wanna risk breaking you even more than you've already been broken."

"Yeah, I know. I just wish I could convince him that he doesn't have to worry about that. I'm not as fragile as he thinks I am."

"You'll figure it out. And even if you don't, and he makes you wait it out until you're totally healed, you'll survive. I mean, this is nothing, you know? If you survived the accident, not to mention everything else you've been through up until now, you can _totally_ handle a few months of no sex."

"You sound just like him sometimes." I note with a fond smile. "I know you guys can't stand each other, but I seriously think you'd get along great if you'd met under different circumstances."

Those "different circumstances" being an alternate universe where I hadn't been too much of a fuck up to maintain an appropriate relationship with my own brother.

"Guess we'll never know, huh?"

Guess not.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he glances somewhat awkwardly around the room. At first I assume he's taking in the handiwork of our younger sisters, but it's not long before I realize that his attention isn't on the decorations at all.

"He's not here."

"Huh?"

"Tommy." I smile faintly, noting the way his shoulders visibly drop as the tension is lifted from them. "He went to the bar."

"Of course he did." He rolls his eyes, walking back over to the bags full of presents he brought with him and dragging them over to the wardrobe by the bathroom. "Can't that guy go a whole day without a drink?"

"Be nice!"

"This _is_ me being nice." He smirks at me over his shoulder while he stuffs the bags as far back into the dark depths of the wardrobe as he can. "If you wanna see the difference, I could say something not-so-nice-"

"No, thanks. I'll take your word for it."

"Probably safest."

"And I'd appreciate it if you'd be as nice as possible for the next few days. I know Tommy's freaking out about meeting everyone, even if he pretends he doesn't care. And I have no idea how everyone is gonna treat him, so we can use all the allies we can get."

"You know I'm on your side." He tells me sincerely, dropping down heavily onto the end of the bed. "We all are."

"Yeah, except Pam and Kate." I mumble unthinkingly, kicking myself (not literally) when I see the gentle smile disappear from his face as his gaze falls to his lap. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

"How's everything going? With Kate, I mean? You've been kind of... quiet about it lately. It's hard to tell if that's a good sign or not."

He gives a small shrug, attempting a hint of a smile as he forces himself to look up at me again. "I guess I've just been trying not to jinx anything."

"That sounds... almost positive?"

" _Almost_ positive is a good way to put it."

"What's going on?" I ask with a worried frown, wheeling myself a few inches nearer to him in hopes that the added physical closeness might offer him some kind of comfort and make it easier for him to open up. "Did something happen?"

"Yeah, kind of. It's gonna sound stupid, but... she was packing up a bunch of the kid's old baby clothes and toys to take to Goodwill last week, and she came across this onesie that Nat bought for Junia. It said 'My Auntie Is My BFF' on the front..." He gives a faint, sad shake of his head. "She had a _total_ meltdown. I seriously don't remember her crying that much when she found out that Nat died, or at the funeral, or at _any_ point this year. Maybe not _ever_. It was like she just snapped, you know? I didn't know what to do, I felt like a total idiot! I wanted to hug her, but she barely lets me near her anymore and I didn't want to make it worse. In the end I figured I should just risk it, 'cause it's not like things could _get_ much worse between us anyway. And... she actually _let_ me hold her. More than let me, it was like she _needed_ me to. She held onto my arm so tight that it left a mark. I'm not even kidding; I had little finger-shaped bruises for days!"

"Wow..."

"I think she must've cried for like an hour. She'd been keeping it all in, refusing to deal with it... she was fighting it, fighting me, fighting _everyone_. And all it took to finally break her down was a little pink onesie..."

I have no idea how to respond to this revelation; I can't imagine Kate getting misty eyed anymore, let alone all out sobbing. Even before Natalie passed away, Kate always kept her emotions measured and in check. She was composed, _proper_ , it was just the way she was raised. I'm pretty sure that Natalie and Zac were the only people she allowed close enough to really know what she was feeling at any given moment, regardless of how guarded she was being with everyone else. Hell, I've practically lived with her for months at a time, shared the confined quarters of a tour bus with her multiple times, but I never had any idea what the hell was going on in her head.

And once Natalie died, _no one_ knew what Kate was thinking or feeling anymore. Not even Zac. It seemed as though the only emotion she was capable of expressing was anger. _Resentment_.  

But maybe that's starting to change.

I hope so, for Zac's sake.

"So have things been better between you guys since the onesie incident?"I press anxiously, watching his expression for even the slightest change. Anything that might clue me in on how all of this is really making him feel. "Has she stopped giving you the cold shoulder all the time, or was is just because she was having... a moment?"

"It's definitely been... different." He begins, seemingly unsure of how to explain it all to me. Maybe because he still doesn't fully understand it himself yet. "It's not the way it used to be, but it's not the way it has been these last few months, either. I _think_ she's starting to let her guard down again, at least with me. But I don't wanna get my hopes up in case she wakes up tomorrow and kicks me out or something."

"You seriously think she'd do that?"

"I seriously think it'd be stupid to rule anything out at this point. After everything that's happened this year..."

"Good point." I chuckle softly, sadly.

"Anyway... how are _you_ feeling about everything? Aside from the stuff with Tommy, I mean. Are you excited to be back?"

Am I?

I'm pretty sure excited isn't the most accurate term for what I'm feeling, but it's still somewhere in that vicinity. It's excitement with an underlying sense of dread.

And a hint of nausea.

"I'm nervous... I think?"

"About how everyone's gonna treat Tommy?" He nods in understanding. "I would be, too. But I promise I'll be on my best behavior. And I'll wedgie anyone who isn't."

"Well _that's_ a relief." I joke with a small smile. "But honestly, even though I _am_ worried about what it's going to be like to have everyone in the same room together for the first time... I think I'm actually more nervous about seeing Ez again."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean... I know it's only been a few weeks, and I've talked to him on the phone a bunch of times since then. But it's always pretty awkward, you know? It's like pulling teeth trying to get him to tell me _anything_ most days, even just what he had for dinner! And it's not that he's being intentionally standoffish or ignoring me like he used to, he's just..."

"Quiet?" He finishes for me.

" _Really_ quiet." I sigh wearily, slumping a little in my chair as I force myself to face the fears I've been doing my best to stay distracted from for weeks now. "Everyone says he's been doing well, and that he's been behaving himself for the most part, and doing his school work without argument, and spending more time out of his room and everything, and that's _so_ great... I guess I'm just afraid that he's making all this progress because he's been away from me. I don't want to screw everything up for him just by being here."

"You won't."

"You don't know that. I'm good at screwing things up, Zac, I do it without even trying to. Hell, usually I do it when I'm trying my hardest _not_ to-"

He places his hand over mine, curling his fingers around it and giving it a gentle squeeze that silently commands me to stop. Stop talking. Stop stressing. Stop beating myself up. Just stop and _breathe_.

"If that's what you really believe, then how about you just _don't_ try?" He suggests reassuringly. "Let it go, let whatever is gonna happen happen. I know that's nearly impossible for you, because you always wanna make everything the way you think it _should_ be. But sometimes things just have to be what they are, Tay. Some things _can't_ be anything else, no matter how hard you try to make them be."

"You know... I really think you got my share of the brains in our family."

"And you got my share of the neurosis."

"That hardly seems fair."

"It's not." He smirks smugly, pushing himself up off of the bed. "What time are you gonna be at mom and dad's tomorrow?"

"Probably sometime right after lunch. Ike said we could borrow his kitchen tomorrow morning to make a pie. Actually, Nikki said we could. I'm not sure she actually told Ike about it yet, so that ought to be fun for the whole family... but whenever we're done over there, we'll head to mom and dad's."

"Wait, you're making a _pie_?"

"I _always_ bring something to mom and dad's on Christmas Eve." I remind him, his incredulous tone making me feel somewhat defensive. It's not _that_ crazy! "Just 'cause I don't live here anymore-"

"That's not why I think you're insane. You're in a wheelchair! You've got several broken bones and you're still getting over a major head injury. No one expects you to make a pie, dude!"

"I know no one expects me to, but I w _ant_ to. Besides... I'm not really gonna be the one making it. I'm just gonna be overseeing the process, because that's pretty much all I'm _allowed_ to do these days. Tommy's doing all the 'heavy lifting'."

" _Tommy_? Tommy is gonna bake a pie?" He snorts, as though this is an even crazier notion than me doing it while in a wheel chair. "What's he gonna put in it? Beer?"

"Hey! What happened to being on your best behavior?"

"I will be. _Tomorrow_."

"Nice."

"Wouldn't you rather I get it out of my system now instead of trying to keep it all bottled up?"

I'd rather there was nothing to bottle up. But since that's apparently asking for too much, I guess it's better that he unleashes all of his contempt for Tommy on me while we're alone rather than saving it for when Tommy's actually present.

"Are you done?" I ask hopefully, scowling when he takes a _long_ moment to pretend to consider the question.

"I think so... if I come up with more on the drive home, I'll text them to you."

"Awesome."

"See ya tomorrow." He grins proudly before turning to leave the room. But just as he pulls open the door, he stops and faces me again. "Welcome home, by the way."

"Thanks."

The door closes behind him with a loud click, and the hotel room falls silent once again. Inside my head, however, it's anything but silent. There's so much going on, and so many thoughts clamoring for attention, it's kind of overwhelming. My previous concerns about how tomorrow will play out are still present, but now they're having an intense debate with Zac's wise words about simply letting things _be_.

The part of my brain that needs to plan everything down to the last detail is busy racing, making lists, trying to figure out if there's anything I need to remember to do, any ingredients I forgot to ask Nikki to pick up for the pie...

Maybe Zac was right about that, too. Maybe I should have just let go of the idea of making a pie this year. But it's tradition; I supply the apple pie at the Hanson Christmas Eve dinner _every_ year! I know that technically it'll be Tommy supplying the pie this year, but at least I'll be contributing to it in some small way by walking him through the entire process.

Perhaps that can be a tradition?

Tommy and I don't really have any of those yet, we haven't had chance to come up with any. It's exciting to think that this _is_ our chance. This week, this Christmas, is our chance to figure out what matter to us. It's our chance to create new traditions that we want to hold on to for _our_ family.

It's impossible not to smile like a complete _fool_ when that thought crosses my mind. It was only a year ago that I had _no_ hope of ever seeing Tommy again. I didn't think we'd ever speak again; I didn't think there was anything left to be said. Nothing that we didn't already know, at least. Nothing that could change things for us.

But now... now there's _so_ much to say. A lifetime's worth of words.

We have a life together, we have a family together, we have a future _together_.

Sometimes I still can't believe it's real.

I try my best to stay awake until Tommy returns from the hotel bar (even though he told me not to), but I'm way too wiped out to make it past ten pm. Especially after struggling to maneuver my broken leg up onto the bed with no assistance. And once it's there, and I've managed to get comfortable, I realize it's the first time I've slept in a real (non-hospital) bed in over a month! Somehow that thought makes the mattress and pillows feel even softer than before, and in no time I'm out like a light.

I have no idea what time it is when Tommy calls it a night and joins me in bed, all I know is that it's _very_ early in the morning when he wakes me from an all too familiar bad dream.

I'm so, _so_ sick of this.

I keep waiting for it to stop, because there's no good reason for it to continue plaguing my sleep this way. But the thing I'm more frustrated by is the fact that it plagues Tommy's sleep, too. I've never woken myself up from this dream, he always has to literally shake me out of it. And the look on his face when I open my eyes makes me feel a thousand times worse than the trapped, claustrophobic feelings I was experiencing in the nightmare. It used to just be concern and curiosity I could see in his expression, now it's sadness and something that looks a lot like guilt.

 _I'm_ the only one who has anything to feel guilty about, though. I'm the one who refuses to tell him the truth when he asks me what the dream is about. And it's not like he hasn't more than earned the right to know. I just can't bring myself to actually _say_ it, to admit to this unsettling scenario that my subconscious has inexplicably made him the star of.

I think knowing might hurt him more than being kept in the dark. 


	105. Chapter 105

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I suck. I was on vacation the last week or so, and even though I was so close to having this finished before I left, it took an unplanned turn towards the end and I ended up having to leave it unfinished until yesterday. I'll try to do better now that I have 2 weeks off!
> 
> Hopefully there will be another chapter up before Christmas, but just in case I fail at life...
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS/HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! <3

  


 

 

Our usual routine when I'm woken by this nightmare is for him to ask if I'm okay, and for me to force a smile and tell him that I'm fine. He used to ask what the dream was about, or if I remembered anything. But I think he got sick of me telling him that I couldn't remember, because eventually he stopped asking.

And apparently tonight is the night he's going to stop asking if I'm okay, too. As soon as he's sure I'm awake, he rolls over and turns on the light on his side of the bed. I have to shield my eyes from the harsh glare for a moment, but when I finally lower my hand and cautiously peer in his direction, I find him sitting up against the pillows beside me with an alert (and undeniably annoyed)look on his face.

"Are you gonna tell me what the fuck this dream is about, or-"

"I don't remem-"

"Bullshit." He argues before I can lie to him about it all over again.

And as much as I hate the fact that he obviously knows that I've been lying to him this whole time, it's kind of a relief. I don't _want_ to tell him the truth, but I don't want to keep doing this dance over and over again, either. I just wish I knew how to explain it to him without him taking it badly and reading too much into it.

"It's just a dream." I sigh sadly, defeatedly, sinking down lower into my pile of pillows even though it's still harder for me to breathe when I'm not propped up enough.

I feel the need to bury myself in a bundle of cotton sheets and pillowcases right now, though. If I can't hide from him emotionally, I want to hide from him physically.

"Yeah, it's _just_ a dream. A dream you have almost every fucking night. A dream I have to practically beat you out of while you plead to be let go and beg to be with your kids."

"But it doesn't _mean_ anything."

"Maybe not, but the fact that you won't tell me what it's about _does_." He insists, and now he's the one who's pleading. Everything about him is begging me to just _tell_ him what this stupid nightmare is about. "If you talk about it, it could help."

"What do you mean?"

"If you tell me, if you just get it out, whatever it is, maybe it won't have this much control over you anymore, you know?" I never really thought about that. I was so focused on ignoring it and keeping it from him, I didn't consider the fact that sharing it might actually be the answer instead. "I'm leaving in a couple of days, Taylor. Who's gonna wake you up every other night while I'm gone? Penny? Viggo?"

Shit.

He sure knows exactly where to hit to cause the biggest fracture in any walls I try to put up. And he _knows_ that's what he's done, I can see it in his eyes. And I can see how determined he is to end this now. He's going to find out what this nightmare is about, whether I tell him willingly or he has to drag it out of me piece by piece.

So why bother trying to keep him in the dark any longer?

"It doesn't mean anything-"

"You said that already."

"I know, but I _need_ you to know that. It's just a stupid dream." I tell him earnestly, noticing the flash of fear in his eyes before he takes a breath and nods.

"Okay. It's just a stupid dream." He repeats calmly. "But what's it about?"

"I don't know... it's hard to explain. It's just gonna sound crazy."

"It doesn't matter."

I know he's right. And I know I'm still stalling. But what I honestly _don't_ know is how to even begin putting this into words. " I think... maybe being in the ICU kinda messed me up or something, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." A faint, sympathetic smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and his fingertips soothingly stroke my forearm. For a moment, all I can do is stare at them, watching them drift back and forth...

Suddenly, something about the motion triggers a memory of the dream, and I jerk my arm away from his touch. I don't even realize what I've done until I look up and see his surprised and wounded expression. It's _exactly_ what I was afraid he'd feel if I told him about this dream.

"I'm sorry."

"What happened?" He asks, very obviously keeping his hands to himself. Even when I reach out and try to lace my fingers with his, he barely reciprocates. "What did I do?"

" _Nothing_. It's me, it's _my_ fault."

" _What's_ your fault?"

"I started having the dream right after I got moved out of the ICU. It was like I was dreaming about being back there. At least... I think that's where I am. It's hard to tell, it's just this bright, white room. It feels familiar, but everything is so distorted and blurry, I don't know where I am. And there are these people there, but I can't see their faces, and I can't understand what they're saying. It's not like it's even another language or anything. It's just... sounds, it's like it's muffled or something. Like I'm underwater, only... I'm not."

"Okay..." He begins slowly, trying to take it all in and make some kind of sense of it. But I still can't make sense of it, so I have no idea how he's supposed to! "So you're in a room that's like the one in the ICU, and there are people... do you think they're doctors?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I honestly don't know who they are or what they're doing to me, I just know that... I can't move. I can't feel my body, but at the same time _everything_ hurts. And when I try to move, they won't let me go. And I can't speak. I keep trying to talk to them, to ask them what they want or beg them to let me go, but _nothing_ comes out. I can barely breathe, it's like being smothered or something, and they _won't_ let me go..."

My vision begins to blur with tears, and I feel silly as I quickly bat them away before they can come close to falling. I don't know why I'm getting so worked up over a nightmare, especially when I'm not even having it anymore. But talking about it _feels_ almost the same as being stuck in it. Talking about how it feels to be in that room, to be incapable of moving or screaming or escaping stirs the same emotions I experience when I'm dreaming. My heart is beating faster, I can feel the panic rising in my chest no matter how hard I fight it back.

I've had enough anxiety attacks in my life to know that this is how mine start.

"It's okay." He tells me, his fingers finally giving mine a gentle, grounding squeeze. "It's not real."

"It _feels_ real." I mumble miserably. "It all feels _so_ real. And even though some part of me _knows_ it's not, I still feel this way _every_ time. I feel like I'm drowning, _dying_. And to make it worse, after the first time you woke me up from it... my fucked up mind put _you_ in the dream. It was like I woke up from it and you were there, and then whenever I had the dream after that I could see your face. You were one of those people holding me down. But you were different to them... you were gentle... sometimes I could even understand some of what you were saying to me, and... it was like you were trying to calm me down. But I still couldn't move, or talk, or _breathe_..."

I've avoided looking at him until now, because I didn't want to see the hurt that I was sure would be written all over his face. Even if rationally he knew it was meaningless, I was sure some part of him would still be offended by the fact that my subconscious would ever paint him as a villain, gentle or not. But hurt isn't the emotion I see right now. It's something else...

"So... you're in a place that's like the ICU, and there are people around you?"

"Yeah."

"Like... lots of people or just one or two?" He asks curiously, taking this _way_ more seriously than I expected him to.

And honestly, that only makes me _more_ nervous.

"I... just a few, I think." I admit uncertainly.

"And you're hurt?"

"I don't know... I don't know if I'm actually hurt. I just know that... it _feels_ like my whole body hurts."

"And I'm there?"

" _No_. It's _not_ you, it's just-"

"You said it was me."

"It's not! It's not anyone, it's not real." I remind him, desperate to keep this train of thought he's on from going any further in the direction it seems to be headed. "It's just a fucked up dream."

"I think it's more than that."

 _Damnit._ I knew this was going to happen! "Tommy-"

"You know how I wasn't there when you woke up in the hospital?" He questions gently, his grip on my hand tightening at the thought of it.

"Yeah... but what does that have to do with anything?"

"I wasn't there because I was hiding at home like a fucking idiot. Because I thought you forgot who I was."

"It doesn't matter, that's not why you're in the dream! It's not like I'm secretly mad at you for it, I _never_ was."

He shakes his head slowly, a small, affectionate smile spreading across his lips. "That's not what I'm getting at."

"Then what _are_ you getting at?" I ask in complete confusion. "I don't understand how that has anything to do with-"

"You didn't know me." He cuts me off, his voice waveringly for a second before he takes a breath and tries again. "The first time you woke up, you didn't who I was."

"But I don't _remember_ that! I don't remember _any_ of it!"

"I think you _do_ , baby."

Just as I open my mouth to tell him I really and truly _don't_ remember the incident he's referring to, that I wouldn't even know it had happened at all if he hadn't told me about it, I realize what it is he's saying.

The dream _isn't_ just a dream. It's a memory.

It's warped and muddled, but it's my memory of waking up in that unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people whose faces were rendered impossible to recognize as a result of the drugs I was on and the head injury I'd sustained. Everything hurt because my body was _broken_. I couldn't speak because I had a tube in my throat, and I couldn't breathe because I was fighting the ventilator and very likely having a panic attack. And they wouldn't let me go because they _couldn't_ let me go.

And he _was_ there. Of course he was. He _was_ the gentle and strangely familiar presence at my bedside. He _was_ trying to calm me down. He was trying to pull me out of the waking nightmare that was suffocating me, he was trying to bring me back to him.

He has been ever since.

He has been since the night we _met._

"I should've known..." I hear myself murmur sadly.

Tommy's brow furrows, and he shakes his head in bewilderment. "What're you talking about? Known what?"

"That it was you, that you were there with me... I should've _known_."

"You did, on some level. Your brain didn't randomly decide to put me in your dream just 'cause I woke you up from it. You knew it was me, it just took a while to like... click." He consoles me wholeheartedly. "And you don't get to beat yourself up over that. With all the other fucked up shit going on at the time, and everything you were going through, you don't get to feel guilty for getting lost for a while."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you feel guilty for leaving when you thought I forgot who you were?" I ask him quietly, noting the fact that he immediately loses the ability to look me in the eyes. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to.

The answer is obvious, and it explains so much.

After his outburst a few nights ago, and his comment about just "standing there" and watching the accident happen, like there was anything else he could have done, I was pretty sure he was carrying around a sizable amount of _completely_ unwarranted blame. And now I know it's not the only thing he's been punishing himself for.

I guess it was stupid of me to assume he'd forgiven himself for leaving the hospital that morning. I knew how ashamed of himself he was at the time, I _saw_ it. But he broke down, and I comforted him and told him again and again that it was okay... and I thought he believed me. All he really did, though, was push it deep down inside to dwell with the rest of his guilt. Guilt over ever making me doubt he wanted to be with me. Guilt over ever hesitating when it came to moving in with me, or marrying me, or anything else that screamed "commitment". And, of course, his guilt over the fact that he couldn't prevent me from getting hurt.

It's been eating away at him this whole time, and I didn't even realize it. I thought he was just being over-protective because he was paranoid about me hurting myself. And while I'm sure that's part of it, I think he's also been trying to "fix" all of the things he thinks he did wrong.

Or never did at all. 

Because he resisted taking the leap and moving in with me, he's now more committed than he's ever been. Because he couldn't protect me from the accident, he's now hell bent on protecting me from _every_ conceivable "threat" the world could potentially pose. And because he wasn't there, because he left me, he's determined to be at my side every second he possibly can be.

"I get it." I tell him truthfully, tracing the apple of his cheek with my thumb until he finally meets my eyes again. "But you've gotta let it go."

"Yeah, well... so do you."

"Okay... I'll make you a deal; if you forgive yourself, I'll forgive myself."

Honestly, I'm not sure it's as simple as I'm making it sound, but I want it to be. I want to believe we can both shed this guilt and move on. He never held me responsible for "forgetting" him, and I've never held him responsible for how he handled it, or for failing to prevent the accident in the first place.

So what's the point in either of us carrying this weight around any longer?

"Do you seriously think you can do that?" He asks skeptically. "Just shrug it off and be okay with it? Stop dreaming about it?"

"I'm gonna _try_." It's the only honest answer I can offer him right now, and hopefully it's enough to convince him.

His eyes continue to search mine for doubt, for any sign that I don't believe we can do this. But I believe we can. I _have_ to believe that. I don't want to waste more time and energy hating myself; I've already spent too much of my life doing that. It's gotten to the point where I don't feel _right_ unless I'm reprimanding myself for one thing or another. It's as though something is missing when I'm not mad at myself, like I forgot to do something. And that's insane! I may not be perfect, and I may have done plenty of shitty things in my almost thirty years of life, but even _I_ don't believe that I should _constantly_ be finding fault with myself.

And I _definitely_ don't want him carrying this burden of blame around for a second longer than he already has.

"Okay." He eventually concedes, taking a noticeably apprehensive breath. "I'll try."

We seal our pact with a kiss, and for the first time in a long time there is absolutely no intention on my part to attempt to take it any further.

At least... there wasn't when we began.

Apparently I just have no self-control whatsoever, because one brush of his warm lips against mine and my entire body is engulfed by a tornado of tingles. I _know_ he feels it, too; his breath hitches and his hand instinctively grasps my forearm even tighter than before. I'm almost afraid to move, afraid that if I make the wrong sound or do the wrong thing it'll ruin this moment and he'll put a stop to if the way he always does. And at the same time all I want to do is kiss him more fervently, pull him even closer, be more demanding and hope that he finally relents.

But as soon as I summon the nerve to let my hand wander slowly from his cheek to his chest, the heat of his mouth disappears, and _my_ mouth is left longing for him.

" _Damnit_ , Tommy-"

"I know." He cuts me off before I can begin telling him _again_ how tired I am of waiting. "I'm just gonna lock the door."

It takes me a few seconds to understand what he's talking about, and I watch him in bemused silence as he clambers off of the bed and makes his way through the darkness towards the door separating our bedroom from the kid's room. The sound of the lock clicking into place actually makes my heart skip a beat, and when it remembers how to function again it's hammering away at twice it's normal speed. I can hear it pounding in my ears, it's _all_ I can hear, it's the only thing I'm aware of. Then the bed dips under his weight as he rejoins me beneath the sheets, and suddenly I snap out of my daze and all of my senses start working properly again.

My eyes meet his in the darkness, and despite the dim light I swear I can see every last fleck of warm caramel in that deep, intense brown. I can see every last shred of apprehension he's feeling, too. And I'll admit I'm feeling a lot less sure of myself than I was just a few minutes ago. I guess it's easy to be fearless and determined when you think there's little to no chance of actually getting what you want.

But once the red light turns green, your foot hesitates over the accelerator.

"Hi." He murmurs, offering me a coy little smile as he shifts nearer.

"Hi..."

It's like I can't remember how this goes! Which is ridiculous, because it hasn't been _that_ long since we were last together (even if it has felt like a goddamn _eternity_!). All I've wanted for weeks is to tackle him, whether I was capable of doing so or not. But now that I finally have the chance to be with him, I don't know how or where to begin!

Until his fingertip traces a flirtatious line along the curve of my bicep. And with that one, small touch, everything becomes _so_ simple.

When I look up at him, his smile is no longer shy it's seductive. If I could pounce on him, I would. But the cast on my leg is like a ball and chain weighing me down. That doesn't mean I'm just gonna lie here and make him do all the work, though.

 _Or_ have all the fun.

He laughs softly as I reach down to the bottom of his t-shirt and begin tugging it persistently up over his torso. "Whoa, slow down-"

" _You_ slow down!" I retort childishly, finally succeeding in pulling the shirt over his head and casting it carelessly aside.

But I guess I probably should have taken his suggestion more seriously. Because as soon as I start trying to lift my own shirt over my head, I feel a twinge of pain in my chest that forces me to stop. To be honest, it's more of a stab than a twinge, and even though I try to hide it from him, a grunt of discomfort escapes me before I have chance to bite my lip. His smile is gone in an instant, and his hand immediately takes hold of my arm and guides it back down to my side.

" _Slow_ down." He repeats gently, his previously playful tone now entirely serious.

"I'm fine."

"Maybe we should just-"

"No!" I protest impatiently. "I don't wanna wait. We've been waiting, I'm _done_ waiting. I _want_ you."

"That's _not_ what I was gonna say."

As if he's trying to dispel any lingering doubt I might have, he carefully takes the edge of my t-shirt in his hands and peels it up over my chest. Rather than tossing it over the side of the bed without a second thought the way I did with his, he places it on the mattress beside him. But his eyes never leave mine. Not for a second. Not as he scoots closer, and not as he places his warm palm to the center of my chest and allows it to drift lower at an _agonizingly_ slow pace.

"I want you, too." He tells me in a near whisper, sounding slightly breathless. Or maybe I'm the one who's breathless. I can't remember the last time I inhaled. "But I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't-"

"And I don't want _you_ to hurt you." I would tell him that he has nothing to worry about, but the only reason he _is_ worried right now is because I've already proved that I can't be trusted to take care of myself. "So how about we just like... start small?"

"I'm listening..."

The mischievous smirk reappears on his face, and my eyes follow him curiously, eagerly, as he leans towards me. My mouth is more than ready to greet his, but just as he comes within mere inches of kissing me he takes an unexpected detour. Next thing I know, his lips are on my neck and I seem to have lost the ability to hold my own head up. I groan with a mixture of satisfaction and need, arching into him, desperate to be even closer than I already am.

His touch is _everything_ in this moment, and yet I still want more.

His fingers gradually creep back up the center of my chest, each one taking it's turn to move, drawing out every last graze of his short nails against my skin until they eventually splay out and gently push me down onto my back. And I'm so boneless from what his lips and tongue are doing to my throat and shoulders that I don't even attempt to put up a fight. A few minutes ago I was all about taking charge of this situation, and now I want nothing more than to give in to whatever it is he wants to do to me.

It's been _so_ long since he's kissed me or touched me this way, since he has _allowed_ himself to. Even now, every last skim of his hands over my ribs and each teasing nip of his teeth against my collarbone is as delicate as he can _possibly_ make it.

It's driving me totally and utterly crazy, but for the first time in weeks it's a _good_ kind of crazy.

Closing my eyes, I tangle my fingers in his sleep-tousled hair and concede any remaining shred of control I might have been holding onto. And as his mouth wanders back and forth across my chest, in no hurry to get wherever it's going, relishing every last second of its seemingly aimless journey, I realize that his kisses are actually much more intentional than they feel. Each tender caress of his lips is a futile attempt to mend every fractured or broken bone that my body sustained, to erase any lingering hints of scratches and scrapes, to undo it all.

We both know it's not possible, but he's completely content to keep trying.

And I'm _more_ than content to let him.

 


	106. Chapter 106

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! <3

  


 

 

It's been a long, _long_ time since I've woken up _satisfied_.

Do you know that feeling?

Even when your mind is foggy, and you're not awake enough to really know for sure what's going on, your body is still completely at peace. You don't _care_ where you are, or what time it is; you're warm, and safe, and happy.

You're full.

 _Fulfilled_.

Last night was a release that Tommy and I both needed _so_ badly. I really don't know how we could have gone through another day without it! It's kinda like when you have a pot on the stove and you put a lid on it. If you leave the lid on for too long it's going to bubble up, force its way out, and spill all over the place. A hissing, sizzling, angry mess. And then if you don't get it cleaned up quickly, it's gonna burn and stick to the stove top, and then it's impossible to get off without scrubbing it for hours, and...

I think I went too far with that analogy.

But there was definitely a point in there somewhere (right before the scrubbing). We were on the verge of bubbling over into an angry, impossible to clean up mess. We needed to take the lid off of that pot of sexual tension, let off some steam so that things between us could settle down and go back to normal.

We didn't _actually_ take the lid off. Not entirely. We kinda just... lifted it a little. Just enough to relieve a little of the pressure that had been building up. I never would've thought that simply kissing him, letting him kiss me, would be enough to satiate me _this_ much. Honestly, I wouldn't have thought that this feeling was possible without actually having sex! But somehow what we did was enough.

It was _perfect_.

I'd been in such a rush to get him naked and get him off, it was all I wanted. Then he convinced me to slow down. And with each lazy, lingering kiss he placed to my chest, I realized more and more that rushing things would have been a _huge_ mistake. His way was _so_ much better. I could feel how much he wanted me, it was _so_ clear, but it was a different kind of need to the desperate, grasping one I've been living with for weeks. It was love, devotion, _adoration_. It was addictive; I wanted it to go on and on for hours. It felt as though it _did_. Unfortunately, after an incredibly hectic day of travel, and then nothing more than a nap before my recurring nightmare had rudely woken us both up, we couldn't make out  until sunrise the way I could tell we both wanted to. Although, I can't really remember _how_ things wound down...

I'm pretty sure we probably kissed each other into unconsciousness.

But apparently he recovered from his exhaustion before I did, because he's already awake. Awake and gone. As I carefully push myself up against the pile of pillows behind me, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and conceding victory to a huge yawn, I try to focus on every little sound in our hotel suite. There's no sound coming from the bathroom, but there are faint noises of cartoons and giddy chatter coming from the adjoining bedroom. I guess the kids woke him up, or he woke up and went to check on them, and he wanted to let me get some more sleep.

I wish it had been the other way around; I'm sure he could've used an extra hour or so of shut-eye more than I could.

I'm sure he's going to _need_ it, given all of the family insanity awaiting us today.

With a little bit of difficulty, I manage to shift my legs over the edge of the bed and retrieve my crutches without knocking them over and out of my reach (which happens a good chunk of the time, unfortunately). I'm about to make my way across the room to the door when I realize I'm not wearing a shirt. It's kinda cold, and using crutches is even less comfortable like this, so I reluctantly make a detour to Tommy's side of the bed and hunt for my discarded t-shirt. Once I've located it beneath the crumpled mess of sheets and struggled to pull it on without dropping either of my crutches, I finally make it to the adjoining bedroom door.

But when I open it, Tommy is _still_ nowhere to be found.

Penny is lying on her bed, completely engrossed in her coloring book, while he brothers use their bed as a trampoline. And Asta is...

Not here.

"Where's your baby sister?" I ask anyone who cares enough to answer.

"Tommy took her." Penny informs me distractedly, not so much as glancing up from her work of art. "He said not to wake you up unless it was important, and that he'd be back real fast."

"Did he say _where_ he was going?"

"Nope."

"It's a surprise!" Announces Viggo in gleeful mid-bounce, only to be immediately reprimanded by River.

"Don't tell!"

"I didn't!"

"You did!"

"I just told that it was a surprise!" Viggo protests, impending tears creeping into his tone as he turns to face me, begging me to believe his innocence. "I didn't tell what it was!"

"It's okay, bud. You didn't ruin the surprise."

 Although, I kinda wish he had, because unless Tommy gets back within the next five minutes the curiosity might just kill me! I settle down with my sons on the end of their bed, pretending to watch the cartoon playing on the TV in front of me. But really I'm too focused on trying to figure out where Tommy might have gone and why, it's _all_ I can think about. Maybe he went to do some last minute Christmas shopping? Which makes him crazy, because the stores are even more of a mob scene on Christmas Eve than they are for the whole month leading up to it. He can't stand shopping on a good day, so the odds of him (or anyone he crosses paths with) surviving that madness are slim.

I really hope I don't get a call to come and bail him out of jail or something...

I'm just about to give into the urge to go and get my cell phone so I can at least call him and make sure he's okay, when Asta comes toddling through the door between our rooms. She grins as soon as she lays eyes on me, and before she's even made it across the carpeted floor and into my waiting arms, Tommy makes an appearance, too. He has a drink carrier in each hand and a plastic bag full of something that smells amazing hanging from one arm, and he looks more than a little frazzled.

"Where'd you go?"

"To get breakfast." He tells me, as though it should be obvious. And okay, I guess it was a pretty stupid question given what he's carrying. "And coffee, since I know you can't function without it."

I love him. "There's a coffee maker in our room."

"That stuff's crap."

"True. But we still could've ordered room service." I remind him as he places small cups of hot chocolate and pumpkin spice steamers in my kid's expectant hands. "You didn't have to go out in the snow and the Christmas craziness just to get Starbucks."

He shrugs, like it's no big deal. But I can tell from the fact that he won't look me in the eyes that he knows how grateful I am, and it's make him adorably bashful. "The food we got from room service last night was totally over-priced for what it was; it wasn't even all that good. You've been talking about wanting to go to that bagel place all week, so..."

"You went all the way over to Peoria to get me a bagel?!"

"It wasn't _that_ far." He insists with another shrug. "Besides, Tulsa is so damn small town that there were _no_ freakin' Starbucks _anywhere_ near the hotel. The nearest one was like a couple of blocks away from the bagel restaurant, so it's not like it was out of my way or whatever."

Not out of his way? Does he really expect me to just let that comment go? How is getting up early, keeping my kids from waking me up, taking my baby girl with him, driving miles in the snow in a town he's completely unfamiliar with just to get me coffee and bagels _not_ going out of his way?!

He continues fussing with the food, unwrapping my kid's breakfasts and making a futile attempt to cut Viggo's peanut butter and jelly bagel in half for him using the plastic knife the restaurant provided him with. It's not until I reach out and wrap my fingers around his wrist that he finally stops what he's doing and instinctively looks up at me. I had a heartfelt "thank you" all lined up and ready to roll off of my tongue, but the second we lock eyes I know it's unnecessary. He can see it. I can tell from the small smile that curls his lips before he leans in and presses them gently to mine.

"Eeew!" River whines, causing us to pull apart and glance in his direction. "Why do you _always_ gotta kiss?"

"Yeah." Agrees Viggo, though I'm pretty sure his disgust is less genuine than River's, and more than likely just an attempt to be like his big brother. "Kissing is yucky."

This is new.

"What's so gross about it?" I ask with a chuckle, noting the fact that Tommy hasn't moved at all since their outburst of disapproval.

I can't help but smile, knowing that he's lingering in hopes of getting another kiss when I'm done explaining to my sons how _not_ gross this is.

Rolling his eyes, River throws his hands up impatiently, as though he's already gone over this with me a thousand times before."You put _your_ mouth on someone's else's mouth. And then you move it all around and make squishing sounds! It's gross."

"Yeah, it's _gross._ " Viggo choruses emphatically.

"It's all wet and slobbery like a dog!"

"No it's not." Penny informs him matter-of-factly. "It's how you show someone that you love them. That's not gross."

"You just say that 'cause you wanna kiss a Disney prince someday!" Mocks River, making exaggeratedly loud kissing noises right in her face until she eventually shoves him away.

"Okay, that's enough." I intervene, even though I'm more than certain she could hold her own. "Penny's right, Riv. One day, many, _many_ years from now, you'll meet someone you really like and you'll _want_ to kiss them on the mouth. Then you'll see it's not gross."

He shudders at the mere suggestion, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head. "Nuh-uh! I'm not _ever_ gonna kiss anyone."

There's really no point in arguing with him. I remember being his age and thinking that love was stupid and kissing was weird. Nothing could have convinced me otherwise, not until I was old enough to actually _want_ those things. But even then I still thought that wanting to kiss girls was weird. And wanting to kiss boys was _definitely_ weird, and wrong, and made me a total freak.

Thank god I don't think that way anymore!

I turn my attention back to Tommy and his waiting lips, and my smile immediately spreads into a grin as the tip of his nose playfully nudges mine a couple of times before our mouths meet. There's absolutely _nothing_ weird or wrong about this.

It couldn't feel more right.

"How'd you sleep?" He inquires between kisses.

"Great. You?"

"Mmm... same." With one last peck, he pulls back and reaches for my coffee cup and breakfast bagel while I whine in pitiful protest. "It's getting cold."

"I'll eat if you eat."

"I will." He assures me, but before he has chance to get his own food unwrapped and take even one bite, Asta is pulling on the leg of his jeans and demanding 'uppies'. " _After_ I feed her."

"I can feed her." I tell him, already setting my breakfast down on the sheets beside me and straining to reach far enough to put my coffee cup safely on the ground.

He stops me before I can succeed. "It's fine. _Eat_. I've got this."

I have to admit... he _really_ does. For all of his fears about playing step-father to five (or four) kids, and worrying about where he'd fit into their lives and what his role would be, he's figured it out pretty perfectly. I don't think _he_ believes he has, I think he's convinced that he's barely got things under control most of the time and is making it up as he goes along. And maybe he is making it up, maybe he has _no_ idea what he's doing until he actually does it.

Honestly, if that's the case, it just makes him even _more_ amazing in my eyes.

By the time we've all finished our food and gotten ready to leave the hotel, it's a lot later than I'd planned on it being. But it's not like I'm really in a position to be rushing anyone else when a big part of the blame for us running behind schedule belongs solely to me. Besides, it's hard to care how late we are when I'm still feeling so relaxed after last night. And the kids are so excited to see their cousins that I wouldn't be surprised if the car was practically bouncing down the freeway on the drive over to Ike and Nikki's place!

I think the only one in the car who isn't in a great mood is Tommy, and I can totally understand why. Meeting more of my relatives for the first time is nerve-wracking for him (no matter how nonchalant he pretends to be about it), and his day is going to be filled with it. And being in Ike's home when he and Ike aren't exactly the best of friends is bound to be awkward for him.

I'm just _really_ hoping that Nikki can counter-balance the tension.

Despite my silent prayers for us to be greeted by my sister-in-law, it's Ike who answers the front door when we arrive. That's either proof that there's no God, or that whatever God there is up there is pissed at me.

Or, you know... busy with more important things.

At first he seems surprised to find us on his doorstep, but the confused look on his face disappears instantly when River, Penny and Viggo nearly knock him over with a group hug. His smile is almost as wide as any of theirs, and he wraps his arms around all three of them and manages to lift them all up. It's only for a few seconds, and barely a foot off the ground, but it's enough to leave them all squealing and giggling before he sets them back down.

"Can I see Everett and Monroe?" Asks River keenly. "I haven't seen them in _forever_!"

"Sure, buddy. They're in the family room."

That's all the invitation any of them need, and within seconds they've disappeared into the house and it's just the four of us standing around awkwardly in the snow. Well, Tommy and I are standing in the snow. Asta is being held, and Ike is still standing in the doorway seemingly oblivious to the fact that we're actually waiting for him to tell us we can come inside.

"I didn't know you guys were coming over, I figured we'd just see you at mom and dad's later."

"Nikki didn't tell you?"

A noticeable flash or realization crosses his face as that piece of the puzzle falls into place. "No, she didn't."

Thanks, Nikki.

"Can we come in? It's kinda freezing out here." Not that there's any guarantee it'll be less cold inside...

"Oh, yeah, sure." He chuckles, stepping aside so that we can squeeze past him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome or anything."

"It's fine, you were in shock." I assure him, trying to keep the weirdness to a minimum as we follow him through the house towards the family room.

"Look who's here!" He announces, drawing the attention of his wife and sons away from their reunion with my hyper kids.

"Uncle Tay!" Everett gasps, making a beeline straight for me and then coming to a screeching halt right in front of me. He looks me up and down uncertainly, clearly wondering if it's okay to hug someone on crutches. "You broke your leg?"

I look at Ike in question, but all he can do is offer me a sheepish shrug. "We told them you got in an accident. I guess we weren't too specific about the rest..."

"I'm okay, dude." I smile confidently down at my worried nephew. "I'll be all fixed up in no time."

"Does it hurt?" Inquires Monroe as he makes his way over to join his big brother.

"Not really."

"Can I draw on your cast?"

"Everett!" Nikki laughs, shaking her head at me apologetically.

"But my friend Jace in my class broke his arm one time, and his mom let us all draw on his cast and stick stickers on it and stuff!"

"It's okay." I promise Nikki genuinely. "If he can find any spare space that my kids haven't already decorated, it's all his."

"Later, though, okay?" She tells him, placing her hands on his shoulders and ushering him back towards his cousins (and out of her way so that she can hug me herself). "Hey you."

"Hey."

"We've _missed_ you around here."

"I've missed you guys, too."

"And this must be the infamous Tommy." She smiles knowingly, letting go of me and wrapping him in a friendly embrace that he clearly wasn't expecting or prepared to receive. And not just because he's still holding Asta. "It's _so_ great to finally meet you!"

"Uh... you, too." He replies hesitantly, wrapping and arm loosely around her in return.

"Welcome to the insanity."

"Thanks."

"Don't worry, it gets less overwhelming. Eventually."

That comment leaves him exhaling a soft, reassured chuckle. And it helps put me a little more at ease to see him relax, even if it's only a fraction. "Good to know."

"I'll teach you the secret handshake later."

"It's probably bad that I wouldn't be surprised if you're _not_ kidding about that."

"I totally am." She grins. "But we could come up with one?"

"Only if it doesn't last for half an hour and end with one of those dumbass explosions." He's barely finished speaking when his smile vanishes and he looks from Nikki to me with an unmistakable 'oh shit' expression on his face. "I... sorry. I'm still kinda working on cleaning up my language around the kids..."

"The kids who are totally ignorant of everything we're saying right now?" She asks with a smirk, nodding her head in the direction of our offspring, who are too busy getting reacquainted to care what we're talking about. "Don't worry. I slip sometimes, too. So does Ike; _don't_ let him convince you otherwise."

"The woman lies." Ike interjects, scowling playfully at Nikki as he snacks an arm around her waist and pulls her closer. "I am the _perfect_ parent."

"Of course you are, honey." She coos back condescendingly, patting him on the chest. "Which is why I'm leaving you in charge. Go put those stellar parenting skills of yours to good use and watch the kids while I help Tay and Tommy in the kitchen."

He frowns. "The kitchen?"

"We're baking a pie." I elaborate.

"And it's gonna take all _three_ of you? That's one hell of a complex pie."

"Well, Nikki needs to help us find everything, and I'm gonna oversee the pie making process... and Tommy's gonna do the actual pie making."

"And I have to stay out here and miss all of the inevitable hilarity?" He exclaims disappointedly, pouting at Nikki. "Will you film it?"

"Shut up." She snorts, taking Asta from Tommy and handing her to Ike before leading the two of us through to the kitchen.

"Well at least take some pictures!"

"Ignore him." I murmur to Tommy as we follow Nikki out of the room. "The only thing that'll be worth taking pictures of is our kickass pie."

"Assuming I don't totally fuck it up."

"You won't."

"I _might._ " He argues. "The most complicated thing I've ever cooked is an omelet. And it basically ended up being scrambled eggs with peppers and cheese in it cause I broke it when I tried to fold it over!"

"This won't be like that. I'll be there to help; it'll be awesome."

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, boys, here's your workspace." Nikki announces, gesturing to the kitchen with a sweep of her arm as though I've never set foot in it before. "I hope it's acceptable."

"It'll suffice." I tease, propping my crutches up against the table and lowering myself into a chair. "Did you have everything on the ingredients list I sent you?"

"Got it all right here." She smiles proudly as she produces a brown paper bag of groceries from the refrigerator and begins helping Tommy to unpack it. "I even made sure to get the exact kind of apples you asked for."

"You rock."

"Where's the pie crust?" Asks Tommy uncertainly, scanning the countertop covered in ingredients while Nikki disposes of the bag.

"You haven't made it yet."

"You want me to _make_ a fucking pie crust?! Taylor, come on! Why can't we just use one of those pre-made ones?"

"Homemade is better!"

"Homemade is _harder_!" He corrects me with an annoyed sigh.

"Hey, _you're_ the one who insisted on doing all the hands on baking for me because you didn't want me 'over-exerting' myself or whatever."

"So this is your way of getting me back for benching you, is that it?"

Maybe. "Of course not!"

"Goddamnit, why'd you always have to over-complicate everything?"

"Because I'm good at it." I remind him teasingly, hoping to coax him out of his frustration before it gets any worse. "I'm also good at making pie crusts."

"Yeah, but _you're_ not making this one, _I_ am. And I _suck_ at it!"

"I'm useless in the kitchen, too." Nikki commiserates sympathetically. "You know what helps?"

"What?"

"Wine."

We both quirk a skeptical eyebrow at her, but I notice a hint of a smile begin to appear on Tommy's lips, so maybe she's onto something here. "Wine helps you cook better?"

"No. But it helps me to not care that I frequently flambé things that don't require flambéing." She chuckles, a loud pop filling the room as she uncorks a bottle that was sitting on the counter behind them. "I hope you like red?"

"I know I like _just_ met you and everything, but I feel pretty confident declaring you my favorite Hanson."

"Hey!"

He rolls his eyes, dismissively waving off my wounded protest. "You know what I mean."

I do, and despite my petulant pouting, I'm incredibly glad he's found himself an ally already. And I'm not at all surprised that it's Nikki. Considering the fact that she supported me when the majority of our family didn't, I was confident that she was going to be accepting of our relationship and would welcome Tommy with open arms.

And open bottles of wine, apparently.

I'm not entirely sure if the alcohol helps the pie baking process all that much. Then again, when I think about how it probably would have gone if we'd all been completely sober, I'm sure it was a contributing factor in keeping Tommy from smashing the unbaked pie in my face and storming out of the house. It took ten times longer to make than any pie I've _ever_ baked before, because we had to stop and bicker over almost _every. single. step_.

Thank God Nikki was there to intervene and refill our glasses, otherwise we'd probably still be arguing over whether or not the mixture for the dough is too dry. I don't know why he's acting like he _just_ realized what a perfectionist control-freak I am; he's known me long enough to be well aware of that fact by now!

"Done!" He announces in proud exhaustion as he steps back from the kitchen island and brushes some flour off of his hands. "Someone put this damn thing in the oven before I knock it onto the floor or something."

"It's not done, you need to crimp the edge." I point out with a disapproving frown.

"I need to what?"

"Crimp the edge."

"How the fuck do I do that?" He groans while Nikki covers her mouth to keep from spitting red wine all over our _un_ finished pie.

"You just pinch it with your fingers." I explain calmly.

"If you want me to pinch it, why'd you say crimp? Why not just _say_ pinch in the fucking first place? Then I'd be pinching it already and we wouldn't be having this conversation!"

"Oh boy..." Nikki snickers to herself from her perch on the edge of the island.

"Because it's _called_ crimping!"

Balling his fists up, Tommy bites his lip and makes a sound that's indistinguishable between pain and rage. And I have to bite my own lip to stop myself from laughing out loud, because it's honestly a lot more endearing than it should be, and if he knew I thought so it'd only make matters worse.

"Trouble in paradise?" Asks Ike as he strolls into the kitchen, surveying the mess we've made of his previously spotless countertops. "Jeez... did a bag of flour explode in here or something?"

"Or something." Nikki smiles unconcernedly, pecking him on the lips. "Sweetie, why don't you and Tay go and catch up or... something while Tommy and I get things squared away in here?"

"Yeah, get him away from me before I crimp him to death!" Tommy demands, casting a playful glower my way.

"Whatever." I retort childishly, hobbling my way over to my big brother. "I could knock you out with one good swing of my crutch before you got close enough to crimp anything."

"Oh, you wanna go, Tiny Tim?"

It's probably _so_ wrong that all this verbal sparring is turning me on right now. I blame the wine. "Nothing about me is tiny. You of all people should know that."

"That's just _awesome_." Ike laments in utter repulsion while Tommy fights to keep a straight face and Nikki laughs so hard that she almost falls right off of the kitchen island. "On the list of things I _never_ wanted to hear you say, that's gotta be number one."

"Really?" I smirk as I follow him out of the room. "I could've sworn it was 'I'm gay'."

"Are we joking about that already?"

"Is it still not funny yet?"

"Not yet." He replies, offering me a small smile to let me know that it's also not a problem anymore. "Maybe we should give it a few more months."

"You got it."

We make our way back to the family room just long enough to see that our kids are happily preoccupied with various gadgets and games before he leads me down the hall and into his home office. I can't even remember the last time I was in here; we tended to conduct all of our band business in the studio or at our record company offices. Our home offices are almost like our own little Fortresses of Solitude, a place we can go for silence, to get away from everything. Even music.

I don't have one anymore, though. And for the first time in my life, I don't even feel like I _need_ one.

"While we've got a moment alone..." Ike begins as he closes and locks the door behind him, and I feel the dread begin to seep into my veins while I wait to find out what sensitive subject he's about to broach.

But instead he retrieves a guitar case from beside his desk and gestures for me to sit down in a nearby chair before he carefully hands it to me. It hits me what's inside only seconds before I unlatch the case and open it. And seeing it in person for the first time leaves me speechless.

"What do you think?"

"I... I don't know what to say! It's _perfect_."

"I told you the pictures didn't do it justice." He beams at me when I finally manage to tear my eyes off of the guitar long enough to glance up at him. "You think Tommy's gonna like it?"

"I _hope_ so."

 _Everything_ about this guitar was designed to meet specifications Tommy gave me.

Not that _he_ has any idea thathe gave me them.

I started collecting data, shall we say, back when we were together the first time. Whenever he so much as casually mentioned something he liked or disliked about a guitar, or something he wished was a little different, I made a mental note of it. Eventually I started making actual notes, designing a guitar based on his personal preferences. I was planning to have it made for his birthday. But before I could actually begin working with someone on transforming those notes into a real, playable instrument... everything fell apart.

Then we got back together, and the note taking began again.

I couldn't get it made in time for his birthday this year, but I had more than enough time to have it ready for Christmas. And when we decided to spend the holidays here in Tulsa, it made more sense to have Ike pick up the finished product for me downtown rather than having it sent to me in L.A., or trying to figure out a way to pick it up myself while Tommy was watching my every move!

"If he doesn't like it, can I have it?" Asks Ike half seriously.

I think whacking him in the shin with one of my crutches is a pretty straightforward answer. It's also the only one I'm capable of giving right now. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with nerves, afraid that Tommy isn't going to like it. But at the same time, I'm so excited for him to see it that I don't even want to wait until tomorrow morning to give it to him! I want to take it into the kitchen right now and show it to him, because I know he'll love it.

I _know_ it.

"Come on." Ike smiles, pulling a large box and a roll of wrapping paper out from under the desk. "Let's get it wrapped before they come looking for us."

"Thanks, Ike." I tell him sincerely, hoping that he knows I'm not only referring to the time it took him to help set this up for me.

I'm more grateful for the fact that he was _willing_ to. A few months ago he didn't even want to work with me anymore, he was so angry with me, and he thought my relationship with Tommy was the cause of all of the stress and strain being put on our family.

Now he's helping me to arrange amazing surprises for him. He's welcomed him into his home (even if he wasn't aware that we were coming over). After everything we've struggled through because of my choices and his disapproval of them, it means so much to me to finally have his support.

And I know he knows it.

"Anytime, bro."


	107. Chapter 107

  


 

 

Ike and I had just about finished wrapping Tommy's Christmas present when he and Nikki came looking for us. The door of Ike's office opened right as I was carefully applying the last piece of tape, there was no time for me to even attempt to hide the gift in any way. Not that it really mattered by that point; between the wrapping paper and the box we'd put the guitar case in, there was no way for Tommy to know what was inside. Not unless he'd suddenly developed x-ray vision.

He was curious about it, peering over my shoulder and asking me what it was and who is was for. The fact that I wouldn't answer the former question made the answer to the latter pretty obvious. Which only made him _more_ inquisitive. And his interest in the gift made _me_ even more nervous about giving it to him. I know I had it made especially for him, but that doesn't mean he's guaranteed to like it. Or that he won't think it's too much, or feel like I "out-gifted" him. I don't think it matters how much I spent, it doesn't make the gift any more special than something less expensive. But I doubt he spent as much on me as I did on him, and I don't want him to think that his gift will mean less to me because of that.

Then again, I "built" him a movie theater in our house for his birthday, and he thought that was awesome. He's used to me making stupidly grandiose gestures, and I'm probably worrying about this for nothing.

As usual.

Once I've managed to distract Tommy from sniffing around his gift like a bloodhound, Nikki suggests that we get the kids ready and head out for lunch as soon as our pie is done baking. The pie is actually done baking way before we manage to agree on a restaurant and wrangling our combined six over-excited children into their winter wear. But I honestly don't even care how crazy and exhausting everything is. I'm too busy being thankful that Ike isn't dragging his feet and acting like it's some form of torture to have to sit down and share a meal with Tommy.

It's not like they really talk to each other all that much when we finally make it to the restaurant and the wait staff set us up a table for ten, but the few times they do wind up addressing one another it's mostly civil. Bordering on _pleasant_ , even! Yeah, it's a little forced and stilted here and there, but it's still much better than I'd expected.

My good mood remains intact until we pay our bill and pile the kids back into our respective cars to make the trip over to mom and dad's. That's when the overwhelming nerves kick in and I start worrying about how the rest of the day is going to go, how my younger siblings are going to react to Tommy's presence, and how Kate and Pam are going to behave...

Mostly, though, I'm worried about how my reunion with Ezra is going to play out.

"You okay?" Tommy asks, casting glances at me every other second as he follows the directions given to him by the computerized voice of his iPhone's GPS. "You've been looking like you're gonna hurl ever since we left that burger joint."

"I _feel_ like I'm gonna hurl." I mumble unthinkingly.

"Should I pull over?" He offers, his finger hovering over the turn signal, ready and willing to make a speedy pit stop in case I really do need to puke.

"No."

"Do you think it's something you ate?"

I wish. "No... it's nothing. Forget it, I'm fine."

"Taylor-"

"Honestly, I _promise_ I'm not gonna throw up." I assure him, offering him a small smile for good measure. But I can tell it doesn't convince him even slightly. "It's probably just nerves."

"Oh... yeah." He sighs deeply, making yet another overly-cautious turn onto a street that brings us both closer to having to confront our fears. "It's gonna be fine."

"Nice try."

"Thanks."

"Now say it like you believe it."

He smirks faintly but remains entirely silent. Because he _doesn't_ believe it's going to be fine, he's only saying it to make me (and maybe even himself) feel better. But I don't think I believe it, either. I want to, but at the same time I don't want to get my hopes up and have my heart broken. I'd rather go in there expecting the worst. It feels smarter.

Safer.

Ike beats us to mom and dad's house by a couple of minutes, which is long enough for them to have gotten the kids out of the car and already gone inside. My sister, Jess, and her husband are already here as well, if the presence of their car parked across the street from Ike's is any indicator. And so is Zac...

Looks like it's gonna be a full house.

Of course, at the familiar sight of Zac's blue truck, my kids begin acting as though they each just inhaled a bag of candy. River and Penny are already unbuckled and out of their seats before Tommy has so much as cut the engine. And by the time he's gotten Asta out of her car seat, River has helped to free Viggo from the confines of his booster seat and they're all running up the driveway towards the front door! I think _I_ end up being the slowest, but for once I can't blame it on my broken leg. I'm not quite as excited to go in that house as my carefree children are.

"You know what I just realized?" Tommy poses quietly as we make our way towards the already open door at an unnecessarily slow pace."You've been on crutches _all_ fucking day."

Rut-roh. "Oh... yeah, I guess I have."

"You promised you were gonna take it easy while we were here."

"I know! And I _honestly_ intended to. I just forgot about it this morning when we were getting ready to go and everything... I had other stuff on my mind."

He heaves a deep breath, silently debating how annoyed to be at me for a moment before he finally rolls his eyes. "Just make sure you sit down. _A lot_."

"I will."

There's no time for him to question my sincerity, because I've barely finished speaking before my mom has me wrapped in a hug so tight and so sudden that it almost causes me to drop my crutches entirely. After struggling for a second to regain my balance and my hold on them, I wedge them under my arms as best as possible and try to return the embrace. The second I close my eyes and breathe in that unmistakable, never-changing "mom scent", I feel like a child. Safe, and loved, and (almost) without a trouble in the world. I don't know how she has _always_ managed to smell like fresh baked oatmeal raisin cookies and hot cocoa, even when she hasn't made any cookies, even those times when we've been on another continent and she hasn't set foot in a kitchen in _weeks_! Maybe it's my imagination; it's just the way I expect her to smell.

Whatever it is, I hope it never stops.

"Oh my goodness, _look_ at Asta!" She exclaims tearfully, letting go of me and turning to Tommy and her youngest grandchild. "I can't believe how much bigger she's gotten, we only saw her a few weeks ago!"

"It's crazy, right?" Tommy agrees with a smile, looking down at the little girl in his arms with so much affection and _pride_ that it almost makes me as tearful as my over-emotional mother! "She can say like five more words now, too."

"She'll be learning to drive before you know it!" Dad interjects as he joins us all on the front porch. "Why're y'all standing out here? It's freezing. Are you allergic to roaring fires and common sense?"

"Hi, dad."

"He buddy." He smiles at me warmly, guiding me carefully into the house without making it feel as though he's fussing too much. He knows mom has that angle covered already. "Up and about, huh? No more wheelchair for you!"

"He conveniently 'forgot' to bring it with him when we left the hotel." Tommy replies for me, and I cast a playful glare at him over my shoulder while mom shuts the front door behind us all. "But he's promised he's gonna spend the whole day sitting down-"

"I don't recall using the word promise. And I didn't say the _whole_ day-"

"Yeah, well, you _did_ promise me you'd spend the _whole_ trip in you wheelchair, so let's just call it a compromise."

"You suck."

"Now, now." Chuckles dad in amusement. "Christmas isn't for fighting and name-calling."

"Your father is right."

"It's for eating and sleeping!"

"Somehow you had me thinking that you were actually going to say something profound and meaningful there for a second, honey." Mom mocks him with a pat on the back. "I really should've known better after all these years."

"You really should, shouldn't you?"

"Speaking of fighting and name-calling..." Maybe that wasn't the best way to lead into this question. Oh well, too late now. "Are Pam and Kate in festively forgiving moods? Or should I expect to spend the entire afternoon pretending not to hear them over the sound of jingle bells and choirs of angels?"

"Well..." Begins dad hesitantly as he and mom share a wary look.

"Pam seems... fine."

"Quiet."

" _Pensive_."  She corrects him quickly, because apparently she thinks her word sounds less ominous.

It doesn't.

"And Kate is..."

I'm not sure if he knew how he was going to end that sentence before he started it. But apparently he had second thoughts about whatever word it was that he planned on using, and he decided that trailing off and clearing his throat would convey the same sentiment.

It does.

"Come on." Mom forces the most reassuring smile she can muster and gently ushers me further down the hallway. "Your sisters are all _so_ excited to see you."

I'm excited to see them, too. But it's difficult to focus on that feeling when I'm busy wondering how my sister-in-law and ex-mother-in-law are going to treat me and Tommy today. I'm more worried about what, if anything, they'll say to him. I don't care what they think of me or how badly they behave towards me; I know I deserve at least some of it. But Tommy doesn't. Hopefully Pam has spent enough time with him to know that by now. I don't expect her to chat with him like they're old friends, but they did work together (albeit grudgingly) to take care of the kids while I was in the hospital. She knows he loves them, and they love him. She _knows_ he's a good guy, no matter how much she would probably _love_ to be able to dispute it. 

But Kate...

"Tay!"

I haven't even had the chance to drag myself out of my thoughts and register who it was that said my name before someone is hugging me gleefully. The slightly frizzy light brown hair in my face is a dead giveaway, and a smile immediately spreads across my face as I close my eyes and squeeze Avie back as tightly as I can with one arm.

"Easy on the ribs, Ave!" I tease her good-naturedly, holding onto her when she gasps in concern and tries to pull back. "Just kidding."

"Jerk."

"I couldn't resist."

She chuckles softly, scowling at me as I finally let her go. "Because you're _evil_."

"Maybe."

"Definitely." Tommy snorts before the smirk suddenly evaporates from his face and is replaced by a look of chagrin.

At first I'm not sure what it is he thinks he has to be embarrassed about. But it only takes me a second to realize that he feels as though he interrupted something personal between me and my sister. He thinks he should have stayed quiet until someone actually addressed him.

I'm _so_ not used to seeing him like this, and I'd give anything to be able to put him at ease.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess here and say... you must be Tommy?" Avie greets him with an outstretched hand while I'm still trying to come up with a way to make him feel less like an outsider. "I'm Avery."

"Yeah, I figured." He smiles back a little, shifting Asta in his arms so that he can shake Avie's hand. "Awesome name, by the way."

Avie's smile spreads into a grin and she turns back to me, leaning a little closer to stage-whisper, "I like him."

I think Tommy and I _both_ breathe a sigh of relief at that, and when Avie steps aside we warily make our way further into the family room. Jess and Zoe are lingering nearby, waiting for their turn to welcome me home but clearly not feeling as comfortable about the situation as Avie. I doubt either of them would be so worried about how to approach me if it wasn't for Tommy. It's like they don't know how to talk to him, and they don't think they can talk to me _without_ talking to him, so they're not saying anything at all.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten who I am already?" I ask them with a pitiful pout, trying to seem a lot more relaxed than I feel right now.

Thankfully, it seems to work. After another moment of standing around awkwardly, Zoe makes her way across the room and somewhat timidly wraps her arms around me. It takes Jess a little longer to work up the nerve to come closer, and I understand why she feels less sure of herself than our little sister. Other than a brief goodbye before I moved away from Tulsa, she and I haven't been in a room together since the evening my family gathered together to tell me they thought I needed professional help to deal with my "unnatural" feelings for Tommy.

I still _vividly_ remember her forlorn expression as she tearfully told me that we hadn't been raised to behave the way I was behaving. That it was "wrong" and that she was scared for me. My parents were the ones I'd always been so afraid of disappointing; I hadn't been prepared for how much it would hurt to know that I'd let my sister down. I was so used to having Ike tell me off at that point, I'd come to think of sibling condemnation as irritating rather than desolating.

She and Ike were the only two who confronted me about my choices, and they did it in very different ways. Ike demanded I reconsider, Jess _begged_ me to. Ike wanted me to go back to living a lie because he didn't want to deal with all of the changes and chaos that my honesty would bring, not because he truly believed that my sexuality was a sickness or a sin. Jess was genuinely afraid for the fate of my _soul_.

And I guess, if I'm completely honest, _I'm_ afraid that her feelings haven't really changed.

I know she's trying, they _all_ are. But my parents were basically _forced_ to face the fact that Tommy and I are great together. They saw firsthand how much he loves me, how he took care of me and the kids and put his needs a _far_ second to ours. It was undeniable, and I think it made it a lot easier for them to come to terms with it and accept that this isn't something awful after all.

My siblings are willing to give him a chance because almost losing me made them realize that they want us to be more to each other than we have been since I told them that I'm gay. They want me to be more than just a name on a list of relatives they feel obligated to send Christmas cards to. More than just a relationship they regret letting go of but don't know how to reconcile.

But they haven't _seen_ us together, not yet. They haven't _wanted_ to.

I'm not sure they really want to now.

"Hey." I smile hopefully at Jess, noting the way her gentle smile falters for a fraction of a second when her eyes shift from my face to Tommy's.

"Hey..." She replies, her voice weak, barely more than a whisper as she takes in the sight of my crutches and cast. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay. I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I could get a hug, though."

I actually _was_ hoping that a hug would make us both feel better, but as soon as we embrace I know it's not going to be that simple. It's lacking... something. Something that's always been there, ever since we were kids. It's not like it's void of _any_ emotion, but that missing piece causes an ache in my chest that has nothing to do with my broken ribs. She's not holding me tightly enough to hurt me.

I kinda wish she would.

"Who's that guy with Uncle Tay?" Comes a curious little voice from across the room, and I feel Jess tense in my arms before she lets me go and turns to face the rest of our family.

"That's Tommy!" River informs his cousin Shep proudly, as though knowing Tommy's name is an accomplishment in and of itself.

"Who's Tommy?" Frowns Shep, still eying us both uncertainly.

"He's-"

"No one." Kate cuts in tersely. "He's no one."

 _Bitch_.

"He's Taylor's... friend." Dad attempts to explain further without offending anyone or confusing my nieces and nephews even further. "His... uh... his very special friend."

Oh, dad...

"He's not his special friend, he's his _boyfriend_." Amends Viggo, clearly not understanding why no one is willing to just _say_ it.

Shep's brow only furrows further at this new information. "Like a boy that's his friend?"

"Yes. Like a boy that's his friend." Kate smiles tightly, putting her arm around her son and pulling him in close as though he needs to be protected from this entire conversation.

Or maybe she thinks he needs to be protected from us.

Even though I _know_ I should leave it alone, I can feel an argument rising up in my throat...

On second thoughts it could just be my lunch, because I seriously want to be _sick_ right now. Sick over how cruel she's being, and even more sick over how it's probably making Tommy feel. But just as I open my mouth to tell anyone who cares to listen that Tommy isn't just "a boy that's my friend", that I love him and we live together and he's part of our family now, my mom jumps in and changes the subject.

"Where's Ezra?" She asks no one in particular, already turning and heading towards the stairs. "I called him to come down as soon as the doorbell rang."

Oh good, so he's avoiding me?

Something else to feel sick over.

"Mac should be here any minute, too." I hear dad tell us in his most upbeat tone, but it's hard for me to even fake being cheerful when I see the look on Tommy's face. Dad must have noticed it, too, because he places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, pulling Tommy's gaze from the ground. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Uh... yeah, thanks. A beer would be good, if you have any?" Tommy replies, attempting a grateful smile.

"Same." I chime in, desperately trying to offer him some small semblance of solidarity.

"Let me see what I can scrounge up."

"Don't you think it's a little _early_ to be drinking?" My stuck-up sister-in-law questions. "It's barely three o'clock in the afternoon."

I want to tell her to mind her own goddamn business, or maybe point out that even her beloved Jesus enjoyed turning water into wine from time to time. But as soon as I see the worn out expression on Zac's face as he rakes a hand through his hair and shoots me an apologetic look, I can't bring myself to do it.

Luckily, I don't need to.

"It's five o'clock somewhere, right?" Smirks Nikki, settling herself on Ike's lap as soon as he's found himself a seat. "They don't call it Christmas _spirit_ for nothing; I've been drinking since noon."

"I'm still kinda hurt that you started without me." Ike laments melodramatically, earning himself an apologetic kiss on the forehead that appears to make him feel infinitely better.

It takes a minute or two, but everybody gradually goes back to whatever it was they were doing before the doorbell rang and things became so horribly tense in here. The kids don't seem to notice that anything is wrong, thank god, they're all much too busy being fussed over by their aunts and uncles and having their attention fought for by their cousins. Asta begins squirming, eager to be included in all of the homecoming fun, and Tommy reluctantly sets her down and watches her toddle off into the madness on unsteady little legs.

"Sorry about Kate." I mumble to him under my breath, reaching for his hand and giving it a supportive squeeze. "Just ignore her, okay?"

He shrugs, trying to pretend he doesn't give a shit what she says, even though it's obvious he wishes he could leave this house (and probably the state, too). "Whatever. We knew it'd be like this, right?"

"Doesn't mean it doesn't suck."

His shoulders rise and fall in another nonchalant shrug, but this one is even less convincing than the last. My strongest instinct right now is to lean in and kiss him until he completely forgets how horrible he feels, and if we were anywhere else in the world, I would do it without hesitation. Then again, I don't know _why_ I'm hesitating. Kate certainly has no qualms about treating us like scum, so why should we care about kissing in front of her? Or _any_ of them. Half of them have already seen it, and the other half are going to have to sooner or later. There's nothing wrong with what we are or how we feel about each other, and the best way to make them see that is to simply be _us_.

When he realizes that I'm trying to kiss him, he looks almost nervous. His eyes automatically flit to my gathered family members before locking onto mine and giving me an unmistakable " _have you completely lost your fucking mind_?!" look. And I smile smugly as I nod, gently grazing my lips over his until I feel him tentatively reciprocate. I don't plan to make out with him, or do anything that could be considered "inappropriate" by anyone who happens to be watching.

It's a harmless little kiss.

But apparently a harmless little kiss between two guys is still enough of a "spectacle" to cut the conversation in the room down by at least half. I kinda just want to keep kissing him. Not because I'm enjoying the attention, but because I don't want to deal with the disapproving and possibly even disgusted stares when we stop.

"Look who I found!" Mom announces as she rejoins us in the room, providing us (and everyone else) with the perfect distraction from the awkwardness.

Well, I _say_ "perfect". That's probably too positive an adjective, given the flood of anxiety that has just washed over me.

As I turn to face my mom, Ezra slowly makes his way into the family room behind her. He keep his gaze trained on the floor, and at first it seems as though he lingers behind her, almost as though he's trying to stay out of sight. Unfortunately for him, he's my kid and he's inherited my height. So no matter how small he wishes he was right now, he's too tall to hide behind his grandmother. Even if he wasn't, I'd still be able to see him.

He's _all_ I can see right now.

"Hey Ez." God, I hope that sounded more laid-back to him than it did to me!

"Hey." He greets me, forcing himself to look at me for the first time in weeks. It's almost as though he does a double take, clearly surprised to see me standing on my own two feet again (mostly). "You're not in the wheelchair anymore?”

"Not today." I smile genuinely, encouraged by the hint of hope in his voice. "I hardly need it anymore, I'm doing _a lot_ better."

"Really?"

"Really."

His eyes conduct one last inspection of my crutches before traveling back to my face, taking in the differences since he last saw me, the lack of cuts and scrapes. And after another moment of silence he finally speaks again, so quietly that I can hardly make out what he says.

"Me too."

When his eyes meet mine, I can see the relief in them. But there's still so much regret lurking just below the surface. Regret and guilt. Two feelings I've lived with for decades. Two feelings I _never_ wanted one of my kids to become so familiar with, especially not at his age. He's younger than I was when I started thinking there was something "wrong" with me, when I started hating myself and punishing myself for feelings I had no control over. I did so much damage, not just to myself but to the people I loved most. The more I hurt myself, the more I unintentionally hurt them. The more I hurt them, the more I hated myself...

The cycle continued for years.

In some ways, I'm _still_ trying to break it.

I can only hope that we figured out what Ezra was going through soon enough to stop it from getting that out of hand. I can't stand the idea of him living with that kind of self-loathing for as long as I did.

He's suffered enough already.


	108. Chapter 108

  


 

 

For the most part, Tommy and I keep to ourselves at first. We're not _trying_ to be anti-social, and I honestly don't think that anybody (with the exception of Kate) is trying to exclude us at all. It's just... difficult. Ike and Zac (and Mac, when he eventually shows up) start talking shop, which is the kind of conversation I would have always been included in before. But with Mac clearly weirded out by seeing me holding hands with another guy, and Zac obviously nervous about making Kate's behavior worse by interacting with me too much (or at all), it's hard for me to feel as though I can just jump in and join the discussion whenever I want.

Nikki, Jess and Joe chat on and off, but despite Nikki's efforts to get Tommy and I talking, Jess's continued coolness towards us both isn't all that inviting. My parents and Pam are, of course, completely wrapped up in their grandkids. As much as their grandkids will allow them to be, anyway. They're all _much_ too busy playing board games and chasing each other around the house to stop and let their grandparents gush over how much taller they look, or how many teeth they've lost, or to answer question about what they've been learning in school. Asta, being the slowest mover in the herd, is quickly picked off and becomes the focus of all of the cooing and fussing for as long as she'll allow. But even she has a tickling and baby talk limit, and once she's reached it she becomes antsy and wants to be released back into the wild.

She's not the only one who seems restless and eager for freedom. It's like I can _feel_ how uncomfortable Ezra is, his uneasiness is even more palpable than Tommy's. No matter what anyone says to him, he can barely find anything to say in reply. This is probably the largest group of people he's had to be around since before we moved to Los Angeles, and I'm sure he'd love nothing more than to be excused so that he can go right back up to his bedroom. Part of me feels like I should put him out of his misery and tell him to go right ahead, but I'm not sure if that's the answer here. He's not going to make it through this by hiding from it when it hurts.

I should know; it never worked for me.

We're all just going to have to deal with our discomfort and hope that sooner or later it'll be easier to face than it is now.

I mean... it has to get easier eventually, right?

One day, Ezra is going to be able to sit in a room with the people who love him most without wishing he could disappear. It won't hurt him to see other people be happy, and he won't hurt when _he_ feels happiness, either.

One day, Tommy and I will feel welcome at family gatherings, and we won't have to constantly question every move we make around one another and worry that it might upset someone. I'll be able to talk to Zac as much as I want to, and my siblings will _want_ to talk to Tommy as much as they talk to their other "in-laws".

I hope...

Unsurprisingly, it's Avie who really tries to get Tommy to come out of his shell. It's like pulling teeth for a while; he's so uncertain about who even wants him here that he doesn't seem to know if her interest in him is sincere. Strangely enough, it's the subject of New York that finally gets him going. While she and I are talking about how she's doing in school there he makes a comment about how much New York City sucks, which _completely_ outrages us both. We spend a good fifteen minutes debating it with him, but he's stubborn so he remains adamant that New York is basically just L.A. stuffed onto a tiny island, with fewer trees, no beaches, and worse traffic. The only thing I _can_ get him to agree with is the idea of accompanying me to New York one day and giving me the chance to show him why I love that city so much.

Although, I'm sure the idea of us spending a few days in a hotel room, _child-free,_ is a big selling point for him. We could probably stay in bed the entire time and he'd return home from the trip declaring New York City the best place on Earth!

When mom excuses herself to make a start on dinner she asks Ezra to come and help her peel some vegetables, and I quickly grab my crutches and follow. Tommy is hot on me heals, nagging me about how I said I wouldn't get out of my seat unnecessarily. But this _is_ necessary! I don't wanna be stuck out in that family room any longer than we already have been, and I _knew_ I could count on him to shadow me wherever I go, so that means we all get to escape.

Normally mom would kick everyone out of the kitchen, except those with an expressed invitation. But I think this time she's all too aware of how in need of refuge we are, and so she doesn't say a word as Tommy and I take our seats with Ezra at the kitchen table.

"I wanna help." I tell her, flashing my most pathetically exaggerated baby blues at her. "I could peel something, or chop something? I can even slice and dice if the situation calls for it!"

"Well, Ezra might need some help peeling the potatoes." She informs me as she hands Ezra a couple of vegetable peelers from a nearby drawer and brings a _large_ bag of potatoes over to the table. "We're going to need at least a dozen of them. Probably closer to fifteen..."

"Okay then, Ez and I can peel and Tommy can cut them up."

"Oh, Tommy can?" He asks with a quirked eyebrow. "First you've got me making pie crust from scratch, now you're making me chop up potatoes. What're you gonna sign me up for next?"

Why must he ask me such questions when there's no way I can answer them as suggestively as I want to? I don't have a single clean response in my brain right now! I guess I'll just have to settle for petty manipulation.  

"If you'd rather go and hang out in the family room-"

"No, it's fine. I can chop."

"It's very much appreciated." Smiles mom knowingly, fetching him a knife and cutting board. "I'm not used to having so much help around here!"

"Because you never _let_ us help." I point out. "It's probably easier to break into the Pentagon than it is to get in here on a holiday."

"That's not true! It's not that I don't want you in here, I just don't like to pull you all away from your fun."

"No, you just don't like to let us in _your_ kitchen."

"So _that's_ where it comes from, huh?" Tommy questions in amusement. "I wondered where you got your control freak tendencies."

"You know, on second thoughts, maybe Ezra and I don't need you two helping out in here. Why don't you go right on back-"

"We'll be good!" I promise sweetly, batting my eyes at her before I quickly grab a potato and begin peeling. "Love you, mommy."

She snorts and rolls her eyes, and Tommy coughs to loosely disguise an accusation of me being a "suck up". But neither of those things is what leaves me smiling to myself as I happily set about peeling a potato. It's the fact that Ezra, as reserved as he has been throughout this entire back and forth, is smiling right along with me. His head is bowed, and his eyes are focused on the task he's been set, but I can tell from his curled lips that he's listening to everything that's being said. And seeing him happy, even just for a moment, is the best feeling I've had all day.

For the next half an hour or so we remain shut away in the kitchen, safe from all of the tension we'd been stuck with before. Mom, Tommy and I do most of the talking, but every so often we actually manage to ask Ezra questions that he can't answer with a brief statement (or worse, a single word). It's nothing deep and meaningful, but it's so good to really _talk_ to him that I don't care what it is we're discussing.

If he wants to sit here and chat about the weather for the rest of the day, sign me up!

Unfortunately, once all of the vegetable have been peeled and chopped, there's nothing left for us to do. When we had a valid excuse to be in here, I felt better about ditching everyone else. Now I just feel like I'm being a coward. So, despite my deep desire to avoid going back out there (a feeling which I _know_ Tommy and Ezra both share), I force myself out of my chair and onto my crutches, leading them both back into the family room. The mood seems a little lighter than when we left, and I try not to wonder if it's a direct result of our absence. Pam and Kate are still sitting over on the couch, talking in hushed voices while Asta and Junia nap peacefully in their arms, and the rest of the kids are busy with their chosen activities. But the all of the adults are engrossed in a game of Pictionary, and they appear to have separated into teams of three.

Zac, Mac and Joe comprise one team, our three sisters are on another, and dad has joined forces with Ike and Nikki. The room is full of over-zealous shouting and laughter, sounds I grew up on. Our house was _always_ filled with noise, and it was more often than not a welcome thing. Music playing, people singing, good-natured bickering, boisterous laughter and cries of excitement...

It hits me how long it's been since I've seen my family like this, since I last saw them all so happy together rather than worried, angry or disappointed.

I've missed it _so_ much.

"Hey, all done in the kitchen?" Dad asks cheerfully as soon as he spots the three of us watching them  from a distance. "You know, we could start over if you guys wanna join in? You've already got a team!"

"Oh, well... " Honestly, I'd _love_ to. I'm just not sure the rest of my "team" will be as enthused by the idea. "I wouldn't mind..."

Tommy shrugs casually, looking down at Ezra. "I'm in if you guys are?"

I don't think either of us intended to put Ezra on the spot, but somehow that's exactly what we've ended up doing. He looks back and forth between us both for a moment or two before glancing at the hopeful faces of his aunts and uncles. I notice him take a deep breath, preparing himself. I'm just not sure if he's preparing himself to disappoint them or to join them.

"Come on, dude." Mac smiles at him encouragingly, nodding his head to the arm of the chair he's sitting in. "Don't be so afraid of kicking our asses; we can take it."

"Especially us." Adds Ike, gesturing to his own team with a sad shake of his head. "You're _guaranteed_ not to lose, we already called dibs on last place."

"Speak for yourself!" Nikki smacks him playfully on the arm. "I rock at this game. We'd be doing a lot better if you two were actually paying attention."

"Honey, I hate to break it to you, but the spaceship you drew in the last round looked more like a hat."

"Since when do hats have little aliens riding in them?!"

Dad frowns at her as though he has no recollection of this particular detail. "That was an _alien_?"

"I rest my case." Ike chuckles to himself as he takes a sip of his drink. "It's not like we really stood a chance against Zac or Avie's teams anyway. They hoarded all of the artistic talent in this family."

"Whatever, dude." Scoffs Zac, throwing a Sharpie marker at Ike's head. "You were born _way_ before both of us. You coulda hoarded as much of the good stuff as you wanted, but apparently you only bothered to show up the day they were handing out Muppet impersonation skills."

"Yeah, don't blame us because you weren't diligent with your gene selection!" Taunts Avie teasingly.

"Welcome to a 'friendly' game of Pictionary in the Hanson household." I murmur to Tommy under my breath while my siblings continue their light-hearted bickering about who got more than their fair share of which genes. "Try not to judge us too harshly. We were born this way."

He laughs softly, giving me a gentle nudge with his elbow before leaning in to whisper back. "Are you kidding? This is probably the most _normal_ thing I've seen you freaks do."

"Nice."

"So are you guys in or not?" Asks Mac eagerly. "I wanna get back to bringing the _pain_ already!"

"You're only winning because Zac's on your team." Zoe points out.

"And you're only _somewhat_ close to catching up to us because Avie is on yours!"

"I can draw!" She insists indignantly, swatting him with a couch pillow.

"What do you think?" I ask Ezra in the least expectant tone I can manage. "Feel like playing?"

I don't want him to feel pressured into doing something he doesn't want to do, but I'd be lying if I said that I'm not silently begging and pleading with any higher power that might be listening to make him want to participate. He observes the very mature teasing taking place before us for a little longer, and a small smile begins to fight its way onto his face as he looks at me once again and gives a small shrug.

"I guess."

It's difficult to contain my enthusiasm, but I give it my best shot. The last thing I want to do is spook him and have him change his mind before we even begin. I just need to pretend that this isn't a big deal, no matter how completely giddy I am about it. Hopefully the fact that Tommy is aware of my elation isn't a sign that it's blatant to _everyone_. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, offering me an unmistakable 'stay calm' look as we make ourselves comfortable on the couch and wait for my family to get organized enough to start a new game.

All in all, it's a mostly pleasant experience. There are a few instances of uncertainty and strain whenever Tommy ends up being anywhere close to the center of attention, but we both try not to let it bother us so much that we can't enjoy the rest of the afternoon. And it doesn't go unnoticed by me that whenever things start to get awkward as a result of Jess and Mac's unconcealed unease with Tommy's presence, Zac initiates some form of superficial squabble to distract everyone from it.

It's just one more selfless act I need to add to my list of things to repay him for when I can finally figure out _how_.

Sadly, there's not much he can do to save us from the seating arrangements at dinner. While mom did her best to keep Tommy and I at a respectable distance from Kate and Pam, she apparently didn't realize that putting us opposite Mac and Zoe would cause any kind of weirdness. We all know better than to mess with her seating assignments; past attempts have devolved into absolute chaos. It's easier to just go with it, even if that means we'll spend the entire meal trying not to make eye contact with anyone  while simultaneously pretending not to notice them staring at us like some kind of rare species in a zoo exhibit.

I know I have to give them time to adjust, but I wish that adjusting and scrutinizing didn't feel so similar.

Once everybody has served themselves as much food as they can eat (and then some), the conversation around the table switches from "Can someone please pass the ham?" to  "So, Tommy, tell us _everything_ about yourself!"

Okay, so no one _actually_ says those exact words, but they may as well have. I can't change the subject no matter how many times I try, they're completely fucking _fixated_. And again, I know I can't hold it against them. Aside from my kids, no one here really knows Tommy at all, not even Ike and Zac or my parents. Not beyond the little they've learned in the short amount of time they've spent with him. And the rest of the family only knows him through what I've told them during our infrequent phone conversations, or what they might have read about him on the internet. He's a mystery to them, and yet he's living with one of their own, helping to raise their nieces and nephews. He'll be coming to gatherings like this one all the time from now on, and they want to know who he is. They don't mean any harm by it, they're just intrigued.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

"How long have you been playing for Adam Lambert?" Avie inquires with genuine interest.

"Um..." He takes a breath, mulling the question over until he finishes his mouthful. "Jeez, it's been like three years now. Just over. It totally doesn't feel like that long, though."

"Have you played with anyone else we might have heard of?"

"Nah, I doubt it. I do some session work for friends and stuff when I have time, and before I got the gig playing for Adam I was in a bunch of different bands in L.A.. But none of them ever went anywhere, I definitely couldn't have quit my day job."

"So it was more of a side thing before, not something serious?" Asks Joe curiously.

Tommy nods, setting down the forkful of green beans that he was about to shovel into his mouth as he realizes that he's probably not going to get the chance to eat anything until they're done interrogating him.

"I always _wanted_ music to be how I made a living, but it never happened until I auditioned for Adam. I just look at it as paying my dues, you know? I figure everyone's gotta start somewhere."

"That's very true. Though I suppose some people are just naturally talented enough to start out on a _much_ higher rung than others." Smiles Kate sweetly, her sickeningly civil tone doing absolutely nothing to mask her spiteful words as she places her hand over Zac's just to drive her point home.

"It's not about talent." I counter, even as a voice in my head tells me that I'm an idiot for letting her bait me like this. "Some of the most talented musicians I know are in their thirties and forties, and they're _still_ struggling to achieve some small shred of success."

"And at the same time, you've got some of the youngest and _least_ talented acts in the business topping the charts and ruling the airwaves." Laments Ike with a disgusted shake of his head. "It's totally messed up."

"Amen." Agrees Tommy, tipping his glass of water in Ike's direction.

I can't help but smile over the fact that the two of them actually seem to have found common ground again after all this time. It _almost_ makes up for the fact that my sister-in-law is trying to tear Tommy down in front of everyone.

"I'm sure faith is a big factor, too." Kate continues offhandedly.

"I doubt it." Counters Nikki unhesitatingly. "There are innocent children in this world dying a slow death from the day they're born, Kate. We've both seen them with our own eyes, held them... if God were going to grant anyone success in life, why wouldn't it be them rather than a bunch of tweens on the Disney Channel?"

Would it be inappropriate to applaud?

"How old were you when you started playing, Tommy?" Avie asks before anyone has the chance to take the subject of God's grace any further.

"I was twelve." He smiles back at her, grateful for the question even if it does put to spotlight right back on him. "I know that's probably pretty old to you guys."

"Gosh, it's practically retirement age in this family!" Jokes dad. "Zac was already a millionaire by then."

"When I turned thirteen I thought about throwing in the towel and sailing off into the sunset on my own private yacht. Then I thought... man, a submarine would be _so_ much cooler! But submarines are way more expensive, so I had to keep working." Zac elaborates, heaving a deep, wistful sigh. "Sadly, like so many before me, I was seduced by the dark side of fame. I blew all of my money on Dr Pepper and Sour Patch Kids, so the submarine thing's _never_ gonna happen now."

"You play guitar, right?" Mac suddenly pipes up out of nowhere, addressing Tommy for the first time since they were formally introduced. And Tommy appears to be so blindsided by Mac's sudden interest in him that he simply nods in response. "Is that it, or can you play anything else?"

"I can play bass. I mean, I wouldn't really call myself a bass player... but I do well enough that I've convincingly passed myself off as one on many occasions." He chuckles softly, prodding at his potatoes with the prongs of his fork. "And I mess around on the drums sometimes. My best friend is like one of the _best_ drummers I've ever met, so he's taught me a few things."

"Oh yeah?" Asks Zac, his curiosity piqued by the mention of his favorite instrument. "Tay never mentioned that you played drums."

Because I wasn't sure if Zac would want to know.

Half the time I can't figure out what I should and shouldn't tell him when it comes to Tommy. And I think part of me felt as though bringing up the subject of Tommy playing drums might make Zac feel territorial or something, like Tommy was encroaching on yet more of "his stuff". It's probably a stupid assumption to make, but I know from plenty of experience that Zac's green-eyed monster is not the most rational or mature of creatures.

"It's funny... Taylor tends to keep a lot of things to himself where Tommy is concerned, doesn't he?" Kate notes, yet again wearing that butter-wouldn't-melt smile, as if she thinks _anyone_ at the table is fooled by her seemingly good-natured little jabs. "I guess some things are so inexcusable that they're difficult to be forthcoming about."

"Kate..." Zac sighs quietly, _pleadingly_.

"You're right. Some things are difficult to be forthcoming about." I smile tightly back at her, mirroring her feigned politeness. "Then again, some people are so self-righteous that it makes it impossible to be forthcoming with them about _anything_."

"You think we're self-righteous?" Asks Jess, her forlorn expression making her sorrow so apparent that I wish I could telekinetically transport the carving knife out of the ham that's sitting in the center of the table and right into the center of my chest!

"That's not what I meant. I wasn't talking about you, I-"

"But it's true, isn't it?" She presses. "You never told us about him until you _had_ to."

"He didn't tell us because he was ashamed." Explains Kate frankly. "Which is entirely reasonable, when you take into consideration the _endless_ array of deplorable things he has to be ashamed of."

"That's enough." Mom snaps in annoyance. "I understand that there are still plenty of unresolved issues between everyone at this table, but this is neither the time _or_ the place to air them."

She ends her reprimand with a subtle nod in the direction of the "kids table" a few feet away from the one we're all seated around. I feel like absolute _shit_ when I glance over my shoulder and see all of those little faces gazing back at us in confusion and concern. Most of them have no idea what's being said, they're much too young to understand. But they're not too young to know that something isn't right here. And judging by the looks on Penny and Ezra's faces, I think it's fair to assume that they have a much better idea of what this conversation is about than I would _ever_ want them to.

For the next several minutes, the only sounds at the table are those of knives and forks on plates as everyone silently picks at their meals and mulls over the harsh words that have been said. Tommy's not even eating anymore, though. He's gone from prodding his mashed potatoes to merely twirling his fork in them slowly, over and over, staring miserably at the hole it makes as he does so.

I hate this.

I hate that he had to hear any of that, even though none of it came as news to him. It doesn't matter how aware of it he was, it wasn't something he expected to have brought up at the fucking dinner table with all of my family present. _I_ probably should have expected it, but for some stupid reason I gave Kate more credit than she apparently deserved. I didn't think she'd attack us with my kids in the same damn room, and I thought that she would at least show enough respect for mom and dad to wait until _after_ dinner.

I should probably keep my mouth shut and wait for some brave soul to attempt a change of topic, but as I watch Tommy drop his fork gently onto the side of his plate and take a long drink of water (no doubt wishing it was something a hell of a lot stronger), there's _one_ thing I _need_ to make clear before I can let this go.

"For the record," I begin in a quiet, careful tone, raising my eyes from my half-eaten meal to meet the apprehensive stares of each of my family members. "I _know_ that I've done a lot of unforgivable things, and hurt a lot of people, and I _am_ ashamed of that."

"Tay-" Dad starts to interrupt me sympathetically, but I can't let him finish.

I don't want to hear him tell me that it's okay, that it's in the past now, that I don't have to say these things.

I _do_.

"I am ashamed of the lies I've told you and the pain they've caused you." I cut him off insistently. "But I am _not_ ashamed of Tommy or my feelings for him. I _never_ was, not even for a _second_ , and I never will be. I'm sorry if that's hard for some of you to understand, and I don't expect you to just accept it. But I hope that one day you'll be able to be okay with it. Because I love you all _so_ much, you're more important to me than I can put into words, and I want us all to be just as close as we always were before. I _never_ meant for that to change... and I _really_ hope it's doesn't have to."

Once again, there's nothing but quiet at the table. But even though no one is saying anything, at least I can tell that they truly _heard_ me. They're not quiet because they don't want to speak to me, they're quiet because they're taking in everything I've just said and they're trying to decide how they feel about it. One person who already knows exactly how he feels is Tommy, and he makes those feelings clear to me simply by placing his hand on my thigh beneath the table where no one else is aware of it.

His touch pulls my focus back to him, and as soon as I look into his eyes I feel a hell of a lot less alone. 


	109. Chapter 109

  


 

 

"Do you wanna leave?"

Tommy smiles softly to himself, sadly, his eyes fixed on Asta as she crawls around in front of us on the living room floor. " _Hell_ yes."

"Okay, so let's go." I tell him simply, earning myself an eye roll in response. "I'm serious."

"We can't just leave." He sighs quietly, casting a bitter glance in Kate's direction. "Your mom's making us coffee."

"So? It's just coffee."

"We _said_ we'd stay."

Don't get me wrong, I love this responsible adult side of him that's been coming out to play more and more often recently. But Responsible Adult Tommy is too damn selfless for his own good, and he's constantly putting his own feelings last. I, on the other hand, _can't_ put his feelings last. And since he's too stubborn to back down, we frequently seem to end up in this back and forth struggle over who knows what's best for him.

I guess, technically, he should win.

But I don't believe he's in his right mind. His feelings for me cloud his judgment like some kind of drug. And when you think about it like that, he's basically under the influence. He may as well be drunk or high, so it makes total sense that he shouldn't be allowed to make his own decisions!

Well, it makes total sense to _me_.

"I don't care what we said we'd do." I mumble under my breath, folding my arms across my chest like a sullen teenager. "I care about _you_ not feeling like shit. So if you wanna leave, we can leave. I don't think anyone can hold it against us for wanting to get out of here after what happened at dinner."

"It wasn't _that_ bad." He insists, leaving me staring at him in total and utter indignation. "I thought it was gonna be ten times worse, you know? Like a scene from one of those shitty movies about a messed up family where everyone totally resents each other for something, but they all force themselves to get together on holidays and play at being happy. And then everything just blows the fuck up within the first five minutes, and everyone's yelling and getting drunk and sleeping with each other's spouses and crying and confessing that they've only got three months to live or whatever."

"Wow..."

"Okay, maybe I didn't think it was gonna be _exactly_ like that... but you get the point."

It's crazy how quickly he can change my mood sometimes. I've gone from scowling at the floor to laughing out loud in a matter of seconds, and the smug smirk on his face makes everything seem much less impossible than it did only a moment ago.

"Was the point that you've watched some _really_ weird movies?"

"No... but I have."

"What are you two whispering about over here?" Mom asks cheerfully as she carefully hands us each a cup of coffee.

I can tell from the look in her eyes that she's not feeling nearly as carefree as she's trying to sound, and she probably has a fair idea about the topic of the conversation she just interrupted. But she's trying not to let it show, so I guess I'll follow her example.

"Movies." Tommy and I reply in unison, which only serves to make us appear even guiltier than we really are.

"Oh?" She smiles, playing along with our pointless little act just like we're playing along with hers. "Any movies in particular?"

I shrug as I try my best not to crack up all over again. "Just... you know... family movies."

Apparently Tommy decided not to bother hiding his amusement, and hearing him snickering away beside me is completely _un_ helpful to my attempts at keeping a straight face. But I wouldn't have it any other way. I'd choose to listen to his laughter over nearly every other sound in the world.

"Family movies?" Dad frowns curiously, sitting down next to mom on the love seat opposite us and handing her one of the cups he was carrying. "You mean kid's movies?"

"Not exactly." Tommy replies, clearing his throat in an effort to stop himself from giggling. "Just like... movies about families... and stuff."

Dad's brow only furrows further as he turns to mom in search of an explanation. "I think I'm missing something...?"

"You and me both, honey." She assures him with a pat on the knee. "And I have a feeling it's for the best."

For a little while, everything is relatively calm. There's still plenty going on all around us, but Tommy and I stay out of the way of it all. We're happy just to sit on the couch with our coffees and chat with mom and dad about the kids, and Ezra (who disappeared back up to his room right after dessert), and Tommy's impending trip to Bali. The latter topic still leaves me struggling with a lot of mixed emotions, but for his sake I try to only let the positive ones show. I'm _so_ excited for him, and so proud of him. He deserves opportunities like this, and I hope there are many more of them in his future. I'm _sure_ there will be.

I still don't want to let him go, though.

Every time I think about the fact that his departure is only a couple of days away now, it feels as though all of the air is sucked right out of my lungs and out of the room. I just have to keep telling myself that it's only for a week or so. He'll jet off to Bali, and I'll stay here and spend some time with my family, and then we'll meet up back in L.A. before I've even have chance to really miss him. Thinking that way makes it easier to breathe... most of the time.

I really need to start getting used to this, I need it to _not_ hit me so hard. I should be looking at short trips like this one as practice runs for when Adam starts touring for weeks and months at a time.

But I'm pretty sure I'm still in denial about that ever actually happening.

Our comfortable little bubble is popped way sooner than I would have liked, but since it's one of my kids holding the needle, I can't really be too bothered by it. River comes bounding into the room, calling out to me repeatedly until he's _right_ in my face. And even then, he can't seem to stop moving. He's so hyper that it's impossible for him to simply stand still while he's speaking to me, he has to bounce up and down on a nearby ottoman and climb all over the arm of the couch beside me. It's tiring _me_ out just watching him do it, but I swear all of this unnecessary leaping around is only recharging his batteries!

"Shep says that he's going to church tonight, and Everett and Monroe said they get to go, too!"

"I know, buddy." I smile at him as he all but rolls around on the ground like a puppy trying to scratch it's back on the carpet. "They always go to church on Christmas Eve, remember?"

"But so do we!" He reminds me, wiping the smile off of my face in a heartbeat. "So are we gonna go?"

"Uh..." Shit. I was _really_ hoping this wouldn't come up. I figured we'd get out of here and go back to the hotel before the rest of my family started getting ready to go to the Christmas Eve service. I definitely didn't bank on any of my kids _begging_ to go. "I don't know, buddy-"

" _Please_?! _Everyone_ is going but me!"

"Can I go?" Penny asks from the other side of the room, looking up from the book she's been reading to Junia. "Auntie Kate said I can go with them in their car."

I bet she did.

What am I supposed to do here? I don't want to go to church, and I _know_ Tommy doesn't. But I don't really want my kids going without me. It's not like I think they're gonna come back brainwashed or something; I highly doubt that tonight's Christmas themed service is going to contain any condemnation of homosexuality. It just doesn't feel safe to let them go to something like this if I'm not there. Especially not if they'll be accompanied by someone who hates my guts.

"You don't have to go." I tell Tommy quietly, making sure that he knows I'm not agreeing to this for both of us. "I'll take them to the service and you can go back to the hotel."

"Who's gonna drive you all?"

Good question. "I don't know..."

"Taylor can ride with us." Mom suggests kindly. "And I know Jess and Pam won't mind taking the children. They have plenty of room in their cars; it won't be a problem."

"You're more than welcome to wait here." Agrees dad, making sure to look at us both as he speaks so that I know the invitation isn't only being extended to Tommy.

It's a generous offer, and part of me _really_ wants to accept it and just stay here by the fire with Tommy all evening. But I'm not going to be able to relax if I'm here and my kids are at church without me.

_With_ Kate.

"Do you wanna stay here?" I ask Tommy quietly, even though I know my parents and River can still hear every word we're saying to one another. "It's not a big deal, it'll only be a couple of hours."

"Are you going?"

"Probably. But that doesn't mean _you_ have to."

He's silent for a moment, but it's as though I can _hear_ every thought rushing through his head just by watching him debate his choices. If he declines to go, he thinks he'll be judged for it. But if he goes, he thinks he'll be judged for that, too. He can't win no matter what he does, so rather than doing what he thinks other people will want him to do, all he has to do is figure out what _he_ wants to do. He can stay here alone and finally get a break from the madness, or he can come to church with a bunch of people he barely knows, half of whom don't seem to care for him very much, and spend the rest of the evening surrounded by strangers and feeling completely out of place.

Seems like a no brainer to me.

"Are you sure you don't mind if I sit this one out?" He asks guiltily. "I mean, I'll go if you want me to-"

"It's fine." I assure him sincerely. "I don't blame you _at all_. I'd stay, too, but..."

He nods understandingly, leaning in and placing a brief kiss to my lips. "I know."

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, especially compared to this afternoon. We continue to keep to ourselves for the most part, it seems to be the safest course of action. It's not like we're hiding in another room or anything, we're hanging out in the family room like almost everyone else is. If anyone wants to come and sit with us, they're more than welcome to. I'm not really surprised by the people who choose to do so; it's the same group of people who have already made an effort to include us so far today. To be fair, Zoe does come over to offer us some Christmas cookies at one point and Mac asks if anyone wants more coffee, but other than that Avie is the only one of my younger siblings who sits down and has an actual conversation with us. I want to say that it's okay, that I understand... and I guess part of me honestly does.

But a bigger part of me _hurts_ , no matter how understanding I try to be.

When everyone starts getting ready to head out for the Christmas Eve church service, Tommy does his best to stay out of the way while still being on hand to zip the kids into their coats and help them figure out how to get their fingers into their gloves properly. While he's busy assisting Viggo with tucking his scarf into the neck of his jacket, my over-observant son notices that Tommy is the only adult currently _not_ dressed in any form of winter wear.

"You gotta wear your coat, else you'll catch a cold." Viggo informs him worriedly. "You don't wanna get sick on Christmas!"

Tommy smiles at him fondly as he gently tugs his bobble hat down onto his head. "I don't need a coat, I'm just gonna hang out here for a while. I'll be fine."

"You're not coming with us?" Frowns Viggo in obvious disappointment. "How come?"

Oh boy.

"I just..." Tommy glances at me uncertainly, not wanting to lie to him but also not wanting to tell the truth. Especially not with the audience he currently has. "I'm tired is all, dude."

"We'll come and pick him up after the service." I point out in my most upbeat tone. "Then we can go back to the hotel and watch another Christmas movie, if you guys are still awake."

"I don't wanna go." Announces Viggo, already struggling to take his gloves back off again. "I wanna stay with Tommy."

"Viggo, honey, you _love_ church." Mom reminds him hopefully. "We used to go all the time, remember? There'll be singing and-"

"If Tommy's not going, _I'm_ not going."

"Buddy, you'll have _way_ more fun at church with your brothers and sisters and cousins." Insists Tommy as earnestly as he can when I know he doesn't actually believe a word of it.

But he makes it sound convincing, because he doesn't want to deal with the extra disapproval he'll find himself on the receiving end of if my kids suddenly start shunning God in favor of hanging out with him!

"I don't care." Viggo whines defiantly. "I don't wanna go."

"If Viggo gets to stay here, do I still have to go?" Shep pipes up, looking to Zac with pleading brown eyes.

" _Yes_ , you have to go." Snaps Kate in obvious annoyance. "Maybe Viggo's father is willing to let him stay at home rather than going to church with his family to celebrate the birth of our Lord-"

"Come on, Viggo." Tommy interrupts her abruptly, attempting to ignore the fact that _all_ eyes are on him as he grabs his coat from one of the hooks by the front door. "Let's go sing 'Happy Birthday' to Jesus!"

Viggo's face lights up as he pushes through the crowd in the foyer and bounds over to the door. "Can I sit next to you?"

"I get to sit on your other side!" River quickly calls out as he hurries out of the house after them.

Mom laughs softly, clearly relieved by the fact that we've narrowly avoided another scene like the one at the dinner table. "Somebody's popular."

"I know." I chuckle, carefully making my way out onto the front porch behind her. " _I_ wanted to sit by him, too. I guess I shoulda called dibs faster."

"You have to learn to share." Ike informs me jokingly. "You sat next to him _all_ afternoon, you gotta let someone else have a turn."

"But I don't _wanna_."

While Ike's busy teasing me, and mom's busy half-heartedly telling him to leave me alone, I try to pretend that I can't hear Kate muttering to Pam and Jess about how "inappropriate" it is for Tommy to attend church with us, and how "disrespectful" and "inconsiderate" the two of us are being to everyone else in the family. My grip on my crutches tightens as I clench my jaw shut to avoid turning around and telling her to quit bitching. Confronting her won't make her stop, it'll only make things worse. The best thing I can do is just ignore her and get into the car with my kids, and hope that she doesn't draw any kind of attention to our presence during the church service.

I doubt she will; she'll probably be far too busy trying to disassociate herself from us entirely.

I wish I was immune to her bitter words, but I'm not. I know she's only saying these things to make me feel bad, and I know that by second guessing myself and my actions for even a moment, I'm letting her win. But as we follow my parent's car through the dark, snowy streets of Tulsa, I find myself fighting the urge to tell Tommy to take a "wrong" turn and head for the hotel instead. This day has already been draining enough, for both of us. Maybe showing up to a religious service together isn't the best idea in the world. I don't want my family being judged by the rest of the congregation, and I don't want my kids being gawked at all evening. They got enough of that after Natalie passed away.

Those thoughts and fears continue to plague me until we pull into the parking lot across the street from the church my family has attended for years. I can tell Tommy is wishing he was anywhere but here, too.

But neither of us can get out of it now.

We (well, Tommy) unload the kids from the car and reconvene with most of my family by the main entrance of the church. And, just as I'd anticipated, the staring starts almost immediately. At first people just seem pleasantly surprised to see me and the kids for the first time in months, and they're concerned by the fact that I was in such a serious accident and want to know how I'm doing. But then the rest of the picture slowly comes into focus, and they remember _why_ they haven't seen me in months. They remember the tabloid stories they've read about me in line at the grocery store, they notice Tommy trying to go _un_ noticed (the fact that he's holding Asta doesn't really help his cause)... and suddenly they forget whatever it was they were going to say to me, or they see someone else they need to go and say hello to instead.

Even though I expected  that reaction from them, I didn't expect _my_ reaction to be anger. I predicted I'd feel guilt, shame, all of the usual emotions I'm left with when my mistakes are brought to light...

But this time, there _is_ no mistake.

I haven't done anything wrong. There is _nothing_ wrong with me, or my kids, or Tommy, or our family. And it pisses me off that _anyone_ could ever think otherwise.

I know that no amount of insistence on my part will persuade Tommy to quit lingering in the background and stay close to me as we make our way into the church. But if he believes that I _need_ him near, he'll never be more than one step behind me. So, as manipulative as it is, I purposefully drop one of my crutches.

"You okay?" He asks worriedly as he jumps right in to retrieve my crutch for me and make sure that I've got a good hold on it before he lets go. "What happened?"

"I don't know, it just... slipped out of my hand."

His attention is well and truly focused on my wellbeing rather than the curious (and contemptuous) looks we're receiving on our way down the aisle, which is exactly what I was aiming for. Unfortunately, the kids weren't as sidetracked by my little crutch-dropping maneuver, and even when I try to distract them by asking who wants to sit where, I can tell that they're still aware that there are way too many pairs of eyes on them right now.

"Ezzie, you wanna sit with us?" Viggo asks timidly once we've located a row of vacant seats.

His older brother glances at the empty chairs and then back towards his grandparents, who are still busy greeting their friends. He watches Kate tugging Zac and their kids towards some seats a few rows away from us (because God forbid they sit too close), and she smiles to him as she waves for him to join them. I'm half expecting him to take her up on her invitation, or to wait for my parents to find their seats and then sit with them instead. But he surprises me by wordlessly making his way down to the end of our chosen row and taking the first empty chair. Viggo cheerfully follows him, pulling Tommy along right behind him, and River makes sure to nudge his way in ahead of me so that he gets that last coveted seat right between the two of us. I guess that leaves me sandwiched between River and Penny, which is _far_ from the worst seat in the house.

I'm in the middle of awkwardly getting situated in my chair and trying to find room to prop up my crutches when I feel River tugging on the sleeve of my jacket. "Daddy, why's everyone looking at us?"

Well, son, they're looking at us because they're not used to seeing two openly gay men at church, especially not two openly gay men accompanied by five minor children. But here we are, daring to show our faces in public, like the fact that we're in love isn't a sin, and our relationship isn't an abomination, and this little family we've managed to piece together doesn't go against everything good and right in this world.

Shame on us.

"They're probably just looking at my cast, that's all." I smile down at him, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders and holding him closer. "And I'm sure they've _really_ missed seeing you guys around here, too. I bet they hardly even recognize you, you've gotten _so_ big since we moved to L.A."

That explanation seems to satisfy him, and he literally shrugs off the stares and turns around in his seat to talk to Monroe and Everett. But Penny isn't so easily won over. Despite my (mostly) effortless lie, she remains entirely conscious of the fact that people are still looking and whispering, and I _know_ that she knows it has nothing to do with my broken leg or our lengthy absence from church. I know that she knows it has everything to do the fact that I'm gay. Just as she probably knows it's very likely that no one here, with the exception of a few of her own family members, thinks that Tommy and I should be allowed to raise _Natalie's_ children.

I'm struggling to think of something comforting to say to her, or maybe just some lame joke to tell her in hopes of splitting her focus for even a second. But _my_ focus is split by the sensation of small fingers curling tightly around my hand, and when I look down I find Penny's head resting against my arm. It renders me even more speechless than I already was. So I stop trying to think of something to say, and I do the only thing I can think of to do in this moment.

I squeeze her hand and gently kiss the top of her head.

I turn to look at Tommy just as he happens to glance in my direction, too, and the moment our eyes meet we both begin to smile. They're not the wide, uncontrollable smiles of two people who have never been happier, but they are the quietly confident smiles of two people who have never been more aware of just how lucky they are. Things might not be perfect right now, they never really are and maybe they never will be. But it's okay. It's more than okay. We don't need this room full of strangers to approve of us, we don't even need our families and friends to approve of us. We've got each other, and these five amazing kids, and that's all that matters.

I suddenly remember something he said to me weeks and weeks ago, and my smile spreads just a little wider as his words echo in my mind. I'd been feeling weak and defeated because _one_ woman had looked at us the wrong way while we were out having lunch with Asta and Viggo. Even after we were safe at home I couldn't stop thinking about it, I couldn't get the look of disgust on her face out of my mind.  

Now we have an entire room full of eyes on us, silently criticizing us, and I don't give a damn.

Let them stare.

We're fucking _beautiful_.


	110. Chapter 110

  


 

 

I used to love going to church when I was a kid.

Well... I loved Sunday school, anyway. We never really attended school in the "normal" sense, so Sunday school was something I looked forward to. I loved the stories, and the singing, and being around all of the other children my age, playing games and doing art projects. And I _really_ loved that my family always went out for breakfast at my favorite pancake house afterwards.

I was about twelve when I stopped attending Sunday school and started going to actual church with my parents and Ike. It wasn't as fun, but at least I still got to sing and we still went for pancakes when it was over. I honestly didn't understand _everything_ being said during the sermons, and I'm not sure whether I spaced out because of that, or it was because I was spacing out that a lot of it didn't stick... either way, I spent most of my time at church staring at the stained glass windows, listening to music in my head, thinking about song lyrics, and trying to decide ahead of time what I wanted to order for breakfast.

It's not that I didn't believe in God, because for most of my life I _did_. I just had a hard time focusing on what was being preached when half of it didn't make sense to me. Even when it was first made clear to me that two people of the same sex were _never_ supposed to have a romantic relationship, it didn't really register. I hadn't realized how I felt about guys at that point, so it was like a lesson I didn't need to learn, it didn't apply to me.

The first time I had feelings for another guy that went beyond friendship, or merely noticing that he was good-looking, the words I had heard in church condemning my thoughts and feelings came screaming into my head.

And I was _terrified_.

I lived in fear for years after that, even after my belief in the existence of a God of any kind had dwindled down to nothing. If there was no God then there was no Heaven and no Hell, so I didn't believe I was doomed to an eternity of fire and agony. But it didn't matter where I was going after I died, because my _life_ was my own version of Hell. I didn't care what some higher power might think of my indiscretions, I was much more concerned about what my fellow mortals would think of me if they ever found out who I really was.

I'm not afraid of that anymore, though.

My life is no longer a living Hell, and I'm no longer hiding in fear of people finding out the truth about my sexuality and my so-called sins. They know now. Some love me, some hate me, some don't care either way. But what matters most is that, for the first time ever, I'm living my life honestly. I mean, aside from my past relationship with Zac (emphasis on the word _past_ , which in my mind means it no longer counts), I can't think of anything that I'm hiding anymore.

I am who I am, and it feels _amazing_ to finally be okay with that.

On our way out of the church after the service, I'm  wished a merry Christmas by a handful of people, but it feels as though for the most part everyone tries to pretend not to have noticed me as soon as we make eye contact. I definitely don't get stopped for any kind of conversation like the rest of my family does, but I'm honestly kind of relieved. I have no desire to make awkward small talk with a bunch of people I barely know. I just want to get my kids back to the hotel and into their pajamas so we can start celebrating Christmas the way _I_ always wanted to celebrate it with them. Church was Natalie's chosen way of spending Christmas eve, and I was willing to do it tonight to keep the peace and because it's tradition for my kids. But I want to incorporate some _new_ traditions with them, too. Something a little more laid back, with fewer mentions of angels and God.

And _no_ use of the word "unto".

"Taylor?"

At first I don't even recognize the voice of the person who called out to me, and when I carefully turn around on my crutches to see who it is, I'm not sure how to feel about the sight of Pam walking towards me. I glance at Tommy, and he gives me a look of uncertainty (and possibly dread) that pretty much sums up what's going on inside my head right now. But it's not like I can just ignore her, she _knows_ I heard her. And besides I'm not physically capable of running in the opposite direction, no matter how badly I want to!

"Everything okay?" I ask as casually as I can, trying for an effortless smile and probably looking pained instead.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'll be bringing my gifts for the children to your parent's house tomorrow, if that's okay with you."

If it's okay with _me_?

Since when does _that_ matter to her? "Uh... yeah. Yeah, sure, that sounds good."

"Good." She smiles faintly, her gaze wandering over to where my kids and their cousins are excitedly chasing Zac around the outside of his truck while he cackles maniacally and yells something about stealing all of their presents. "I just wanted to be there when they opened them."

"I understand."

"Right. Well... I'll see you all tomorrow then."

"See you then." I nod in agreement, wondering why I feel as though there's something more I should be saying. Something more she _needs_ me to say. "Merry Christmas."

Yeah, Taylor. I'm sure _that_ was what she was holding out for.

"Merry Christmas." She replies with another tight smile before turning and walking off towards wherever her car is parked.

"You okay?" Tommy asks me, and I know he's watching me closely even without taking my eyes off of Pam's retreating form. I can feel it. "That was like... mostly not awful."

"Yeah..."

"So what's wrong?"

"I don't know." I sigh honestly, ransacking my brain in search of the source of this feeling.

All I can think about is how lonely she looks as she walks away. How alone she _is_. I think back to last Christmas eve, and how happy she was. Her only daughter was mere weeks away from delivering her fifth grandchild, and everyone was taking bets on whether Asta would put in an early appearance. Of course, no one really wanted her to be born too soon before her due date, but the idea of a Christmas or New Years baby had everyone more than a little excited.

I was excited, too.

No, it wasn't the Christmas Eve I'd hoped to have. I wasn't about to fall asleep beside the person I wanted to be sharing a bed with, and I wouldn't be waking up to them, either. I didn't think I ever would. But I was an expert at shutting down my dreams and going wherever real life decided to take me. I focused on the impending birth of my second daughter, and the joy on the faces of my wife and kids as they set out cookies and milk in front of the fireplace, and it was enough to make me happy, too. Maybe not completely, but genuinely, at least.

Now I'm genuinely _completely_ happy. Tonight I get to fall asleep beside the person I love, and tomorrow I get to wake up beside him...

And Pam will wake up in an empty house.

Last Christmas (and many Christmases before it), she spent the night on our couch so that she could be with Nat and the kids while we opened presents. This year she'll probably be opening her presents alone. It's not like I want to invite her to stay at the hotel with us or anything, but I can't help thinking there has to be _something_ I can offer her. Even after everything she's done, and all of the harsh words that have been exchanged, I honestly do still care about her. She's been in my life since I was still just a kid, she supported me and treated me like her son for almost a decade, she was part of my family.

She still is.

"I'll be right back." I tell Tommy, deftly dodging his attempts to hold me back (and nearly slipping on a nearby ice-covered puddle) before limping my way across the snowy parking lot. I manage to get to Pam's car just as she starts the engine, and she looks incredibly confused by my presence as she rolls down the driver's side window. "Hey."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong... I actually kinda needed to ask you for a favor."

She eyes me warily, probably wondering where the hell I get off asking her for _anything_. "Oh?"

"I um... I wanted to take the kids to the cemetery tomorrow morning on our way to my parent's house. They've all made Christmas cards for Natalie, and Penny used her allowance last week to buy her this little teddy bear. It's holding a Christmas present, and Penny thought it-"

"Are you inviting me to join you?" She asks in surprise.

"No." Her face noticeably falls, even though she didn't look all that pleased to start with, and I quickly explain myself before I manage to make her feel worse than she already did. That was _not_ my intention. "I was wondering if maybe _you'd_ like to take them instead?"

"Me?" I nod hopefully, unable to tell if this olive branch will be well received or if I'm about to be beaten over the head with it. "You don't want to take them yourself?"

"I do, but..." I shrug my shoulders as I look down at my crutches and cast. "It's kinda hard to get around in the snow on these things, I've almost slipped on the ice about a dozen times today. Besides... I thought it might be something you'd like to do with them, you know?"

It's obvious that she didn't expect me to propose something like this at all, and maybe some part of her even doubts my sincerity, as though I might snatch this gift away from her as soon as she accepts it. It will be the first time she's been completely alone with all five of her grandchildren since we left Tulsa. There was always someone else in the house with her while I was hospitalized, Tommy made sure of it. We were nervous, we didn't know if we could trust her. But I don't feel so nervous anymore. I don't know if it's the fact that she's spent a lot more time with Ezra these past few weeks and my relationship with him hasn't deteriorated as a result, or maybe it's just the Christmas spirit getting to me. But I'm confident I can trust her to do this without somehow turning it into an opportunity to portray Tommy and I as villains.

"Alright." She agrees cautiously. "I was planning to take some flowers myself; I'd love to take the children with me."

"Great! What time works best for you?"

"How about ten?"

"Sounds good. We'll make sure they're ready to go when you get there, just have the front desk call up to the room and we can bring them down."

"Okay."

Okay.

I guess that's my cue to get away from her car so that she can actually leave the parking lot. And I should get back to Tommy and let him bitch me out for wandering around in the dark unaided.

He'll probably wanna bitch me out a little for doing this, too.

Ever since the accident, he's been hyper aware of the fact that there's nothing stopping someone from taking the kids away from him if anything ever happens to me. And having that hammered home in such a harsh way has made him realize how much he really loves them, and how afraid he is of losing them now that they're well and truly in his life. Pam has always been a threat in his eyes, someone with more right than him to raise my kids if I'm not around. She clearly doesn't approve of his presence in their lives, and she's never gone out of her way to hide her disdain for him. _I_ might not be so concerned about her poisoning their impressionable young minds against us anymore, but I don't think he's quite so secure yet. I know I should have run this by him first, but it was such a spur of the moment thing and I only had a few seconds to catch Pam before she drove away...

I hope he understands.

When I find my way back over to where I left him, he's been joined by Ezra and my parents. As soon as they notice me approaching, whatever conversation it was they were having quickly dies out. If it wasn't for the heartfelt smile on Tommy's face, I'd be ridiculously suspicious of whatever it was I just interrupted. But because of the look in his eyes, I know it can't be anything bad at all.

"What's going on?" I ask, my eyes drifting back and forth between them, noting how my parents seem to be struggling to keep their expressions neutral, while Ezra appears incapable of looking up from the pile of snow he's squelching with the toe of his shoe.

"Ezra was just wondering if we had room for one more at the hotel tonight." Tommy informs me, momentarily losing the battle to keep a wide grin off of his face before he manages to reign it in again. "I told him there's plenty."

Even though I believe what he's just said, I automatically look to my parents for confirmation before allowing myself to fully accept it. And when I see them both nod, I feel as though I could ditch my crutches and jump for joy! I know this doesn't mean that Ezra is one hundred percent "better", or even that he's going to want to move back to L.A. with us in a couple of weeks. But he's _asking_ to spend Christmas Eve with his brothers and sisters, with _me_. After the year we've just had, that's _huge_.

"Yeah, there's tons of room." I reaffirm, fighting hard not to seem as eager as I really am. Ezra looks uncomfortable enough about all of this already, I don't want to make it into a big deal and cause him to withdraw completely.

"Well, then, how about we take Ezra back to the house and grab his things, and then I can bring him over to the hotel in about an hour or so?" Suggests dad, putting his arm around Ezra's shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Do you think you guys will still be awake then?"

"I'll be awake until midnight, _at least._ " Tommy snorts. "I'm not really into early nights."

"We're probably gonna watch a movie after we get back to the hotel and get everyone ready for bed. We'll be awake for a while."

"Perfect." Mom smiles. "Come on, sweetheart, let's go get you packed up."

"See you soon!" I call out cheerfully to Ezra as they walk away (I couldn't stop myself!). And to my surprise, he glances back at me over his shoulder with a timid smile on his face and nods. "Did that really just happen?"

"Yup."

"Are you sure?"

Tommy laughs softly, nudging me just hard enough so that I'll feel it through my winter coat, but not so hard that I'll lose my balance and fall off my crutches. "I'm sure, loser."

"He _wants_ to spend time with us."

"I know." He smirks, unlocking the car and opening the back door so he can settle a sleepy Asta into her car seat. "It kinda shocked the shit outta me, too."

"What if he changes his mind on the way home?" I ask as a flood of way too negative "what ifs" invades my mind. As always. "Or what if he has a terrible time and then he doesn't want to hang out with us _at all_ anymore?"

"What if you stopped freaking the hell out for five minutes and just enjoyed the fact that your kid asked to spend Christmas Eve with you?"

"What if you stopped mocking me when I'm clearly in need of emotional support?"

"Emotional support or professional mental help?" He teases, flashing a proud grin at me before closing the car door and heaving a deep sigh. "Guess I should round up the rest of them... where'd they even go?"

"Last time I saw them, they were over there." I nod in the direction of Zac's truck.

Sure enough, they're all still right where they were. Only now the boys are having an all-out snowball fight with Zac while Penny, Junia and Kate attempt to stay out of the way. Ugh. I really don't want Tommy to have to deal with Kate by himself right now.

Or ever.

"I'll go-"

"Don't you fucking _dare_." He stops me quickly, already backing away. "Get in the car with Asta; you've done enough wandering around in the dark for one night. And, by the way, you _are_ gonna tell me where the hell you went and why."

"I never said I wasn't!"

I just hope I get the chance to do it _long_ before Pam shows up to get the kids tomorrow morning.

The whole time I'm sitting in the car waiting for Tommy to return, all I can think about is the shitty things that Kate might be saying to him, or even just the dirty looks she might be giving him. I know he's a grown man, and he can handle some withering stares or even a few scathing comments. I just wish he didn't have to. I think we've both had more than enough of that today, between our time at my parent's house and this little trip to church. I can't wait to be able to shut the rest of the world out and lock us all away with some hot cocoa and a Christmas movie.

Once Tommy has successfully gotten River, Penny and Viggo buckled into the car with a little help from Zac, I try to navigate us back to our hotel. Neither of us bothers to hold back _huge_ sighs of relief as soon as the door of our room closes behind us, and we share knowing smiles as the kids charge right on in, littering the floor with their coats, boots, scarves, hats and gloves. It looks like the outerwear section of a Gap Kids just exploded in here, but I can't be bothered to tell them to come back and pick it all up and I definitely can't be bothered to do it for them. Judging by the way Tommy lightly kicks Penny's coat and River's hat out of his way as he ventures further into the room, I'd say that feeling is very mutual.

We eventually get the kids to calm down enough for us to send them next door to change into their PJs, and once they're gone I make a call to room service and order six mugs of hot cocoa (along with two mini bottles of Bailey's so that Tommy and I can spike ours) and a plate of cookies to be delivered right around the time Ezra is due to arrive. While I'm busy doing that, Tommy changes Asta, who is growing increasingly cranky because it's way past her bedtime. But rather than putting her in her travel crib before joining the rest of us on our king size bed, he brings her with him and nestles her safely between us on the comforter.

I honestly don't think I will _ever_ get tired of watching him dote on her.

Ever since that first night we met, I knew that he wasn't what he seemed at first glance. Most people probably make certain assumptions about him based on the way he looks, or the way he dresses, or his job, or his constant cussing. And most of those assumptions are completely inaccurate. He's _incredibly_ gentle, and compassionate, and devoted. He's everything I need, everything my kids need, and everything I want them to grow up to be. And yet somehow I never realize how good he would be with them. He was great with them the first time they hung out with him, but there's a world of difference between spending an afternoon at the park with a bunch of rambunctious children, and spending every day and every night caring for them. Even _he_ wasn't sure he had it in him. But it's undeniable now. It comes so naturally, it's like he's been doing this for longer than I have. Sometimes I think he has a better idea of how to parent than I do! I really don't mind, though.

The only thing that matters is that they're safe and loved, and they are.

Dad drops off Ezra (and a bag full of his Christmas gifts) right at the same time as the room service delivery guy brings up the treats I ordered. We all get comfortable on the bed with our drinks and cookies, although Ezra remains perched on the edge of the mattress at first rather than sprawled out on his tummy like his younger siblings, and Tommy starts their chosen movie: _Elf_. The movie hasn't even really started before Viggo is snoring quietly, and both River and Penny fall asleep long before the end credits roll. It's pretty much what I expected. But what I didn't expect was for Ezra to slowly but surely make his way further onto the bed throughout the film. He doesn't get quite as comfortable as they all did, but at least his feet aren't touching the floor anymore.

I figured Tommy and I would wait until all of the kids were asleep and then we'd try to quietly put the presents under the tree. But I must have been more tired than I thought, because next thing I know I'm waking up in a much darker room than the one I was in a few moments ago.

Or a few _hours_ ago, if the clock on the nightstand is to be believed.

I blink a few times until my eyes begin to adjust enough for me to properly see my surroundings. The tree lights are still on, and I can just about make out the shapes of presents piled beneath it. There's another movie playing on the TV, but the volume is down so low that it may as well be on mute. It's some old, black and white film that feels familiar, but I can't place it right now. It casts a gentle glow over the bed, enough for me to clearly see the slumbering silhouettes of Tommy and four of my children.

Someone's missing...

I push myself up a little further, until I'm sitting up completely and I can see the rest of the bedroom. There's no sign of Ezra, but just as I'm about to reach out and shake Tommy awake, I notice another flickering light coming from the adjoining room. Grabbing my crutches from beside the bed, I carefully ease myself off of the mattress and make my way over to the half-open door that separates our room from the kid's room. Sure enough, Ezra is sitting cross-legged in the dark on the end of one of the queen size beds. He has the TV on, but it's almost muted just like the other one, and he's not even watching it anyway. He's doodling in River's notepad, completely oblivious to my presence. All I can think as I watch him is how much younger he looks now than he has for a long time. I'm not sure innocent is the right word, I think the events of this year have robbed him of too much of that. But I can't remember the last time I walked on him doing something that could be considered creative, perhaps even childlike. It felt as though every time I dared open his bedroom door he was engrossed in a video game, lost in another world.

"Can't sleep?" I ask quietly, startling him a little as he looks up from the notepad on his lap almost guiltily.

"I'm not really tired." He shrugs, turning his attention to the TV screen for a second or two. "Did I wake you up?"

"No. I just... woke up." I tell him honestly, approaching the bed one small limpy-step at a time and taking a seat beside him. "What're you drawing?"

"Nothing."

It's not nothing. It isn't anything especially significant; it's not a detailed schematic for a time machine, an accurate depiction of a rose, or even some made-up monster he saw in his mind. It's just a doodle, some shapes and swirls in various colors, his name and the names of his siblings written in cartoonish letters.

But it's not _nothing_.

"Your Uncle Zac used to write _just_ like that." He looks up at me in question, and I smile as I nod. "He loved making up new styles of writing and stuff. He still does."

"I don't know how to do lots of different ones, I only know how to do this one."

"You'll come up with more." I assure him confidently. "If you want to, I mean. You don't _have_ to."

"I want to. I like drawing." He smiles faintly, creating another colorful curl in the corner of the paper.

"Me too. I used to do it a lot more..."

"How come you stopped?"

Good question. "I don't know... I guess it feels like there's always something else I should be doing? Even if it's something else I _want_ to be doing. I have _way_ too many hobbies, you know that."

He chuckles, just for a second, and so quietly that I'm not even sure it was real. But the idea that it might have been is enough for me.

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" I ask him, trying to keep the conversation light. "Looks like Santa left a lot of presents under the tree."

"No he didn't." He replies, but there's nothing bitter about his tone the way there might have been a few months ago. "Tommy did."

"You didn't know Tommy was Santa?"

This time I _know_ I'm not imagining the sound of his quiet giggles. "Does that make you Misses Claus?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" I laugh softly, leaving him smiling to himself as he begins drawing tiny stars along the edge of his piece of paper. "Santa or no Santa, I'm just glad we all get to be together for Christmas."

I notice his hand freeze mid-star, and I worry that maybe that was the wrong thing to say. I didn't mean to put any kind of pressure on him, or make him feel as though he has to be or do anything to make me happy. I just wanted him to know that I'm glad we're not spending the holidays in different states.

"Me too."

"Yeah?" He nods faintly, and the pencil he's holding delicately between his fingers starts to move again, which means I can start to _breathe_ again.

"I just..."

"What?" I ask gently, waiting patiently to see if he actually wants to finish his statement.

And if he doesn't, I'm just going to have to deal with that.

"I just wish that mom was here, too." He admits in a barely audible mumble.

I don't know what to say to that. Telling him that I wish she was here will probably sound like a lie, even though it's the absolute truth. I don't wish things were the way they were three hundred and sixty-five days ago, I can't. But I wish that Natalie was still alive, for Ezra's sake, and for the sake of everyone who lost her. If I could snap my fingers and bring her back, I honestly would. I wouldn't want to _go_ back, though. I wouldn't want to undo what Tommy and I have now, I can't even imagine...

"I don't wish Tommy wasn't here." Ezra adds, as though he's reading my mind or he's worried that I might think that's what he was implying. "I like him just fine and everything... but...."

"You miss your mom." I conclude for him, receiving another silent, solemn nod in response. "I miss her too, kiddo. I _really_ do."

"I know."

"It's okay to miss her and to want her around. And it's okay to like Tommy and want him around, too."

"Sometimes it doesn't feel okay." He sighs miserably. "I feel like she'd be sad if she knew I liked him. I feel like... if I love her, I shouldn't like him."

"You can do both, Ez." I promise him wholeheartedly.  "You know... lots of kids lose people they love. Sometimes they lose their mom, or their dad, or _both_. And it's horrible, and it hurts, and it leaves a huge hole in their lives that _no one_ will ever fill. No one _can_ , because no one will ever be that person they lost, and no one should ever try to be. But... that doesn't mean they can never love someone else."

"I guess..."

"You know your mom loved you more than anything, she'd _never_ want you to be sad or lonely. She'd want you to be loved and taken care of-"

"Would she want Tommy to take care of me?" He questions with genuine curiosity, clearly struggling with his feelings on the matter. "Some people say she wouldn't..."

I don't need to ask which people he's referring to; there's no doubt in my mind. And even if I'm wrong, even if Kate has kept her mouth shut about all of this in his presence, he's old enough that he's not blind or deaf to the opinions of perfect strangers. Whether it's online, in a magazine, or at church, everyone has opinions on our lives and no one is all that shy about sharing them.

"I don't know." I tell him, trying my hardest not to lie or simply gloss over this like it's unimportant. It's not a subject I can sweep under the rug, not now and possibly not ever. "Honestly, when your mom was here... she didn't agree with the idea of two guys being together like me and Tommy are. She didn't _understand_ it, a lot of people don't. But... I spent almost half of my life with her, I loved her, and I know she was an amazing person. She didn't hate people, she wasn't cruel... she just didn't know better. She was taught to think certain things, and she never had a chance to really learn a different way to think, you know? You guys were taught the same things she was, but you're learning another way of thinking now..." I sigh, shaking my head helplessly as I search for a way to make this simpler for him to understand. I feel as though I'm just making it more complicated. "I _have_ to believe that if she'd had the chance, she would have changed her mind. And even though she didn't... I still think that she'd want you guys to be loved, and she wouldn't care if it was by a man or a woman just so long as they took the best care of you that _anyone_ possibly could."

It's hard to read his expression with nothing more than the light from the TV screen to illuminate him, but I know he's trying to work through everything I've said and decide if he can accept it. It's like I can _feel_ him fighting with himself. I don't want him to think that letting things be okay as they are is in any way "taking the easy way out", and I don't want him to spend his life thinking that he's going against his mom's wishes, either.

I just don't know what more I can say. I don't know that I _should_ say anything more.

"I feel like I let her down." He finally admits, his voice thick with tears as the pencil drops from his hand and rolls down the slope of the notepad resting on his knees. "I think she'd be really upset if she knew."

"That you like Tommy?" I ask sadly, reaching out to place a consoling hand on his shoulder and wishing I wasn't so afraid that he might pull away.

He shakes his head forlornly, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "That I was so mean to everyone. That I was a really bad big brother. She always said it was my job to show them how to do stuff, 'cause I'm the big brother... but I didn't. I didn't show them, I didn't help them. I wasn't a good big brother... I let her down."

"You didn't let her down, buddy. I _promise_ you didn't. You didn't let _anyone_ down."

"I'm _trying_ to be better, I am. My doctor said I have to not be mad at myself for how I feel anymore, that I can feel whatever I feel and it's not wrong. But it feels wrong..." He cries as his shoulder begins to shake beneath my touch. "It feels _wrong_ to be happy if she's not here."

My worries about saying or doing the wrong thing are gone in an instant; my instinct to protect and comfort him is a thousand times stronger than my fear of _anything_ could ever be. Without giving it a second thought I wrap my arms around him and pull him into a tight hug, and he welcomes it. His small fingers hold on to my arm, clinging to me, and his heartbroken sobs are muffled by my shirt as he buries his face in my chest and _completely_ lets go.

"It's okay." I murmur into his short hair, not even sure if he can hear a word I'm saying right now. "I know it feels wrong to carry on like nothing is different, but all she wanted was for you to be happy."

"I wanna be happy." I hear him choke out, as though he's pleading with me for permission, or begging me to let him in on the secret of how to make it happen.

There _is_ no secret, though.

It's not in my power to make it okay for him to be happy; I _wish_ it was, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But it's all him. He has to be okay with what he feels, no one can do it for him. I spent almost thirty years searching for something or someone to make who I was and how I felt "acceptable". But there wasn't anything or anyone to find. I had to accept _myself_. The only thing that made it even slightly easier for me to finally do that was to have people like Tommy and Zac and Alex telling me that it was okay.

Whoever I was, whatever I felt, it was okay.

"You're not doing _anything_ wrong by living your life and feeling whatever it is you feel. If that's happiness, it's okay. If it's sadness, that's okay, too. It's all okay as long as it's real, buddy. It's all okay."

His grip on my arm intensifies, and I hold him even closer because it feels like this moment could be everything. It might be one of the most important moments in my life _and_ his, and I don't want to let it pass. I don't want to let him go until I'm _sure_ I've made the most of it.

"It's _all_ okay." I repeat one last time, putting every last ounce of sincerity I can into those three seemingly small words.

And when I feel him nod against my chest, I _know_ he heard me.

 

 


	111. Chapter 111

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY CHAPTER!!! This chapter and the next one will be from Tommy's POV! :)

  


 

 

Have you ever been woken up by someone kicking you in your ribs?

Until two seconds ago, neither had I.

My first instinct is to yell, "dude, what the fuck?!" at the owner of the foot that just assaulted me out of a decent night's sleep. But when I look down and see Viggo lying beside me, with his head by my knee and his feet propped up on my chest like I'm his own personal fucking ottoman, it's kinda hard to be pissed anymore. A quick glance around the room tells me that we're not the only ones still here; Penny is snoozing soundly on Taylor's side of the bed, and River is sprawled gracelessly across the comforter, taking up as much of the remaining empty space as he possibly can. He looks like he was making snow angels in his sleep or something. And last but not least, Asta's asleep next to my pillow, right where I put her last night.

Only now her butt is basically in my face.

Her chubby little arms are hidden beneath her, tucked between her body and the mattress, her face is almost stuffed into Taylor's pillow, and her ass is sticking up in the air. I can't decide if it looks ridiculously comfortable or just plain ridiculous. And even though I _know_ she's fully capable of rolling herself over if she has difficulty breathing, I can't stop myself from carefully tugging on back of her footie pajamas until she eventually snuffles irritably and turns onto her side to make me stop. I'm generally fine being the bad guy if it's for her own good. Which is something I should probably embrace, 'cause I'm sure I'll be bugging the crap out of her and her sister more and more the older they get. I'm pretty cool right now, but when they start dating? Yeah, forget it. I'm gonna be Public Enemy Number One. Or maybe number two. I should probably let Taylor have top honors.

Speaking of Taylor... where the fuck is he? I can't turn my back for five minutes (or fall asleep for five hours) without him wandering off somewhere! I don't know what it says about me that I can keep track of five kids but not one grown man. I'm pretty sure it's not anything good, though. I guess at least I have a handle on _something_ around here... let's just pretend it has nothing to do with the fact that they're all unconscious.

After carefully lifting Viggo's feet off of my chest, I ease myself off of the bed and reposition my pillow beneath his legs so that hopefully he won't notice I'm gone. I feel like I'm holding my breath as he wriggles around for a few seconds, trying to get comfortable again. And when he eventually settles down and stops moving, I exhale a (quiet) sigh of relief and slowly creep my way across the room. I peer over at the bathroom and see that the door is open and the light is off, so I follow my gut instinct over to the adjoining bedroom. The sight I'm faced with when I get there leaves me momentarily incapable of moving a muscle. I'm not sure if it's because I'm so surprised by it, or so afraid of doing something to spoil it.

Taylor and Ezra are both passed out _on the same bed_. I mean it's not like they're snuggling or anything, they're not even really touching. But I know that if Taylor was aware of it, if he could see what I see right now, it would mean _every-_ fucking- _thing_ to him. It means everything to _me_ , and it's not even fucking happening to me! I kinda wanna take a picture of it for him, in case he doesn't know that they fell asleep like this and Ezra wakes up before him and gets off of the bed. But it feels like something much too private for me to be snapping amateur shots of it on my iPhone, so instead I'm just gonna stand right here until I've committed every last bit of it to memory. That way, if I have to, I'll be able to tell him exactly what I saw in vivid detail, until he can see it in his mind, too.

I'm not sure how long I end up standing in the doorway, watching my boyfriend and his estranged son sleeping peacefully together. It could be ten minutes, it could be thirty. All I know is that my thoughts are so completely preoccupied by them that it scares the living shit out of me when a voice behind me suddenly _squeals_ "Santa came!" The voice belongs to Viggo, and by the time I've turned to look at him he's bouncing up and down on the bed and his siblings are starting to wake up as a result. Poor Asta looks like she was just awoken by a giant earthquake, and I hurry back over to her and rescue her from her pillow nest before Viggo has the chance to accidentally jump on her head. She whines in protest as she squishes her face into my shoulder and tries to block out the over-excited shouting of her big brother, but unfortunately for her, I don't think she'll have the chance to go back to sleep any time soon.

"Look at all the _presents_!" Gasps River, the sight of the mountain of gifts under the tree shaking him out of his semi-conscious state much faster than Viggo using the bed as a trampoline did. "Is that big one for me?!"

"Where's daddy?" Penny asks, clambering off of the bed eagerly. "When can we open presents?"

"Which ones can I have?" Inquires Viggo as he and River begin picking up random gifts and inspecting them from all angles in hopes of figuring out what they are without unwrapping them.

"Guys, let's wait for your dad and Ezra, okay?"

"Where _are_ they?!" River exclaims desperately. "It's _Christmas_!"

"We're right here." Announces Taylor through a yawn, following Ezra into the room on his crutches and offering me a sleepy smile. "Did they wake you?"

"Nah, I've been up for a while." I assure him, leaning in to kiss him as soon as he's within reach.

I murmur a "merry Christmas" against his lips, and when our eyes meet it's obvious that he knows I saw him and Ezra asleep together. A wide grin spreads across his face before his mouth seeks out mine for another kiss, but sadly it only lasts for a couple of seconds before River groans in disapproval.

I'm already not a fan of this new "anti-affection" phase he's going through.

" _Stop_!"

" _You_ stop!" I retort in a tone that's as close to his as I can make it.

"Can we _please_ open our presents now?" Penny begs, already clutching one of the gifts with her name on the tag.

"Well..." Taylor sighs heavily, pretending to think it over for a minute just to drive them all crazy. "Maybe we should get dressed first and have some breakfast-"

" _Daddy_!"

"Alright, alright!" He laughs, gesturing for her to go ahead and tear into the wrapping paper as he lowers himself into a chair beside the Christmas tree. "Can I have one of mine?"

After setting Asta down next to her sister, Taylor, Ezra and I start picking up presents and checking gift labels before passing them to whichever pair of greedy little hands they belong to. It's not long before all five kids are practically drowning in festively wrapped bundles, and Taylor and I aren't exactly lacking, either. I notice that he's keeping as close an eye on his gift to me as I'm keeping on mine to him, and it feels almost cruel that we're both leaving them until last. I'm not _trying_ to drive him nuts, though, I just want to save it until I've opened my presents from everyone else!

The kids can't keep up with all of their new toys and clothes, there's so many of them that they can't figure out what the hell to look at or play with from one second to the next! It's like they all have situational ADD or something! It's actually kinda hilarious; I've never been around this many children on Christmas morning before, and it's definitely an entertaining experience. It's especially fun to see Asta's reaction to all of the chaos around her, and to watch her trying to open her own presents (with a little help from Penny every now and then). Half the time she's more interested in the wrapping paper than what's inside it, despite Penny's best efforts to redirect her attention by waving whatever toy she just got _right_ in her face.

It's not long before every last present under the tree has been unwrapped, and while the kids are busy taking inventory of their loot, Taylor gives me the "go ahead" nod to retrieve one last gift for each of them from our suitcase. Just like our gifts to each other (which we _still_ haven't opened), we saved these ones until last. We spent forever trying to figure out how to give it to them when it's not actually here for them to have, and since it was for _all_ of them we needed to come up with a way for them share in the big "reveal". We decided that we should give them each a clue, and when all of those clues are combined, they'll easily be able to figure out what it is they're getting once we're all back in L.A. next month.

" _More_ presents?!" Penny asks gleefully as I pass them each their last gift, tearing the tag off of Asta's and handing it to Ezra instead.

We didn't realize he'd be here with us for this, so we didn't wrap something for him to open. But hopefully, one day in the not too distant future, he'll be coming back to L.A. and this will be his gift, too. So it's only right that he get to share this moment with his brothers and sister. I don't think Asta will mind; she's still too engrossed in everything else that's going on around her to care if she gets to unwrap something else.

River is first to cast the paper aside from his present, and I have to bite back the urge to laugh as I watch the look of giddy anticipation vanish from his face in an instant. "A ball?"

"It's not _just_ a ball." Taylor tells him as seriously as he can. I really don't know how he's keeping a straight face. "It squeaks, too!"

"Ew! A bone?" Cringes Penny, holding it at arms length. " _Gross_!"

Viggo holds up the leash he just tugged out of the gift wrap sleeve it came in. "What's this thing?"

"I got a dog collar." Ezra informs them all with a nonchalant shrug, his small smile making it clear that he's already put the pieces together and solved this little mystery.

And as soon as he utters the word "dog", the other three finally catch on and _completely_ lose their shit. There's a lot of jumping around and squealing and hugging, and all I can do is sit here and watch it all in amusement. It's pretty much what I expected their reaction to be, and I really can't think of any moment at any other Christmas or birthday in my _entire_ life when I've felt _this_ good about a gift I've given someone.

"I get a puppy!" River practically sings.

"You _all_ get a puppy." Taylor quickly corrects him.

Viggo's eyes immediately grow wider than I think I've ever seen them before. "We _all_ get a puppy?!"

"Not one _each_ , just one for us all to share as a family."

"When do we get to see it?" Asks Penny, carefully climbing up onto Taylor's lap. "Right when we get home?"

"When Tommy gets back from his trip." He nods, holding her close. "We'll all go to the shelter together and see if we find a dog that's right for us. They're not gonna let us take a dog home right away, though. They're gonna want to see our house and make sure it's a good home for a dog first, okay?" She nods solemnly in understanding, and even though River looks less pleased about that part, I think he's way too excited to let it ruin his mood.

"Can I name him? I wanna name him Thor!"

"We're not naming him Thor!" Argues Penny indignantly. "And it might not be a boy dog anyway."

"I want a boy dog!" Viggo Chimes in.

"We'll find a dog that we _all_ love, whether it's a boy or a girl. And we'll _all_ choose a name together."

"Even Ezra?" Questions Viggo, unintentionally shining a spotlight on his big brother and leaving him fidgeting awkwardly in his spot on the floor.

"Sure." I reply when I realize Taylor's too busy staring at Ezra to string a sentence together. "We can send Ezra pictures of the dogs we like and he can help us choose one. It's his dog, too."

"Really?" Ezra seems surprised, like he assumed he wouldn't get a say in any of it because he chose not to live with us.

Or maybe he just assumed it wouldn't be considered his dog at all, like he isn't a member of the family anymore.

"Of course." Taylor confirms with absolute sincerity. "It's our family dog, remember? And you're _always_ part of this family, no matter where you live."

The look of relief on Ezra's face only confirms my previous suspicion, and for a moment I feel like total and utter shit as I think about the fact that he honestly wasn't sure there was still a place for him with us. But seeing him smile to himself as his brothers and sister continue gushing about what kind of dog they hope we get, and what a good name would be, gives me hope that even if he questioned it before, he won't have to from now on.

"Daddy, you still have another present to open." Penny announces, grabbing my gift to Taylor off of the arm of his chair and holding it out to him.

"So does Tommy." Observes Viggo as I carefully retrieve the _large_ present resting against the end of the bed beside me.

I know size doesn't matter, but I wish my gift to him wasn't like twenty fucking times smaller than his gift to me! My focus is totally torn between opening my own present and watching him open his. I've _never_ been this fucking nervous about a gift before. I've always just gotten my girlfriends some perfume or earrings or something, whatever I happened to see during my last minute Christmas shopping mission that I thought they might like. I never put a whole hell of a lot of thought into it or tried to make it especially meaningful, I honestly never cared about anyone enough to make that kind of effort.

I sure as hell never _loved_ anyone.

I thought about getting Taylor something related to music, or maybe even photography or cooking. But then I realized that I know fuck all about photography or cooking, so I wouldn't know the first thing he might need. And he already has everything he needs when it comes to music, not to mention the fact that he has more than enough money to buy himself anything else he could possibly want. He's already planning to build his own recording space at the house eventually, and no-fucking-way could I afford to have it done for him! So in the end I got him something completely unrelated to _all_ of his hobbies and interests...

And now I'm totally second guessing that decision.

It's so small, and stupid, and _sappy_. What was I thinking?! I _over_ -thought it, I tried _too_ hard to make it special and unique, and now I'm gonna look like the idiot I am.

Fuck, I can't look.

I turn my attention back to my own present, where it probably should have been all along. The whole time I was watching Taylor trying to peel the tape off of his gift, my hands were anxiously clawing the paper off of mine. I didn't even realize that I'd finished unwrapping it until I look down and see a large, white rectangular box staring back up at me. There's no clue as to what I'll find inside, not a single word or even a little logo stamped in the corner, _nothing_. But when I slowly lift the lid off of the box, I swear my heart skips a beat.

A guitar case.

"You got me a guitar." I state dumbly, like it's not blatantly fucking obvious to anyone with eyes.

But apparently I'm too taken aback to care if I'm stating the obvious, I don't know what else I'm supposed to say! And he seems to be too busy watching me open my present to reply, _or_ to finish opening his. I guess that means I should keep going. One of us has to do _something_ so that we're not just sitting here staring at each other like a pair of morons.

Gently taking the case in my hands, I let the box fall to the ground at my feet. I allow myself a few more seconds to prepare before I unlatch it and look inside, because I'm _sure_ that whatever guitar he picked out for me is fucking gorgeous (and _expensive_ ), and it's probably gonna leave me totally speechless. Once I'm pretty confident that I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I crack the lid open and slowly lift it up to reveal the first glimpse of what appears to be a pristine Strat, with a classic two-tone sunburst finish and white pickguard. But it doesn't take me long to realize that it's not quite so pristine. There are signs of wear and aging, they're subtle, but they're there. I kinda completely love that it's _not_ all shiny and spotless, but I'll admit I'm surprised he would _ever_ buy me a used guitar.

The more closely I look, the more certain I am that it's definitely not one of Fender's more recent models. In fact, I'd bet my left nut on it. I don't think I've ever seen a guitar quite like it, to be honest, at least not in person. At first glance it looks a lot like one of their Classic 50s Strats, which again, I love. But... it's not. The body contour is totally different, longer and deeper, and the whole thing is lighter than _any_ guitar I own. Maybe any I've even played. The neck is different, too. It isn't as rounded in the back as I'm used to; it fits in my hand fucking _perfectly_. Everything about it _screams_ vintage, and it doesn't just look beautiful, it's clearly constructed from _really_ high quality parts. But again, I can't think of _any_ Fender I've ever played that had this combination of hardware.

Even with the noticeable scuffing in places, it _feels_ brand new. And I don't think it's just because it's new to me. It's like I know no one else has ever played it, despite the fact that it looks like it's been in use for years, possibly decades. It's completely fucking breathtaking. I can't decide if I wanna play it or put it in a glass case on a pedestal and just look at it for the rest of my life!

"Do you like it?" He finally asks, his voice laced with worry. I open my mouth to tell him that I don't like it, I _love_ it, but no sound comes out no matter how hard I try to form words. "The body is swamp ash and the neck is maple." I hear him babble anxiously as I lightly run my fingers over the strings. "The guy who made it said it'd have a really awesome 'bluesy' sound. I told him everything I could remember you saying you liked and didn't like about Strats, and he tried to incorporate as much of it as he could into the final design... and I sent him some videos of you performing so he could see your playing style. He changed a couple of things based on what he thought would make it more comfortable for you to play. He even gave it that 'distressed' finish,  so you won't have to beat it up to make it look-"

"Wait... what do you mean 'made'?" I ask, trying to keep up with everything he's saying as I finally tear my eyes away from the guitar I've been cradling like a fucking newborn for the past five minutes.

"I mean... made." He laughs softly, uncertainly. "You know, like... built."

"Like from _scratch_?" I hear myself squeak like a loser. "You had this guitar made for _me_?"

"Well... yeah."

"Fucking hell, Taylor!"

"Bad word!" Viggo chastises me while Penny and River (and even Ezra) giggle over my unapologetic use of profanity.

But come on! Can you really fucking blame me?! He had a guitar _made_ for me. Made _for_ me. From fucking _scratch_. Every last piece of this perfect instrument was put in place just for me, no one else. It wasn't mass produced; there aren't a thousand others like it, or even _one_. It didn't sit in a store gathering dust for months, it was never played by another musician. It's mine. One hundred percent, completely _mine_.

"Gimme that." I demand, holding my hand out for the small box he's been clutching this whole time. The box that contains the gift I can't believe I was stupid enough to get him.

No fucking way can I let him open it now, it'd be insulting!

"I'm not giving you back my gift!" He protests, clearly not realizing how damn serious I am about this. "I haven't even opened it yet."

"Good, _don't_. Hand it over!"

"No!"

"You can't take it away from him." Penny informs me matter-of-factly. "That's just _mean_!"

"I'm not taking it away, I just want to get him something better."

"Whatever." He chuckles, rolling his eyes and ignoring my heartfelt pleas for him not to open it.

Part of me just wants to cover my eyes so I won't have to see him pretend to like it. But the masochistic side of me can't look away. I can't take my eyes off of his face as he delicately lifts the thin, leather necklace out of the box and drapes the five small silver dog tags across the palm of his hand for closer inspection.

"Are those... fingerprints?" He asks quietly, running the tip of his index finger slowly over the ridges and groves in one of the pieces of metal.

"Yeah." I concede, heaving a heavy sigh of defeat.

"I don't get it..."

Because it's _lame_. "Just... turn them over."

He frowns at me for a moment, an intrigued half-smile curling the corner of his mouth as he follows my instruction. "Ezra..." He reads before turning over the next tag. "Penny..."

I see the realization slowly dawn on him, and his eyes immediately dart back up to my face. He looks... stunned. And touched. Maybe even a little teary-eyed. And my goddamn pathetic heart won't stop pounding!

I think I'm gonna puke.

"I know it's stupid. I just saw this thing online and... I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"These are _their_ fingerprints?"

I shrug, shaking my head as I finally force myself to look away. "They send you this kit thing, and you get the prints and send it back, and they like... engrave it, I guess."

"And the names..." He continues to marvel in fascination. "They're In _their_ handwriting. I... I don't know what to say."

"I know it's not much-"

"Are you kidding? It's perfect!"

"No, _this_ is perfect." I nod to the guitar in my lap, my fingers still grasping it as though I'm afraid it might disappear if I don't. "That's just..."

"Perfect." He insists adamantly, lifting Penny off of his lap and grabbing his crutches from beside the chair. "It's _perfect_."

"I'll get you something else."

"I don't _want_ anything else."

"But-"

"Tommy?" He cuts me off with a smirk as he comes to a stop right in front of me. "Shut up and stand up."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Oh.

Duh.

I feel my cheeks begin to burn as I _very_ carefully return my guitar to its case, re-latch it securely, and place it on the end of the bed beside me before pushing myself onto my feet to face him. River whines something about not wanting us to kiss _again_ and Penny sternly shushes him, which leaves us both laughing quietly. But only for a moment. As soon as I feel his thumb brush my cheek and his fingers tenderly trace the line of my jaw, my laughter gets stuck in my throat right along with my breath. He has me fixed with those extraordinary blue eyes, I couldn't look away even if I wanted to.

"I love it." He swears, making it impossible for me to doubt his words. A crappy little internet necklace really does mean as much to him as a one-of-a-kind, hand-made guitar means to me. He's so fucking _weird_. "And I love you, too. Even when you're acting like a total freak."

"Takes one to know one." I shoot back with a playful glare, causing his smile to widen as he leans in closer all the time. "And I guess I don't hate you, either."

"Good to know."

As much as I love these kids, I _really_ wish they weren't here right now. I want, no, I _need_ some adult time with their dad! I don't see us getting any of that today, though. We've got a full schedule consisting of nothing but stuff I'd rather _not_ do. But none of it is optional, and none of it involves us being alone _at all_.

Maybe tonight, if we're lucky, once the kids are asleep...

"I guess we should order breakfast and start getting ready?" I sigh, already wanting to take a nap just thinking about what the next few hours have in store. "If you still wanna take the kids by the cemetery and stuff before we go over to your parent's house later-"

"Actually... there's been a little change of plans." He interrupts me, and I can tell from the way he's nibbling on his lower lip that there's something important he's neglected to share.

Something I'm probably _not_ gonna be thrilled about.

"What's going on?"

"Well... remember last night at the church when I went to talk to Pam?"

Oh God...

The mere mention of that woman's name _exhausts_ me. It fills me with a sense of dread like nothing else ever has. He'd better not be about to tell me that she's tagging along to the cemetery, or I'll strangle him with his Christmas present! I don't care that I at least get to hang out in the car while they take their Christmas cards to Natalie's grave, I still don't wanna have to chauffeur Pam around with us all morning. I don't want to spend any more time with her than I _absolutely_ have to.

It's Christmas for fucks sake!

"What did you do?" I ask apprehensively, my eyes carefully studying his face for some clue as to how bad this is and how mad I'm about to be.

"I kinda maybe... told her she could take the kids to visit Nat's grave."

Ugh.

I fucking _knew_ it. "Great, so she's coming with us?"

He shakes his head slowly, looking more and more apologetic by the second. "No... she's taking them _without_ us."

Well, shit.


	112. Chapter 112

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still in TOMMY'S brain for this one. ;)
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day (weekend)!!! <3

  


 

 

It's finally happened.

He's _completely_ lost his fucking mind!

Either that or he got into some serious Christmas _spirit_ when I wasn't looking. I mean, it's gotta be one or the other; he's either drunk or insane. It wasn't even a couple of months ago that this woman was telling us we weren't fit to raise her grandkids, she was trying to take him to court and take them away from him. And now he's just gonna hand them over to her like none of that shit ever happened?

I'm not saying she's gonna flee the state with them or anything, but who the hell knows what she might say to them while we're not around? She's taking them to their mom's grave for fucks sake. She's probably gonna spend the entire time reminding them of how amazing Natalie was. And what selfish heathens me and Taylor are...

"Can we talk?" I mutter to him under my breath, casting a look at the kids to make sure none of them are eavesdropping.  "In _private_."

He nods understandingly, taking a deep breath before plastering a smile on his face. "You guys hang out in here for a few minutes, okay? Tommy and I will be right back. Ez, can you..." He stops mid-question, his gaze shifting from Ezra to Asta and then to Penny. "I mean, Penny-"

"I'll watch her." Ezra cuts him off, before Taylor can finish asking Penny to keep an eye on her little sister.

Huh. Look at that, it's a Christmas miracle. I thought those only happened in the movies.

I hope this doesn't mean that I have to start believing in God or anything, 'cause that's not gonna work for me.

Once he's confident that Asta is in capable hands, Taylor leads me over to the adjoining bedroom, and I push the door to behind us. I'm expecting him to jump right in and start defending his dumbass decision making before I can so much as take a breath, but instead he silently takes a seat on the end of the nearest bed and waits for me to speak.

"You're not gonna tell me that everything is okay or that there's nothing to worry about?" I ask suspiciously.

"If I did, would you believe me?"

No. "I just think you're crazy. You _do_ realize that this is the same woman who sued you for custody last month, right? I mean, she _hates_ us-"

"Exactly. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of people thinking we're something we're not. But they're not gonna magically change their minds just because we want them to; we have to _show_ them they're wrong about us."

"But do you really think this is the best way to do it?" I sigh, joining him on the queen sized bed. "Shouldn't we like wait until she hates us a _little_ less before letting her be alone with the kids? You don't know what she's gonna say to them about us."

"No, I don't. But I really don't think she's going to say anything bad."

Well then he has a hell of a lot more faith in humanity than _I_ do. "Why? Because it's Christmas?"

"No... I don't know what it is, I just believe it." He shrugs faintly, offering me a small, hopeful smile as he places his hand over mine. "No matter what else might be going on, the one thing we _all_ have in common is the fact that we want what's best for the kids."

"But what _we_ think is best for them and what _she_ thinks is best for them are totally different."

"I know. And _that's_ not what's best for them. They don't need us all fighting over who can take care of them better, or who's right and who's wrong, or who hurt who more. They need their family to _be_ a family, not the fractured mess of resentment and hostility it is right now." Ugh. I _hate_ it when he has a point. It doesn't happen very often, but when it does he really fucking nails it. "And since we're the more progressive thinkers of the bunch, I figure it's our job to lead by example."

"Fine. But if the next time I see them they all hate me, I'm not gonna like _you_ very much anymore."

He smirks playfully as he leans against me, his shoulder pressed to mine and his mouth mere inches from my face. It takes every last fucking shred of self-control I've got to keep up this scowl I'm working.

"They could never hate you." He practically purrs, shifting even nearer. "You got them a puppy for Christmas."

"Fuck you." I mutter, unable to keep a smile off of my lips as he kisses me.

"You know you love me."

"Fucker."

"And _I_ know you love me, 'cause you can't insult me worth a damn."

This time when he tries to recapture my lips, I shove him away. And yeah, okay, it wasn't much of a shove, but the guy has broken ribs that haven't fully mended yet; I'm not a total asshole!

And he's right, I do love him.

"You're _really_ fucking unattractive when you're being smug." No, he isn't. " _Completely_ unkissable."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying." I so totally am. Fuck my life. "I seriously just puked in my mouth a little."

"That makes _you_ the unkissable one then, huh?" He teases conceitedly (which somehow just makes him even sexier). And he's _still_ angling for a kiss. "Pukey smooches are better than no smooches."

"You're so fucking nasty!" I meant to turn my face away from his so that he couldn't get anywhere near my lips, but I'm too busy laughing. Before I know it I'm being kissed, and I don't entirely mind.

But I don't want _him_ to know that.

He pouts pitifully as I push myself off of the bed and take a step away from him, so that I'm well and truly out of reach. "Where are you going?"

"To get the kids ready. Wouldn't wanna keep your ex-mother-in-law waiting."

"Why not? It's Christmas! What better gift could we give her than another reason to hate us?"

I will _not_ smile. "Weren't  you the one who was just telling me that we need to try to get her to like us more for the sake of the kids?"

"That wasn't me." He insists, shaking his head earnestly, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on mine. Fuck, he's a good liar. I _know_ everything he's saying is total bullshit, but for a split second there he made me second guess myself! "That was some other guy."

"Uh huh."

"He was _nasty_. Thank god he's gone now..."

Will. Not. Smile. "You know, sometimes I seriously think those doctors were just fucking with us when they said you didn't sustain any permanent brain damage."

"Hey!" The look on his face is so ridiculously pathetic that I almost feel bad for what I've said. But just as I'm about to apologize, I spot a mischievous twinkle in those wounded baby blues. "I paid them _a lot_ of money to tell you that."

I really don't know which of us is the bigger loser here: him for behaving like a total nutjob, or me for _not_ wanting to smack him around the head because I'm legitimately afraid there actually _could_ still be something in there that hasn't finished healing yet. What if one misguided whack from me might be enough to cause a fucking brain bleed?!

"Shut up and stand up." I order him, echoing his words to me only a few minutes ago. "Thanks to you, we have five kids to get washed, dressed and fed a hell of a lot faster than we would've had to if you weren't so fucking obsessed with everyone liking you."

"I want them to like you, too!" He reminds me as he hoists himself back onto his crutches and follows me towards the door.

"I don't give a rat's ass if they like me."

"Liar."

I should probably be offended that he's called me a liar twice in the last five minutes. But it's hard to hold it against him when he was right both times. Either I'm a horrible liar, or he's such an accomplished one that he can effortlessly see through other people's deceit. Must be all that practice he got from fooling everyone into thinking he was a straight Christian for twenty-nine years.

It takes some convincing to get the kids to put down their new toys and start getting ready, but I think that knowing they're going to visit their mom's grave is enough of a reason for all of them to get up and get dressed without too much fuss. While I'm busy supervising the face washing, tooth brushing and hair combing to make sure none of them gets distracted or skips any steps in their personal hygiene routine, Taylor orders breakfast from room service and does his best to keep Asta occupied. It might not sound like much of a job, but she's faster on her feet than he is on his crutches at this point, and when she's crawling she's even harder to catch! If she sets her heart on escaping supervision, she can usually make it happen before her unsuspecting caregiver realizes she's gone.

It's pretty fucking scary, to be honest.

As exciting as it was when she started walking, sometimes I wish she'd just go back to sitting on her butt in the middle of the family room all day, throwing fuzzy blocks around and getting hours of entertainment out of mundane objects like wooden spoons and empty plastic bottles. It's this constant battle between loving every new little thing she learns to do, and not wanting her to grow up any more than she already has. I guess that's normal, though. I'm sure all parents feel that way sometimes.

Jesus... when the fuck did I start thinking of myself as a _parent?_!

I'm _not_ a parent. I'm just... fucking one.

Okay, so I'm not just fucking one, I'm in love with one. But that doesn't _make_ me one. And neither does the fact that I do a lot of parent-type stuff, like wiping noses, and changing diapers, and settling bickering matches, and reading bedtime stories, and watching Disney movies. Babysitters do that stuff, too. Some babysitters even sleep with the dads of the kids they're being paid to watch!

So really... I'm more like a loose-moraled, unpaid babysitter than a parent.

Just ask Pam.

Fuck, I hope Taylor's right about trusting her. Logically I know it'd probably take way more than a couple of hours of unsupervised time with the kids for her to convince them that I'm the devil or whatever, but that doesn't make me feel any less sick about handing them over to her.

She doesn't even look at me as Taylor gives her the valet slip for the minivan and they hash out arrangements for how this whole thing is gonna work. It's like I'm not even here. Not until she wants something from me. And that something happens to be Asta. The second I grudgingly hand her over, she starts throwing a fit and reaching out for me, which makes Pam's already sour expression even more pissy in an instant. I think her face turns about fifty fucking shades of red when Asta cries out for "dada". It doesn't matter that Taylor tries to play it off like she's calling for him, it's obvious it's _me_ she wants right now.

And I feel like absolute shit for just standing here and not snatching her back.

"So... we'll see you in a couple of hours?" Taylor confirms, barely able to be heard above Asta's screaming.

Pam nods, holding her granddaughter even closer, like that's gonna make her feel better. It's _not_ , it's gonna make her feel restrained and frustrated, and she'll just get more upset! "I'll have them call up to the room when we're back."

"You guys be good, okay?" He tells the others in his usual 'dad' tone. "I want you to listen to your Nana Pam."

"We will!" Promises Viggo.

"And make sure you stay warm. Keep your hats and gloves on, even in the car."

"They'll be fine." Pam declares in an unnecessarily snippy tone. "I _do_ know how to take care of them, Taylor."

"I know. I was just..." He sighs. He was just being a good dad. "Never mind."

We stand side by side, wordlessly watching as she ushers them all towards the entrance on the other side of the lobby. I wonder if he's fighting the urge to yell for her to stop, to call this whole thing off. I know I am. I have to bite my lip until it hurts, ball up my fists until my fingernails dig into my palms.

And then just like that they're gone, and I don't know what the fuck to do with myself.

"Come on." He murmurs, taking a long, resigned breath before turning on his crutches and making a move towards the elevators.

It takes me another couple of seconds of staring at the main doors before I can force myself to follow him. It's so weird to have gone from near constant activity and noise since the moment I woke up the morning to... nothing. It's _too_ quiet. We're not the only ones in the elevator at first so neither of us says anything, not until the elderly couple sharing the ride with us gets to their floor. They wish us a merry Christmas on their way out, and Taylor smiles politely and returns the sentiment. Then everything is excruciatingly silent again.

"I should take a shower." He announces out of nowhere just before the elevator doors open on our floor.

"Okay." I shrug disinterestedly. I should probably take one at some point, too. I didn't take one yesterday, so skipping it today would really be pushing it.

The last thing I need is to be the bad odor at the Hanson family Christmas. That thing everyone is uncomfortably aware of but nobody wants to acknowledge.

Except I kinda already _am_ that thing.

"Wanna join me?" Asks Taylor as I push the key card into the door lock and let us back into the room.

"Huh?"

"In the shower..." He states simply, nodding his head in the direction of the bathroom. "There's plenty of room in there."

"Oh. Uh..."

Do I want to shower with him? Hell _yes_.

Do I think it's a particularly smart idea? Hell _no_.

We both know it won't _just_ be a shower. It's one thing when I'm helping him change his clothes, or even getting him undressed so he can shower alone. But being in there _with_ him while he's naked and wet, and everything's hot and steamy... no fucking way am I gonna be able to _just_ take a shower. The thought of it has already got my heart beating faster than it was before he asked me!

I can't act on it, though.

What happens if I take him up on his invitation and something happens? Like I said, he's gonna be naked and wet, and everything's gonna be hot and steamy! Having him fall the fuck over and break another body part would be a sure-fire mood killer.

"I know what you're thinking."

"I'm not thinking anything." I lie unconvincingly.

"Yes you are. You're thinking that it's a bad idea because I could get hurt." Damnit. "I could slip over and break my arm or something-"

"You _could_!"

"I could've slipped over a hundred times yesterday when we were out in the snow, or going down the steps in front of the church last night, or getting out of bed this morning. But I didn't, and I'm not going to."

"You don't _know_ that." I sigh miserably.

"What happened to you easing up on the whole over-protective thing?"

"I did! There's over-protective, and then there's just plain old protective. I never said I was gonna stop worrying _entirely_."

He smirks, rolling his eyes at me. I guess it's a good thing he thinks this is funny, but I still feel as though I should be insulted by the fact that he's clearly not taking me seriously. "I don't expect you to."

"No?"

"No." His fingers reach up to the front of this shirt, easily unfastening the first button they find, and then the next... and I can't take my fucking eyes off of every little move they make. "If the situation was reversed, I'd worry about you, too."

"O-okay..." I hear myself stammer, watching as more and more of his chest is exposed to me, inch by inch by inch...

"But you know what else I'd do if the situation was reversed?" He asks temptingly, propping his crutches against the wall beside him, using it for balance as his shrugs the shirt off of his shoulders entirely.

"What?"

"I'd get in the damn shower with you."

I don't get a chance to argue with him before he grabs me by the front of _my_ shirt and pulls me up against him. And then my mouth is kinda too preoccupied with his to be doing any objecting at all. I can't even remember what it was I wanted to say. Probably something pointless and dumb. Nothing that would have gotten me where I am right now, that's for sure.

 _Fuck_ , he feels amazing.

I don't think I'll ever get over how good he is at being both demanding and defenseless at the same fucking time. I can never tell which of us is in control, because one minute he's grabbing me like he could do anything he wants to me (and let's face it, he could), and the next he's making these weak little noises that make me feel stronger than I ever have before in my whole damn life! Even when I have him pinned against the wall, just like I do right now, it still somehow feels like he's holding me up. Like if I let go of him I'll fall, not the other way around.

It's been so long since we've been like this with one another. Since I've impatiently yanked and pulled on his belt to get it off rather than carefully unbuckling it, because there was no need to rush. Since I've let him come anywhere near the zipper on my jeans, because I didn't want him trying to start something when I wasn't sure if I'd have the self-control to stop him. I have no intention of stopping him now, though. I don't think I could even if I wanted to. It's too late.

It was over the moment he kissed me.

I'm not gonna lie and say that getting ourselves into the bathroom goes as smoothly as it would have if one of us wasn't on crutches. But given the fact that one of us _is_ , it goes a hell of a lot better than I expected it to. Probably because I'm way too wrapped up in the idea of getting us into that shower to _care_ how awkward the process is. The crutches may as well not even be here, his constant need for something much sturdier than me to lean on or hold on to is a non-issue, and don't ask me how, but I think I manage to make putting that damn waterproof cover over his cast into some new form of foreplay!

He groans as soon as the water hits his bare skin. That sound coupled with the sensation of the hot water pouring down my back leaves me shuddering from head to toe. I push him up against the wall behind him, keeping him as steady as I can when the tile is already soaked and slippery, and I'm not feeling entirely secure on my feet myself. It's a challenge to remain on the right side of that too-thin line between holding him and hurting him. All I want is to be as close to him as I can get, but the closer I get, the higher the chances are that I'm going to push against him too forcefully and wind up causing him pain. Judging by the way his fingertips are grasping at my hips and tugging me insistently nearer, I don't think he's all that worried about getting hurt. He never fucking is, though. Which is why I _have_ to be.

One of us has to at least try to keep a semi-clear head.

We came in here to take a shower (supposedly), so maybe that's what we should do. Maybe putting a _little_ distance between us will help to keep this from getting completely out of control.

Then again, maybe not.

I figured that as long as I wasn't kissing him, as long as our damp bodies weren't writhing recklessly against each other, I'd be able to breathe almost normally again. I'd be able to think. But I didn't take into account how fucking incredible it would feel to lather shower gel onto his skin. To have my fingers glide effortlessly over the prominent muscles in his upper arms, over and over again (because I fucking _love_ those arms), or graze the pads of my thumbs over his nipples as my hands leisurely leave trails of glistening bubbles across his chest... over his stomach... down to his hips...

His legs are trembling as I kneel on the wet floor in front of him. I can't tell if it's from the strain of holding himself up without his crutches, or from the anticipation of not knowing what I'm going do next.

Hell, _I_ don't even know.

I know what I _want_ to do...

My fingers absentmindedly massage his thighs as I stare longingly at his erection like some kind of cock-starved maniac. That's basically what I am, though! I haven't touched him, haven't tasted him, in over a month now. I've been by his side the _entire_ fucking time, day in and day out, but I haven't been able to do any of the things to him that I've wanted to do. I haven't _let_ myself. I was too afraid of hurting him.

I still am.

"Tommy..."

The dire pleading in his voice snaps me out of the internal struggle I was stuck in, and my gaze automatically returns to his face. He's staring down at me, lips parted, silently _begging_ me to do something. Just the sight of that look on his face is enough to send a jolt of pure want shooting through me, and it's so fucking intense that I actually feel my body instinctively jerk in response.

On an upward sweep, my right hand begins to creep back towards the jut of his hipbone, following it until I can't feel it anymore. Until there's nothing but soft, slick flesh beneath my fingers. My eyes never leave his face, so I can _see_ that he's holding his breath, waiting, wondering...

When he feels my fingertips begin to trace the curve of his ass, flirting with the idea of edging between the cheeks, his head falls back against the shower wall behind him and the breath that was stuck in his throat comes tumbling out of him in a rush. I'm not even sure the sound he just made is one I've _ever_ heard him make before, but I'd do fucking _anything_ to inspire him to make it again! It was some unbelievable mix of desperation, devastation, and desire, and it's left me with no choice. No doubt in my mind.

He _needs_ this.

As soon as the tip of my tongue touches him, I know this is going to be over before it's even really begun. His skin is on fire, and he's _so_ fucking hard that it makes _me_ throb just to feel it. Part of me wishes this could last longer than it's going to, but the rest of me wants this release to come as soon as possible, for both our sakes. I want to hear his gasps and groans echoing off the shower walls, I want his fingers pulling mercilessly on my hair, I want his body shaking uncontrollably, I want him deliriously babbling my name like it's the only fucking word he knows.

But mostly, I want that overwhelming sense of satisfaction I feel _every_ fucking time I make him come.

I _never_ would've thought this could get me off. I never had a problem kissing other guys, but I had no real interest in having anyone else's dick _anywhere_ near my mouth. That all changed the first time Taylor and I shared a hotel room, though. The first time I ever saw him naked, the first time I touched him... I wasn't sure enough of myself to do anything about it at the time, but in all honesty, having him in my mouth was _all_ I could think about as I jerked him off on that hotel bed. Well, that and how much I _loved_ making him moan. When it was over, I couldn't stop staring at the come on my hand, on his stomach... next thing I knew, my finger was in my mouth and I was sucking every last trace of him off.

I've been totally addicted ever since.

His breathing starts to quicken more and more with each glide of my lips along his erection, his faint whimpers becoming increasingly fervent the deeper into my mouth I take him, until he's exactly where I wanted him. Every moan of my name, every tug on my hair, every demanding thrust of his hips towards my eager mouth drives me crazier by the second. Until _I'm_ the one moaning, my fingers digging greedily into his skin as I train my eyes on his face and wait for that expression of absolute ecstasy.

When he comes, it's with a slew of profanity that's much more my style than his. I gotta admit, though, it's _really_ fucking hot. I totally get off on driving him so wild that he completely forgets himself. But not half as much as I get off on the feel of him pulsing against my tongue. I do my best to hold him steady against the wall, knowing how little support his own body is capable of providing him right now. It's not like I'm feeling all that strong myself, though. Every last bit of me is trembling, I can barely move. But I somehow force myself up onto wobbly legs, using the full weight of my body to press him up against the tile until he can finally catch his breath again.

"You okay?" I murmur against his neck as I trail unhurried kisses from his collarbone to his earlobe and back, feeling him nod in response. "Sure?"

"Y-yeah." He laughs softly, breathlessly. "Better than okay."

"Good."

"What about you?"

"I'm good." I assure him sincerely, pulling back just far enough so that he can look me right in the eyes and _see_ how true it is. "I'm _really_ good."

A playful smile curls his lips. "You could be better..."

"I-"

He doesn't give me the chance to tell him that I'm totally fine with the way I feel right now. And when his fingertips drag slowly up the length of my erection, I'm glad I didn't tell him not to bother. I mean yeah, I would've been fine if he hadn't done it, but now that he's touching me there's no fucking way I want him to stop! I plant my hands firmly against the wall beneath his arms, mostly to make sure he won't be able to fall, but partly to make sure that _I_ won't either. At first I try to kiss him, but between what he's doing to me and how thick with steam the air in here is, it's too damn hard to breathe right now. All I can do is rest my forehead against his shoulder as I watch his hand moving between our bodies, deftly coaxing me closer and closer to the edge. Eventually I can't even handle that anymore, I can't look at what he's doing to me when the feel of it is already so overwhelming. It's like some kind of sensory overload! Touch, taste, sight, sound... all of them are _screaming_ at me, drifting in and out of focus as each one clamors for my attention.

I knew it was gonna be different this time, I knew I'd be a wreck. Not that I haven't gotten off since the last time we were together. I'm a guy; I jerk off to save lives. But _every_ time we've ever been apart, even just for a week, the resulting sexual tension between us always leads to at least one pretty explosive encounter once we're reunited. And despite the fact that we technically weren't  apart this time, that tension has still been mounting all the same. In fact, I think being around each other has only made it worse. So I expected to come so hard that I saw supernovas, I was prepared for that (or as prepared as you can be, anyway). But usually I have something to hold onto, to cling to, whether it's bed sheets or a headboard or him. This time I'm left clawing at the fucking wall, hopelessly trying to get a grip on _something_!

At first I think that the sounds I hear bouncing off of the walls around us are coming from me. Pleasure tinged with the _perfect_ amount of pain. But as the fog clears, and my mind gradually calms, I realize it wasn't me at all.

It couldn't have been,  because I was too busy biting down on his shoulder!

"Fuck!"

"It's okay."

"I bit you!" I protest apologetically, lightly running my finger over the red-rimmed indentations I've thoughtlessly left behind. "I like _really_ fucking _bit_ you!"

"I'm fine." He assures me, probably still so high on what just happened between us that he wouldn't care if I'd drawn blood. "It didn't even hurt... much."

"I'm still sorry." I pout petulantly, unable to simply let it go as easily as he apparently can.

I was trying _so_ damn hard not to hurt him, or to let him hurt himself. And by some Christmas miracle, I succeeded... right up until I almost took a chunk out of his shoulder!

"It could've been worse." He teases, his nose tenderly grazing mine before he places a feather light kiss to the tip. "You coulda had your mouth somewhere _really_ unfortunate."

"Shit, don't even _joke_ about that." I laugh quietly, giving him a gentle slap on the arm.

"Why not?" He smiles, curling his finger beneath my chin , his thumb seductively stroking my lower lip and sending another shudder down my spine. "I'm okay. No harm done."

He's right.

I generally don't like to be wrong, but in this case I'm fucking _ecstatic_ about it. I've kept him at a distance this whole time because I didn't trust him to know his limits, and I didn't trust myself not to fuck up. I felt justified in those fears because, seriously, we're _us_! He's _always_ pushing himself too far, and I'm _always_ fucking stuff up. In my mind, it was safer to just "switch off" that part of our relationship entirely. If it wasn't an option, it wasn't a problem.

Except that it _was_ a problem, because it was driving us both crazy.

I couldn't hold either of us back from it much longer, I didn't want to. But I couldn't just throw my hands up and relinquish all control, either. The other night was like dipping our toes in, playing it safe in the shallow end. This morning we waded out a little further, we got well and truly wet and we somehow managed not to drown.

We're okay.

It wasn't intentional, but if I'm honest, I've been testing him. Testing _us_. Seeing how much he could truly handle, seeing if he was as ready as he has repeatedly claimed to be, if _we_ were ready...

And I gotta admit, we passed with flying colors.

 


	113. Chapter 113

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back with Taylor for this chapter (and probably for the remainder of this fic). Honestly, 80% of this chapter was COMPLETELY unplanned, soooo not what I had outlined. lol But I guess my outline was stupid.

  


 

 

 

I can't stop smiling.

I _need_ to stop smiling. Not entirely, but if I don't tone it down a little before we get to my parent's house, I think everyone is gonna know I got some. Twice. Which is why we're nowhere near as ready for Pam to return with the kids as I told her we would be when she picked them up this morning.

I blame Tommy. You try _not_ getting turned on while watching him play guitar wearing nothing but a bath towel. It can't be done! Watching him play guitar gets me worked up, and I'm in no way immune to seeing him freshly showered and half-naked. Put the two together and I'm a lost cause. And he _knows_ that, which is why it was evil of him to do it. And even more cruel for him to sit _just_ out of my reach, biting his lip, gazing up at me every so often with those sultry brown eyes, and making a point of only playing songs that demonstrated his... agility, shall we say.

 _Damn_ , those fingers...

Anyway, since he was so intent on showing off how talented he is, I demanded (okay, shamelessly begged) that he put the guitar down and play me for a while, instead. It took some convincing, because he was way too content to sit there and watch me squirm. But when I eventually got a little too impatient and threatened to take matters into my _own_ hands if he wasn't going to use his, he relented.

All I really want to do for the rest of the day is stay in bed with him. We have _a lot_ of lost time to make up for. And even if I'm probably not capable of going more than one, _maybe_ two more rounds with him today, the idea of lying here with him for the next twelve hours sounds like heaven. But what we want has to take a back seat to what my kids need and what we've already committed to spending the day doing.

Which means I should stop daydreaming and finish getting dressed before they get back.

"How come you _still_ don't have pants on?" Tommy asks in exasperation, returning from the bathroom with his hair much more tamed than it was ten minutes ago. "You've barely moved since I left!"

"You wore me out." I tease, earning myself an eye roll as I grab the pair of jeans sitting beside me on the bed and struggle to reach forward far enough to pull them on. "That was the most physical activity I've had in over a month! My stamina isn't what it used to be."

"Whatever." He snorts softly, taking the jeans out of my hands and crouching down in front of me to carefully slip them over my cast.

"Do you realize that getting on your knees in front of me is _not_ gonna inspire me to put my clothes _on_?"

"Do _you_ realize that Pam is gonna be here any fucking minute? I doubt she wants to see you in your underwear."

Point taken. "I just wish we could put the last couple of hours on repeat, you know?"

"I know." He smiles up at me, tugging the jeans over my knees and as far up my thighs as he can before he needs me to stand up in order for him to go further. Then he stops, leans in, and kisses me softly, _slowly_ , in a way that makes me whine when it gradually comes to an end. "Maybe tonight?"

"No 'maybe' about it."

The grin that spreads across his face is infectious. I love seeing him happy, I love _making_ him happy, and it's been a long time since I've seen him so satisfied. It never feels right to be away from him, whether it's for a few hours or a few weeks. Even if he's just going to rehearsals and will be back in time for dinner, I miss him. It's pathetic but it's a fact. And it hasn't felt right not being with him this way when we've been together the entire time. I know how perfectly we fit together, how whole we both feel, and not having that... it's like my body has just been _screaming_ at me to do something about it. It's a miserable feeling of something constantly lacking, and it's so much worse when that something is _right_ there _all_ the time!

Today he came closer, but it still wasn't close enough. It was a band-aid on a bullet hole, but it wasn't what either of us needs in order to silence the screaming.

"You good from here?"

"Huh?" I blink at him dumbly as he shakes his head in amusement.

"You're so fucking spacey sometimes." This is true. I'm not even gonna try to deny it. "I was just wondering if you can finish putting your own pants on now?"

"Oh." I look down at the waist of my jeans resting across the tops of my thighs. All I have to do is lift my hips and give them one last tug. I can definitely manage that. "I don't know... I might need some help."

"Seriously?"

I nod solemnly, flashing him my most innocent baby blues as I press my hands against the mattress and lift my lower body, waiting for him to reach down and pull my pants over my hips. He seems suspicious for a second, but it doesn't stop him from rolling his eyes and leaning back down to assist me. And as soon as he's close enough, I grab him and pull him into another kiss. My (unbroken) leg curls around the backs of his, reeling him in as he laughs against my lips and allows me to lure him down on top of me. But he's _very_ careful to hold himself up on his arms so as not to put any weight on me; I expected nothing less. And I'm grateful that he somehow manages to maintain enough presence of mind to take care of me even in moments like this.

God knows I'm useless at taking care of myself.

His body rocks against mine, or maybe it's the other way around. I'm don't know, I don't care. All I care about is how near he is, how hot his breath is against my mouth, how it feels as though he's all around me, everywhere...

"We _so_ don't have time for this." He reminds me.

But apparently lack of time isn't going to stop him from kissing his way along the edge of my jaw as I sigh contentedly beneath him, craning my head back a little further to give him easy access to every inch of my neck. Our bodies collide again, my hands grasping at his back as he hisses a " _fuck_ " against my collarbone before nipping it with his teeth in retaliation.

"Seriously..." He groans, returning his lips to mine. "We need... to stop..."

"Okay."

"Okay."

But I don't _want_ to. "Mmm... you first."

His mouth abandons mine entirely, and he raises his head to look down at me in outrage. " _You_ started it!"

"Right." I agree cheekily, threading my fingers into his hair and pulling him back towards me. It's not difficult, he doesn't even put up a fight. "My work here is done. Now it's your turn."

"You're such a fucking tease."

"Takes one to know one." There's too much truth in that statement for him to even attempt a retort, so instead he merely scowls at me until I draw him in closer once again. "I have an idea."

"Oh, shit. We're all _doomed_."

"Shut up!" I laugh softly, trying to kick his non-existent ass with the heel of my good foot. "Let's call Pam and tell her _she_ can take the kids to my parent's house and we'll meet them all there later." I propose in my most enticing tone. " _Much_ later..."

He's tempted, I can see it in his eyes even as he makes the most noble effort to stay strong. "We can't do that..."

"Why?"

"It's _Christmas_."

I know, I'm a terrible father. But when they're older, they'll understand! "I'm not suggesting we stay here all day. Just... you know... for an hour."

"An hour?"

"Or... two." I smirk playfully, pecking his lips once, twice, until I feel him start to relent on my third attempt. "Or four..."

Of course, just as he lets himself relax a little, the phone starts to ring.

He sighs in defeat, grudgingly pushing himself off of the bed and grabbing it from its holder on the nightstand. But rather than answering it himself, he hands it to me. He probably didn't want to risk talking to Pam unless he absolutely had to. But when I answer the call with the least irritated greeting I can manage, it's not Pam on the other end of the line, it's someone from the front desk letting me know that I have "visitors" waiting for me in the lobby.

As much as I really would _love_ to ask Pam to take the kids to my parent's house so that we can have a few more hours to ourselves, I was only half serious about it. Maybe not even half. And now that they're already here waiting for us, asking her to get them all back into the car and leave again just seems like a sure fire way to annoy her. We have to spend the rest of the day with her, so it's probably best not to get on her bad side right off the bat.

I finally finish putting my pants on, and Tommy and I head back out to the elevator. We debated whether or not to grab our coats and take the kids straight to my parent's house without returning to the room, but we figured the kids will kick up all kinds of fuss if they're denied the opportunity to each choose one of their new toys to take with them.

What I wasn't banking on (and what I probably should have expected, in hindsight) was the sullen faces I'm greeted by when we step out of the elevator and into the lobby.

When they left a couple of hours ago, Asta was the only one who was miserable. Now she seems to be the only one who isn't! Viggo doesn't seem _too_ sad, I think he's mostly concerned by the gloomy moods of his older siblings. Ezra looks... absent. His face shows no trace of emotion, but the second I lay eyes on him it's like I can _feel_ how not okay he is. It's heartbreaking. And the way Penny immediately runs to me, bursting into tears half way across the lobby and burying her face in my shirt as soon as her arms are wrapped around my waist, is enough to shatter those broken pieces into a million tiny fragments.

God _damn_ these stupid fucking crutches!

I just wanna hug my daughter, but they make it nearly impossible. So I unhesitatingly drop the one I don't need in order to keep my balance, and I curl my arm around her as tightly as I can. "It's okay, baby girl."

She shakes her head sorrowfully but doesn't say a word. She doesn't need to. She's right; it's _not_ okay. It's Christmas, and her mom isn't here. It's Christmas, and she just delivered a teddy bear and a homemade card to a piece of stone in a cemetery.

"I think they just need a little time." Pam tells me as she approaches us with Asta and the boys. Her voice is heavy with emotion, prompting her to clear her throat in an effort to sound a little stronger. It doesn't really work. "It was... hard to leave."

"Right..."

"We l-left her all alone." Penny sniffles forlornly, her shoulders shaking under my touch. "She's alone in the cold, daddy."

"Oh, Penny, she's _not_. I promise you, she's not." I insist wholeheartedly, wishing I could get down on her level and look her right in the eyes, or even just hold her much closer than I am right now. "You _didn't_ leave her. Remember what I told you?"

It takes her a moment, but eventually she nods her head and struggles to calm herself down as she wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her coat. "She's always w-with us."

"Right. So you _couldn't_ have left her behind, okay?" She nods again, letting me wipe another tear from her cheek just as it falls.

But I notice the way her eyes settle on Tommy briefly before she hides her face in my shirt once again, and I notice how confused and _torn_ she seems to feel as a result of his presence. I _know_ he noticed it, too. She looked him right in the eyes, it was so _painfully_ blatant. And I think we both know she's not struggling with her guilt over leaving Natalie behind in some snowy cemetery, not really. She's feeling guilty for every moment she's spent living her life like everything is okay these past few months, like Natalie was never even here.

And I don't know how to make her understand that it's _not_ something she should feel guilty about. She's not doing anything wrong when she smiles, she doesn't need to be sorry for being happy. And she didn't betray Natalie by letting Tommy into her life and into her heart.

But _how_ do you explain that to a grieving seven-year-old?

I tried to explain it to a grieving ten-year-old last night, and I'm not even sure he was able to accept it. Looking at him now, I get the feeling everything that was said between us last night may as well have just been a dream I had.

"Are you guys okay?" Tommy asks the boys cautiously, quietly, knowing all too well how they must be feeling but probably not knowing if it's even appropriate for him to speak to them right now.

River shrugs one shoulder despondently, the gleeful expression that had been on his face from the moment he woke up this morning now nowhere to be seen. I'm not sure if Ezra even heard the question; he doesn't show any sign of being aware of the fact that we're here at all. But Viggo lets go of Pam's hand and makes his way over to us, slipping his arms around Tommy's leg and leaning his head against his thigh, looking for some kind of reassurance that all of this misery around him won't last forever.

It's different for him than it is for the rest of them.

He was barely three years old when Natalie died. He knows he had a mommy, and he knows she was sweet, and kind, and took good care of him. He remembers some things about her, he can point her out in pictures, and sometimes he'll ask questions about her. But his brothers and sister had so much longer with her than he did. They have vivid memories of her, of the way she sounded when she sang them to sleep, the way her hugs felt, the things she'd say to make them feel better when they were sad. To Viggo, she was someone who was always there, and then... she just wasn't anymore. He missed her horribly for a little while, but then his only concern in life was whether or not _I_ was still around. I was his parent, I was _it_ , I was the center of his world. The pretty lady who used to tuck him in at night was simply gone, and he filled the hole she left behind with me.

For Ezra, Penny, and River, it wasn't so easy. There was no replacing her or filling the hole, they couldn't just let go or pretend there was nothing missing. There was a loss, and they felt it. They still do, _especially_ Ezra and Penny. For River, as long as he isn't reminded of her, life goes on. For a long time he shielded himself from the harsh reality of her death by pretending that she was still here. But leaving Tulsa behind and welcoming Tommy into our lives provided him with so much of a distraction from everything that had happened, that he no longer needed a shield. So he let her go.

But Penny lost her best friend, her role model, the woman she wanted to be like more than _any_ princess Disney could ever come up with. And Ezra... he was Natalie's first son, her first child. It didn't matter that he was the oldest, he was always her baby, and the bond between them had always been something incredibly special.

When that bond was broken, so was he.

"Thank you for taking them." I tell Pam sincerely, trying to summon a small but grateful smile. "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." She nods, placing a gentle kiss to Asta's forehead.

And then, much to my surprise, she hands her carefully over to Tommy. Honestly, it hurts to _see_ how much it breaks Pam's heart to let Asta go right now. To let any of them go. I asked her to do this because I thought it would make her feel better somehow. I wanted her to feel included, important, and to know that she wasn't alone. But with her grandchildren no longer surrounding her because they're all clinging to me and Tommy, she looks more lonely than ever.

"I gave the car keys back to the valet." She informs me, passing me the ticket and avoiding my eyes as she does so. I'm almost certain it's so that I won't be able to see the tears that I know she's on the verge of shedding. "I should be going. I told your parent's I would be there in time for lunch... I don't want to keep them waiting."

"Okay. We'll see you there soon, then." I remind her, and she nods as she turns to leave.

"Nana Pam?" Ezra suddenly pipes up, bringing her departure to an immediate halt.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Can I come with you?"

I kinda wish I hadn't ditched my other crutch, because I could _really_ use a little extra support right now. This all feels _way_ too familiar to me. He's standing five feet from me, he's not moving a muscle, but it's like I can see him drifting further and further away...

I don't know how to make it stop.

"Of course you can." Agrees Pam without hesitation. At least, she doesn't hesitate until _after_ she's told him he can leave with her. _Then_ she looks to me to see if I mind. "If it's alright with your father."

What am I supposed to say? No, you can't leave, you have to stay here against your will with your miserable brothers and sisters, and the father you apparently can't stand to be around? I want him to _want_ to stay, and if he doesn't, forcing him to sure as hell isn't going to make things any better between us.

"Yeah. That's... fine."

It's not fine.

Right now nothing feels fine.

Tommy and I take the kids back up to our room, neither one of us seeming to know what the hell to say to any of them to make them feel better. Or maybe we're both just too afraid of saying something to make this worse. As soon as we set foot into the hotel room, Penny lets go of my hand and wordlessly heads for the kids bedroom. River initially approaches the Christmas tree, and the mounds of opened gifts beneath it, but after staring at his new toys for a moment or two, he turns around and follows Penny through the adjoining door. Viggo, on the other hand, makes himself completely comfortable on the floor amongst all of the books, toys and clothes that he and his siblings accumulated this morning.

It's hard to believe they were all _so_ happy just a few hours ago. It was so _stupid_ of me to think that letting them visit Natalie's grave on Christmas day was going to yield results any different from these. But they wanted to go. Penny asked if she could take a gift to Natalie today, it was important to her. I wasn't about to say no to something like that. I suggested we do it the day before or after, but she wanted it to be _today_.

It _had_ to be Christmas.

And now her Christmas is ruined.

"Should we like... say something?" Tommy asks me quietly as we watch Penny and River from the doorway.

She's lying alone on one of the beds, and the size of it makes her slender frame look even smaller than usual. It's as though the pillows and comforter overwhelm her, swallowing her. But at the same time, she looks safe. Untouchable. And with her headphones on, I know that's what she needs to be right now. Same with River. He might be perched on the end of a bed rather than cocooned in the sheets, and he might be watching TV rather than listening to music, but he's trying to escape just like she is.

And if we do anything, say anything, we'll be preventing that.

"No." I sigh sadly, retreating back into our room and lowering myself onto the end of our bed.

" _Nothing_?" He frowns as he sinks down on the mattress beside me and settles Asta on his lap.

After her eventful morning, she seems perfectly content to stay right where she is, snuggled against his chest with her thumb well and truly jammed in her mouth.

At least _one_ of them is happy.

"Not right now. I know it feels wrong to not do anything, _believe_ me. But there's a difference between ignoring them and giving them some space to work through stuff. I don't wanna get in their faces before they've had chance to breathe."

"I guess..."

We're both momentarily distracted by the sound of unfamiliar, electronic music, and we glance in the direction it's coming from to find that Viggo has managed to get his brand new LeapPad out of the box and start a game on it without any adult assistance. It's kind of scary sometimes how self-sufficient they all are when it comes to operating modern gadgets. I know it's our fault for exposing them to iPhones and video games and TV remotes from such young ages, but sometimes it seems impossible to avoid it.

They end up being this weird mix of too old and too young all at once... and I feel _way_ too lost as a parent _way_ too much of the time.

Natalie never seemed lost. She _always_ knew exactly what to do, what was best.

Right up until the night Asta was born, at least.

"God, I'm _so_ mad at her." I mumble unthinkingly, leaving Tommy looking understandably confused as to who I'm talking about.

"Pam?" He asks uncertainly, going for the most obvious choice.

But for once, I'm actually not mad at her at all. "Natalie."

"For... what? Dying?" He teases lightly.

 "Yes." I know, it's awful. I feel like an ass for saying it; I didn't even realize I _felt_ it. But now that it's out there, I'm unshakably aware of it. And to be honest, admitting that I'm angry only serves to make me _angrier_. "She should be here. Her kids shouldn't have had to visit a cemetery on Christmas morning just to feel close to her."

"I know, and that totally _sucks_ , but... it's not like it's her fault."

"Isn't it?" I contend even as a voice in my head tells me how foolish I sound. How foolish I _am_.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Taylor-"

"It's stupid, just... forget I said anything."

He sighs heavily, shifting Asta into a more comfortable position. Apparently he's anticipating a lengthy conversation. "It doesn't matter if it's stupid. If you're thinking it, you should say it. Otherwise you're just gonna _keep_ thinking it."

"I'm probably going to keep thinking it no matter what."

"So then you should _definitely_ tell me. That way I'll know what the f..." He pauses, glancing down at Asta quickly before placing his hand lightly over her ear and continuing. "...uck is going on in your head for once."

I love his logic. If only I made as much sense as he does.

"It's just... when Asta was born there were... complications." Duh, Taylor. "Of course there were complications..."

He nods slowly, taking a long, deep breath as he realizes he might be about to learn what actually happened that night. We've never discussed it, he knows about as much as anyone who read about Natalie's death via a story in _People_ magazine. Maybe less than that. He never asked, and I never told. I really haven't talked about it with anyone since it happened. And I'm not sure I _ever_ shared what I'm about to share with him with anyone else. Not like this, at least.

"We weren't prepared for anything to go wrong, you know? We'd had four healthy babies, four _completely_ normal, uncomplicated pregnancies and natural child births... we figured we knew exactly what to expect. And at first everything seemed like it was going fine, she wasn't in any more pain than she'd been in with the other kids, she didn't feel any different. But after a few hours things started going downhill pretty fast. The doctor said that they were concerned about the baby's heartbeat, and that if things didn't improve, or if they got worse, they wanted to do a c-section."

I notice Tommy hold Asta a little closer, and I can't help but smile faintly. I don't even think he knows he did it, it wasn't intentional, it was entirely instinctual. It's the same for me; protecting my children comes as naturally to me as breathing. It came even more naturally to Natalie, which is why the night of Asta's birth was such a nightmare for us both.

"Nat freaked out. She didn't want a c-section, she wanted a natural childbirth. She was _so_ adamant that she could do it if they just gave her more time, it was like she thought they were questioning her ability to have a baby without medical intervention or something. I tried to tell her that it was okay, that women have c-sections all the time, that having one wasn't a failure on her part and it didn't mean she was incapable, it was just to make sure the baby was born safely. But it was like she couldn't even hear me. She just kept getting more and more upset, she was _begging_ me not to let them 'bully' her into having surgery. She wanted me to tell the doctor that _I_ believed she could do it, that she could have the baby naturally and everything would be fine. She asked me to _promise..._ "

"Jeez..." He murmurs under his breath, his eyes studying mine intently. "Did you do it?"

I can't bring myself to look at him as I nod faintly. "It was the last promise I ever made to her. And like most of the other promises I made to her, I broke it."

"So what happened?"

"The doctor pulled me aside and told me that if they didn't do something _right_ then, the baby wasn't going to make it. It didn't matter how sure Natalie was that she could have a natural childbirth, the baby's heart rate was abnormal and she was showing signs of distress. They couldn't wait, they were putting the baby's life at risk... so I told Natalie exactly what they'd told me. I told her that the only thing that mattered was having a healthy baby, and it didn't matter how she got here as long as she was okay. I told her... I told her that having a c-section wouldn't make her a bad mother, but not letting them help the baby would."

"And that convinced her?" He asks knowingly.

"Yeah, I think that was what _finally_ got through to her and made her realize that it didn't matter that the birth wasn't going to be what she'd expected or wanted, if didn't matter if she spent hours pushing and screaming or if she let them cut her open and take the baby out. _All_ that mattered was making sure that the baby was safe." I reach over to gently stroke Asta's chubby pink cheek with my thumb, and she's quick to grab a hold of my fingers with the hand that isn't currently stuffed in her mouth. "I just never thought..."

"You couldn't have known."

"I know."

"And even if you could... I mean... what else were you supposed to do? Just sit back and..." He doesn't seem capable of finishing his sentence, but he doesn't need to. And I know that I don't need to answer him, because he already knows I could _never_ sit back and let something happen to one of my kids.

Even if it means putting my own life on the line, I wouldn't give it a second of thought.

But it wasn't my life on the line that night, it was Natalie's. And even though there's no doubt in my mind that she wouldn't have had it any other way, that she would choose the same course of action every time if it was the only way to save Asta's life, I still can't help feeling as though _I_ talked her into something that wound up costing our kids _everything_.

"Sometimes I just... I wonder if it would have turned out differently if I'd convinced her to do it sooner. The doctor said it probably wouldn't have made a difference. He said her blood wasn't clotting properly after they got Asta out, she lost too much, too fast, and it probably would have happened even if we'd done the c-section right when they first suggested it. But he couldn't say for _sure_."

"They never fucking can." He sympathizes quietly, placing his hand over mine and squeezing it tightly. "But it sounds like it was just some horrible, freak thing that no one could've predicted."

"Rationally, I know that. But I don't know how to stop myself from wondering if she'd still be here if she'd just agreed to the c-section right away, or if I'd _made_ her agree to it sooner. I try not to think about it, but when I see my kids like this... it's just hard not to play the 'what if' game, you know?"

"Yeah..."

His eyes fall from my face and settle on Asta's sunny blonde hair for a moment before drifting across the room to where Viggo is still sitting on the floor, completely immersed in his Christmas present. As I watch Tommy lightly press his lips to the top of Asta's head, allowing them to linger there, I realize that he's playing his own version of that very same 'what if' game right now.

What if I _had_ convinced Natalie to get the c-section sooner? What if it had made all the difference? What if she'd been fine? She'd still be alive, my kids wouldn't be broken anymore...

And we wouldn't be sitting here.

I'd be in my old house with my wife and kids, or at my parent's house playing happy families with my siblings and their spouses. He'd probably be in Burbank with his family... and maybe Liz.

It's so fucking _impossible_ to imagine my life without him in it. Now that I've seen him holding my little girl in his arms, now that I've watched him fall in love with her, with all of them, I can't imagine her growing up without him. I don't _want_ to. But it would be a lie to tell him that I _don't_ wish I'd done things differently the night Asta was born. And if I had... what he and I have might not exist anymore.

The even crazier thing is, I know that _he_ would wish the same thing for the same reasons. If he could give my kids back their mom, he'd do it.

Even if it meant he had to give them _and_ me back to her.

But it's _so_ pointless to wonder where we'd be right now _if_ things were different or _if_ we could go back in time. They aren't different, and we can't ever go back. We are where we are, and the only direction any of us can go from here is forward.

"I love you _so_ much." I tell him simply, honestly, not knowing what else to say in this moment that will mean anything at all to him. It's not a promise, or a reassurance, it's a fact.

He slowly looks up at me again, a small but sincere smile on his lips, and I know that he's come to the same place I've found myself in and reached the exact same conclusions as I have.

The single, indelible fact of _us_ is all the matters now.

"I know."


	114. Chapter 114

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to deal with the "fall out" of the previous chapter, so again, this chapter wasn't part of my original outline. Hopefully it doesn't feel like too much of a waste of time, though. <3

  


 

 

I wind up giving Penny and River a good half an hour or so to decompress and hide from their grief. I'd love to give them longer, but I know that if I don't try to talk them through what they're feeling now, we'll wind up spending the entire day locked away in this hotel room. We didn't come all the way to Tulsa to spend Christmas day like this. Besides, I don't know that giving them too long to sit with these emotions is the healthiest thing to do. Like I told Tommy before, there's a thin line to be walked here. I gave them some space, but now I think it's time to invade it a little.

Tommy is totally on board with _me_ going in there and trying to get them to open up, but I can tell that he doesn't think his presence would be necessary _or_ beneficial. He tells me he's going to go and call his family and wish them a merry Christmas, and even though I know it's mostly just an excuse to make himself scarce, I don't question it. He's probably right to leave, honestly. Maybe one day it won't be this way, but for now it's pretty obvious that Penny, at least, is struggling with having Tommy around while she's missing Natalie so much. She probably doesn't even know how to put that feeling into words, and having him present while she's trying to make sense of it isn't going to help.

Asta fell asleep in Tommy's arms not long after I finished telling him about the heartache surrounding her birth. I guess all of the activity this morning wore her out and left her ready for her nap a little earlier than usual. He ventures into the kids room just long enough to put her in her travel crib, but I don't hear him say a word to either Penny or River before he disappears out into the hotel hallway alone. And when I convince Viggo to put down his new toys for a few minutes and join his brother and sister in their room, I find them exactly where I left them thirty minutes ago.

It feels almost as wrong to disturb them now as it did then.

"Hey, Riv, can you turn that off for a second?" I ask him, nudging Viggo gently in the direction of Penny's bed with my crutch.

Apparently even _he's_ not sure we should be in here.

I'm grateful when River turns off the cartoons he was watching without any argument, and he turns himself around on his bed to watch me as I carefully lower myself onto the edge of Penny's mattress. She doesn't open her eyes, but she _has_ to know she's not alone. There's no way she didn't notice Viggo climbing onto the bed or me sitting beside her, not unless she's asleep.

Perhaps she's just hoping that if she doesn't acknowledge us we'll all leave.

"Penny?" I slowly lift the headphones away from her ears, half expecting her to recoil in surprise or irritation. But instead she remains completely still as she opens her eyes and looks up at me. "Can we talk?"

She glances around her warily, taking in the faces of her younger brothers and seeming to relax very slightly when she realizes it's just the four of us. But she still doesn't look very enthusiastic about having to turn off her music and leave her little bubble of comfort.

And honestly, now that I have them all here and their undivided attention is on me... I have no idea how I'm even supposed to broach this subject with them.

"So... I know this morning was pretty rough." I begin, trying to gauge their reactions before deciding how to continue. But Viggo is the only one even looking at me at this point, and he just seems kind of lost. "I just thought that... maybe there might be some things you guys needed to talk about? Or..." God, I can't believe I still suck so badly at this after having almost a whole year of conversations just like it. I can't help wondering if maybe it's one of those things you _never_ get any better at, no matter how many times you have to do it. "I want you to know that you can tell me _anything_. I mean, you don't _have_ to. I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but if you do... I'm always here."

All three of them are silent, and I can't decide if that means they have nothing they want to tell me, or if I didn't do an adequate job of sounding sincere and making them believe that it's safe to say whatever is on their minds. Am I supposed to give them a minute and hope one of them speaks up, or just accept the fact that maybe they don't want to talk to me about it right now.

Or at all.

"It was weird." River admits, troubled lines etched across his brow as he tries to figure out what he's feeling. Judging by the look of distaste on Penny's face, she doesn't entirely approve of his choice of adjective. "I didn't know what to do."

"You didn't have to do anything, buddy." I assure him earnestly. "No one expected any of you to say or do anything. You didn't go there for anyone else, it was just for _you_."

"And mommy." Penny corrects me. "We went there for mommy."

"But mommy wasn't even _there_." Argues River. "It was just this big rock-"

"That's where mommy _is_!"

"No, mommy is in Heaven." Viggo quickly chimes in. "Nana Pam says so."

"You're both right." I interject before this little debate can go any further.

Viggo's clearly confused enough as it is without Penny trying to explain to him that Natalie's body is buried in a box in the ground. I hate that _she_ even has to be aware of that fact. None of them were present for Natalie's burial, my dad took them all home after the service. The funeral was hard enough on them, I didn't want them to see their mom's coffin being lowered into a hole while we all stood around and watched. It was too much, and they were so young.

They _are_ so young.

"Mommy _is_ in Heaven, but... she's in the cemetery, too. That 'big rock' is called a headstone. We put it there so that we have a special place where we can go when we want to feel closer to her, or take her Christmas cards, or presents. But we don't _have_ to go to her headstone to do that, we can do it anytime, anywhere."

"Because she's always with us?" River asks hopefully. "And we can talk to her whenever we want and she'll hear us?"

"Right." I smile back at him fondly. "And even though we might not be able to hear it with our ears, deep down we can kind of hear her talking to us, too."

"What if we can't?" Questions Penny sorrowfully. "What if we don't hear anything? Does it mean she doesn't want to talk to us? Is she mad at us?"

"Why would she be mad at us?" Viggo frowns worriedly. "Were we bad?"

"No!" I promise him immediately, though it doesn't seem to bring any of them much comfort. "She's not mad at you."

"Then how come I don't hear her?" Penny continues to press, her lower lip trembling with impending tears of despair. "I used to hear her all the time... but now I can't."

"Maybe... maybe it's because you don't know what she'd say to you about some things? It's easy when we know what she'd say to us, but... sometimes, if we don't know, it's harder to hear her." I explain to them as simply as I can without _over_ -simplifying it.

I want them to hold onto the belief that it really _is_ Natalie talking to them rather than their own consciences or their own minds. It's more comforting that way. But it's a tricky issue to navigate. I know it's something they'll eventually outgrow, like their belief in Santa, but for now it's something they need. The world is too full of cruel realities, and believing they can still talk to their mom and hear her words of comfort makes reality a lot easier to live with.

I don't want to take that from them too soon.

"Do you maybe wanna tell me what you talk to her about?" I ask Penny hopefully, noting the almost guilty expression on her face before she looks back down at the headphones in her lap. "It's okay if you don't."

She shrugs one shoulder faintly staring off across the room at the large window that looks out over a still and snowy downtown Tulsa. But just as I'm about to accept the fact that she's not going to let me in on whatever one-sided conversation it is she's been having with Natalie, she turns her face back towards me and bravely looks me right in the eyes.

"I told her I didn't forget her, even though we went away to California. And I told her that Tommy is really nice, but I don't love him more than I love her, and I'm sorry that you love him more, and I hope it doesn't make her too sad." _Ouch_. "And now she won't talk to me."

"Oh, Penny..."

"Is it bad if we love Tommy?" River asks fretfully, leaving Viggo absolutely anxiety-ridden.

" _I_ love Tommy." He tells me, his voice wavering as his eyes fill with tears. "Is mommy mad at me now?"

"Guys, mommy is _not_ mad at you for _anything_. I _swear_."

"How do you know?" Penny demands insistently. "How do you know she isn't sad because we went away and got a new house? And now someone else lives there with us, and you love him, and we forgot about her?"

"You _didn't_ forget about her." I assert confidently. "You think about her _every_ day, I _know_ you do. Just because Tommy lives with us, and you like him, that doesn't mean you're forgetting about mommy. You're allowed to like him, or even love him."

"But what about _mommy_?" She sighs despondently.

I wish I'd read more of those self-help books people kept offering me and recommending to me after Natalie died. I read one or two about how to help children through the loss of a parent, and when Ezra started acting out I read a couple that dealt specifically with that, not to mention countless internet articles. But I never really looked into how to help your kids accept your new significant other into their lives. For the longest time, I really didn't think I was going to _have_ a significant other. I had no interest in dating anyone, and I couldn't imagine ever getting back together with Tommy, no matter how badly I wanted to. And then when we _did_ find our way back to each other, everything happened so quickly and there was so much going on, I didn't think to stop and educate myself on how best to handle the creation of this new family unit. The kids all seemed to adjust to it pretty well, so I assumed it wasn't going to be an issue.

As usual, I was wrong.

As I glance around the room in a hopeless search for some kind of inspiration to help me better demonstrate how love works to my four, six, and seven-year-old kids, I spot a couple of bottles of over-priced hotel water sitting over on the desk. "Riv, can you grab me one of those bottles?"

He seems incredibly uncertain about the request, as though he's not sure he heard me right, but he quickly gets off of the bed and hurries to do as I asked anyway. A few seconds later he rejoins us all on Penny's bed and hands it to me, and Viggo shifts in even closer to watch as I unscrew the bottle cap and hold it up for them to see.

"Penny, let's pretend this bottle is your heart, okay?"

River snickers in amusement, and even Penny's lips begin to twitch into a small smile. "Okay."

"And the water is love." She nods, but she's still giving me a look that's eerily similar to one I used to get _a lot_ from Natalie. It's an unmistakable 'you've lost your marbles' look. "Do you love River?"

Penny glances at her little brother, and he flashes her a gap-toothed grin. "Yeah."

"A little or a lot?"

"A lot... most of the time." She smirks, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Okay..." I take a long sip from the bottle before theatrically wiping my hand across my damp lips. "How about Viggo?"

"The same, I guess?"

After drinking another mouthful of water from the bottle, I lower it again. "And Asta and Ezra?"

"I love _everyone_ a lot." She shrugs, shaking her head at me as I drink almost all of the remaining water.

"Uh oh... there's only a little love left." I tease her, biting my lip in feigned concern. "Did everyone get enough?"

"I think so..."

"But what if you meet someone new someday and you love them a lot, too? Do you think this amount of love is going to be enough for them?"

She frowns worriedly, staring at the inch or so of water sitting in the bottom of the bottle. "I don't know."

"Well, you know what?" I ask, pouring the last of the water into my mouth and setting the empty bottle down on the nightstand. "It doesn't matter."

"How come?"

"Because we don't love with our hearts."

"What do you mean?" Asks River curiously. "What **_do_** we love with?"

"We don't really love _with_ anything. Our hearts are just part of our bodies, like... our hands or our eyes or our noses." I explain, reaching out and poking Viggo on the nose, just to ensure that this conversation doesn't get _too_ heavy for him. "Our hearts are important, they keep us alive, but we don't actually use them to _love_ people. When we say we love someone with all our heart, all we really mean is that we love them _a lot_ , maybe more than we love anyone else. But there's absolutely _no_ limit to how much you can love. Does that make sense?"

"I guess..." Penny murmurs.

"What I'm trying to say is, you don't just have _one_ heart full of love. You have as much love as you need for _everyone_ you could ever want to love. You can love your mommy more than anyone, and that _never_ has to change. Even if she's not here anymore, or even if someone new comes along-"

"Like Tommy?" Asks Viggo keenly.

"Like Tommy," I smile down at him. "That doesn't mean you have to love mommy less so that you can love him, too. Do you love _me_ any less now that Tommy's around?"

River shakes his head vehemently. "No!"

"How about your grandma and grandpa?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Do you love _anyone_ any less now that you love Tommy?"

They all appear to take this question extremely seriously, mulling over everyone they love and trying to decide if they had to love anyone less in order to accommodate their affection for Tommy. And, as I anticipated, they eventually all conclude that no one in their lives has suffered a loss of love.

"See? Love isn't like a glass of water or... a box of candy that you only get a certain amount of, and you have to share it out between everyone. You never run out, there's _always_ more. You don't have to take love away from other people so that you can give it to someone new, okay?"

"But mommy might still be sad that we love Tommy." Sighs Penny, clearly still wrestling with her own guilt.

"You know what _I_ think would make mommy much sadder than you loving Tommy or anyone else?"

"What?"

"Seeing _you_ so sad because you're worried that _she's_ sad. She always wanted you guys to be happy, she cared more about that than _anything_. So I think that if you're happy, she'll be happy. It would _never_ make her sad to see you smile."

This piece of information seems to make more sense to her than anything I've said so far. It's as if I can see something click into place for her, I can _feel_ her relief. And I can't help wondering if maybe she's finally hearing that voice she's been missing, telling her it's okay and making it possible for her to _believe_ it.

Rather than rushing the kids to get ready, or interrupting Tommy's phone call with his family, I decide to spend some quality time with them until he ventures back into the room. It's not often I find myself alone with them anymore, not like this. I think it's almost a treat for them to get me all to themselves, and to feel as though they can talk openly about Natalie in a way they probably don't know how to do when Tommy is around. They ask me to tell them stories about her, anecdotes they've heard dozens of times but never tire of, and even recollections of moments they were present for themselves.

Like the time I was blasting Elvis Costello while cooking dinner, and Natalie and Penny started dancing around the kitchen to 'Pump It Up'. In no time, they were _all_ parading through the house, grabbing tambourines and egg shakers, and taking their little marching band out into the back yard. Or the time we'd planned to go camping, but the minivan wouldn't start. So instead of wasting what little was left of the afternoon calling around trying to find someone willing to come over and help us figure out what was wrong with it, or get us to a garage, we unpacked everything and set the tents up in the backyard instead.

Then they reminisce about the little things, like her laugh, and her smile, and the way she smelled. Viggo misses how comfy she was to snuggle up on the couch with, River misses the way she would arrange the toppings on his pizza into a funny face, and Penny misses spending hours watching her getting ready for parties and premieres, trying on her jewelry and shoes, playing with her makeup and getting her nails painted. That was _their_ thing, something the boys never wanted any part of but that Penny _adored_. And Natalie loved that she got to share those things with Penny. Her little girl, her princess, her one and only...

It's so strange to think that she _never_ got to meet Asta, and that Asta will never have memories of her mom. Not even the vague, fuzzy ones that Viggo has.

I still have absolutely _no_ idea how I'm going to handle explaining it to Asta when she starts asking why she doesn't have a mommy and what happened to Natalie. I haven't even figured out how we're supposed to celebrate her first birthday next month while simultaneously observing the one year anniversary of Natalie's death. I don't want to ignore it and rob my kids of their right to mourn, but I don't want Asta's birthday to be marred by painful memories for the rest of her life, either. It's not her fault that this terrible thing happened, and I never want her to feel for a single second like it is. I guess those are issues I'll have to take in stride and deal with as they come.

Just like today.

Tommy finishes up with his phone calls just after one. Well, that's when he hesitantly pokes his head into the kids bedroom, anyway. For all I know, he was sitting out in the hall or down in the lobby waiting until he thought enough time had passed for him to return. And his timing is actually pretty perfect, because the kids and I have just dragged ourselves off of the bed and started getting ready to head out to my parent's house. Their moods are still much more subdued than you would expect for Christmas day, but they're definitely not as depressed as they were only an hour ago. And hopefully spending some time with their aunts and uncles and cousins will help lift their spirits even more.

I wish I had the same high hopes for mine and Tommy's moods, but unfortunately I think it's fair to assume there's nowhere for them to go but down. I still think it would be better for everyone if the two of us just stayed here, then no one has to deal with seeing us together. And more importantly, _we_ won't have to deal everyone's reactions to seeing us together. They can pretend we don't exist, and we can spend the afternoon in bed pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist.

Seems like a win-win if you ask me!

When we arrive at my parent's house, it's nowhere near as busy as I'd expected. Ike and Zac have yet to put in an appearance, and Jess and Joe are apparently spending most of the day with his family and "might" come by for dinner. I can't decide if it's better or worse that there are fewer people here than there were yesterday. On the one hand, the majority of the people present right now are pretty supportive of me and Tommy, which means he probably won't feel as unwelcome as he did yesterday. And since it's a smaller group, it gives them a chance to really talk to him and get to know him. But on the other hand, it also means there's less of a distraction for the kids.

"Come on in!" Dad encourages us cheerfully as mom leads us into the living room. "Make yourselves at home."

"Where's Ezra?" I ask as nonchalantly as I can (in other words, not very), glancing around the family room.

"Upstairs." Sighs mom as she gives a hopeless shrug. "He said he was tired after lunch, so I told him he could rest for a while."

He's not tired, he's avoiding us. "Maybe I should go check on him... let him know we're here."

"Don't be silly, you're not going up and down the stairs in your condition." She scolds me lightly, ushering me over to the empty space my sisters have made for us on the couch. "I'll go up in a little while."

"Just so we're clear, I have a broken leg. It's _not_ life-threatening."

"It _will_ be if you don't sit down." Threatens Tommy with a playful scowl.

"How come you still have presents under your tree?"  River asks his grandparents, completely indignant that anyone would leave a gift unopened for this long on Christmas!

"Those are for you." Dad informs him. "I guess Santa must have gotten a little confused about where to find you today."

"Did he leave one for me, too?" Gasps Viggo, rushing over to join River beneath the tree. "Is that one mine?"

"I think there's a few there for you, too, honey." Pam tells Penny with a small smile. "Why don't you go and help your brothers figure out which ones are for them and which are for you?"

"Okay." She agrees obediently, nowhere near as excited by the idea of new toys as she was first thing this morning.

"How's your Christmas day been so far?" Mom asks us as we take our seats and watch the kids passing presents back and forth. "Did you both get what you were hoping for?"

Tommy suddenly coughs loudly beside me, but I can tell he only did it to stop himself from cracking up. And damnit, his totally immature reaction to a perfectly innocent question just makes _me_ want to laugh! And I can't cough to cover it up, because he already did that. And if we both start coughing my mom's gonna think we're getting sick, and she'll spend all afternoon fussing over us. Or worse, they'll all _know_ we're thinking dirty thoughts! So instead of coughing, I bite the inside of my mouth for a second, _hard_ , until I manage to reign in my grin.

"Yeah, it was... nice. We both got some really great stuff."

"Good."

"Tommy gave me the most _incredible_ gift." I gush, enjoying the way his pale skin immediately flushes pink now that all eyes are on him. I carefully remove my new necklace and pass it to Avie, who is perched beside me on the arm of the couch. "Each one of those dog tags has one of the kid's fingerprints on it. Isn't that-"

"Daddy, look!" Cries River delightedly, holding one of his presents up for me to see. It's still wrapped, though, so I'm not sure what it is he wants me to look at. "It's from _mommy_!"

Wait...

 _What_?


	115. Chapter 115

  


 

 

What should you say to your six-year-old when they tell you that they just received a Christmas present from their dead mother?

" _That's awesome, buddy_!" doesn't seem appropriate. And if that's the case then, " _Dude, that present isn't from your mommy, it's from you batshit grandmother_!" must be _really_ inappropriate. But sitting here and saying nothing isn't going to cut it. My kids are watching me, waiting for me to speak, silently praying for me to affirm that the gifts they're each clutching in their hopeful little hands are, in fact, from their mom.

It's too late to do anything about this now; it's done. And letting them believe that Natalie is sending them presents from the grave is a far more preferable option to obliterating the light in their eyes and offending Pam within five minutes of setting foot into the room.

That doesn't mean she's doesn't have _a lot_ of explaining to do, though.

We all do our best to appear sincerely enthusiastic about this unexpected Christmas 'miracle' we have on our hands. I could tell that my parents and Tommy were waiting for me to react before they took any kind of stance on the matter, and I can almost _hear_ the collective sigh of relief when I plaster a pleasantly surprised expression on my face and encourage Penny, River and Viggo to open their gifts and see what they got. They tear away the wrapping paper to reveal personalized pillows, each with the first letter of their names embroidered into the center and surrounded by photographs of them with their mom.

Viggo, though well-raised enough to express gratitude over his gift, is less affected by it than his older siblings. And though River is clearly moved by the black and white images of him and Natalie together, and the memories attached to them, I can't help wondering if he would have been more excited by LEGOs or yet _another_ set of superhero pajamas. But even after her younger brothers have set their pillows aside and moved on to the other unopened presents waiting for them, Penny remains still and silent, staring down at the plush pillow in her lap, studying what seems to be every last thread.

Until finally she looks up at me.

I put a little extra effort into my formerly fading smile, and I hold her gaze as she pushes herself to her feet and wordlessly approaches me with her pillow still clutched in both hands. She holds it out to me and I carefully take it from her, my smile becoming more genuine as my eyes drift slowly over each of the five photographs printed onto the soft fabric. I took some of those pictures myself, and for that very reason I'm almost surprised that Pam would choose to use them.

"It's beautiful."

Penny nods faintly, taking her gift back before boldly looking me in the eyes once again. "Did you make it and just say it was from mommy?"

"Me?" I frown in genuine surprise. "No."

"Really?" She asks suspiciously, her fingers grasping the edges of the pillow anxiously. "You promise?"

"I _promise_ it's _not_ from me."

It takes her another moment of intently searching my expression for some small sign that I'm lying my ass off. And for once in my life I'm telling the whole truth and nothing but, so I'm able to sit here and unblinkingly withstand her scrutiny until she's satisfied that I'm not deceiving her. Once she's done with me, she turns to her grandparents, who all quickly hold their hands up in innocence and assure her that they know nothing about it. Two out of three of them are being completely honest with her, and majority seems to rule.

The most unbearably hopeful hint of a smile begins to tug at the corner of her mouth, and she hugs the pillow protectively to her chest. Her eyes are glistening with tears when she looks up at me, and my own eyes immediately begin to sting as she snuggles against my chest, tucking her head comfortably beneath my chin.

"She's not mad." I hear her whisper, prompting me to hold her even closer.

"See?" I tell her, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly and fighting to keep my voice from failing me. "Told you."

I have no idea how to feel about all of this. I _think_ I should still be mad at Pam, even just for not running it by me before putting Natalie's name on their gifts. But thankfully there was no harm done. In fact... it seems to have been the opposite. If anything it's put a smile on their faces after a less than joyful morning, and it helped to put Penny's mind at ease.

Still, it could have just as easily upset them all even more. And I'm absolutely _positive_ that Ezra won't appreciate a post-mortem Christmas present from his mom as much as his brothers and sister did, so if there's one waiting under the tree for him then I need to know about it so I can change the tag.

Unless of course she's already given it to him...

As soon as Penny has rejoined River and Viggo over by the tree, I discreetly ask Pam if I can talk to her in private for a moment. I'm expecting her to either refuse or to make a point of rolling her eyes at me like I'm asking for something completely inconvenient and unnecessary. But she gets out of her seat and leads me into the kitchen without protest.

"Before you start," She addresses me abruptly as soon as we're out of earshot. "This wasn't something I deliberately kept from you-"

"Well you definitely never mentioned it."

"I didn't have the chance." She insists. "I had the idea as I was driving over here earlier after dropping them off at the hotel. They were all so upset, I wanted to do something to make them feel better, so I switched the tags on some of my gifts to them. I thought it might make them feel closer to her and remind them of how much she loves them."

"I understand that, I _honestly_ do, but it was still a pretty reckless thing to do. I mean, yeah, it turned out okay, but it totally caught me off guard and it could have _really_ freaked them out. Like you said, they were really upset after visiting the cemetery, and I'd only _just_ managed to cheer them up again and convince them that Natalie wouldn't want them to be sad. It could have ruined what's left of their Christmas if they'd taken it badly."

"I know. I'm sorry I didn't find a way to discuss it with you first."

Was that an apology?

Did Pam just _apologize_ to me for something?

This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder!

"Apology accepted." Barely believed, but accepted all the same. "I don't want you to think that you can't do special things for them, or that I'm gonna shoot all of your ideas down or anything, because that's not the case at all. I _want_ you to be involved in their lives, I just need you to run stuff like this by me. I know I'm not your favorite person, but I _am_ still their dad and I _do_ have a right to know about this kind of thing before it happens."

She nods slowly, apparently taking in everything I've said and giving it serious consideration rather than dismissing it out of hand the way she has with just about every word out of my mouth these last few months.

"I agree."

Seriously, what the fuck? Am I being Punk'd or something?

"Okay... well... good. I guess that means we're on the same page." For once. "Just... _please_ tell me you didn't give Ez a gift from Natalie, too? Because I'm _really_ not sure that he can handle-"

"No, of course not." She cuts me off quickly before I can finish trying to find a polite way to tell her that she'd have to be insane to do that to him. "I knew there wasn't _any_ chance he would believe it was actually from her; it would have only upset him."

"Exactly." I concur, breathing a sigh of relief.

Though I'm not really sure what I have to be relieved about. Even if I don't have to worry about him freaking out over a Christmas present from his dead mom, that doesn't undo whatever he was feeling after his visit to Natalie's grave this morning. Last night he opened up to me, and this morning if felt as though he was finally beginning to find his place in our family again...

Now it's like none of it ever even happened.

"Pam?" She stops on her way out of the kitchen, turning to face me with an unconcealed look of impatience on her face. "Did he say anything to you? After you left the hotel, I mean. Did he say... anything?"

"No." She replies so brusquely that it feel entirely insensitive.

But really, if he didn't say anything to her then what more is she supposed to say to me? And just because she's been more civil to me in the last five minutes than she has been in weeks, that doesn't mean I should've expected it to last indefinitely. I pushed my luck; I _knew_ it was a mistake before I even opened my mouth.

She offered me something vaguely resembling an olive branch, but I grabbed it too hastily and it snapped.

Pam begins to make her way out of the room once again, but just like before, she stops. Only this time it's not because I called her back or asked her a question. I feel as though I'm waiting with bated breath (and an increasing sense of dread-infused curiosity) to see what it is that's keeping her from simply walking away.

"He does talk about you, though."

"What?"

"Ezra." She clarifies, turning to meet my uncertain stare. "I've spent quite a bit of time with him since he moved back, we've been talking a lot. Relative to how much talking he did before, at least. He talks about you, and his brothers and sisters... and Tommy."

"Oh." I guess that's positive. I'd prefer it if he'd talk to _me_ , but at this point I just want him to talk to _someone_. I don't care so much who it is as long as he's not shutting himself away anymore. "What does he say?"

"That you're all very happy in California, and that he doesn't belong there with you because he _isn't_ happy. I think he _wants_ to be happy, he just doesn't how to be anymore."

That much I knew, but it doesn't hurt any less the more times I hear it. "Yeah... he said the same thing to me, pretty much."

"He told me that... Tommy makes you and the children happy." Continues Pam almost grudgingly. It's as though she knows that telling me this is the right thing to do, but that doesn't mean she likes it. She doesn't feel she owes me anything, but this isn't about me _or_ her. It's about the kids. Our common ground. "He said Tommy helped him to understand some of the things that he was feeling."

"Yeah, well, Tommy lost his dad a couple of years ago, so... he can kinda relate a little, I think."

She nods faintly, her gaze falling to the ground for a moment, like she can't look at me while we're having this conversation. "Ezra mentioned something about that."

"I know you're never going to approve of me raising the kids with Tommy, but he's _not_ a bad guy, Pam. I would _never_ have let him anywhere near them if he was, or if I thought for a _second_ that he might hurt them in _any_ way."

"I understand." She replies unemotionally. It makes it hard for me to believe that she actually does understand at all, that she actually hears what I'm saying and _sees_ that it's the truth.

"He loves them. That's probably not what you want to hear but it's _not_ a bad thing, I promise. He'd do anything for them, I know he would. And whether you agree with our relationship or not, I refuse to believe that you won't agree that the more people they have in their lives who love them that much, the better."

"You're right." That should be a good thing, but until she elaborates on which part of my statement she's in agreement with, I know I can't get my hopes up. "I'm never going to approve of your relationship with Tommy _or_ the fact that my grandchildren are being raised by two gay men a thousand miles away from their family."

Damn. _So_ close. "That's your right, I guess."

" _But_ you're also right about it being better for them to have as many people in their lives that love them as they can get. And... I believe that Tommy probably does care about them a great deal." Wow. "In his own way, at least."

Breathe, Taylor. Be thankful for small mercies. "I'm glad you can see that."

"I know that he tried to help Ezra, and he was there for all of them while you were in hospital, and... I appreciate that." She concedes half-heartedly.

But half or whole hearted, at least she actually _said_ it. Compared to a month ago, when she was freaking out and accusing Tommy of molesting Viggo just because she found them sleeping in the same bed together, this is like a complete one-eighty turn around!

"Thank you. _I_ appreciate you saying that." I tell her in an attempt to meet her half way.

I don't need her approval; she's not my mother. Her opinion of my relationship with Tommy holds little weight with me. As long as it doesn't cause my kids any unhappiness or interfere with the way I choose to raise them, she can think whatever she wants about us. We know the truth, and my kids know the truth, and that's _all_ that matters. But life would still be a hell of a lot simpler for everyone involved if she could find a way to at least accept that this is how things are going to be, and that her grandchildren are safe, and happy, and loved.

Perhaps it's the eternal, incurable dreamer in me talking, but it seems as though maybe, just _maybe_ , she's not as blind to that reality as she once was.

"I know this year hasn't been easy, and these last few months have been especially hard, and I'm _genuinely_ sorry for causing you more pain than you were already going through. It was _never_ my intention to hurt you or to make you feel as though I was taking the kids away from you and shutting you out of their lives. All I ever wanted was to give them a fresh start and help them to move on."

"You should be pleased, then." She remarks with a small, almost imperceptible smile. "You got what you wanted."

Before I can figure out if that was some kind of bizarre compliment or merely something disguised as one, she's gone and I'm alone in the kitchen. It's not for long, though. It feels as though she's only just left the room when Tommy comes looking for me. He finds me taking a seat at the kitchen table, too drained and dazed from my conversation with Pam to stay on my feet, and he hurries over to help me into my chosen chair (whether I _need_ help or not).

"What happened?" He asks apprehensively. "What did she say?"

"Uh... a lot." I chuckle softly, tiredly. I know it's not the most detailed reply I could have given him, and it's definitely not the answer he wanted, but it's the only one I have the energy to give him right now. "It was totally weird."

He frowns as he lowers himself into the chair beside mine, and I can feel him watching me carefully. "Weird how? Was she like nice or something?"

"Or something." Okay, that's not fair. "She was nicer than she has been in a long while, that's for sure. But it's not like we're gonna be best friends now or anything."

"Good." He snorts, bringing a hint of a smile to my face. "I might not be Zac's biggest fan, and Alex annoys the crap outta me half the time, but I think I'd rather have them both move in with us than have Pam hanging around on a regular fucking basis."

"Well, lucky for you, I don't see either of those things happening any time soon."

He doesn't have chance to respond before Avie hesitantly pokes her head into the room, craning to see if the coast is clear. It's like something out of a cartoon; I half expect her neck to grow an extra foot so that she can get a better look at what we're doing.

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" I smirk back at her when the rest of her body finally comes into view.

"'Tis I, the artist formerly known as your sister." She informs me, taking a sweeping bow before approaching us. "I have been forced into the seedy life of a super spy, sent here under the guise of making some coffee so that I can find out if you're okay."

"Why didn't mom just come in here herself?"

"She probably thought that sending me would make _her_ prying less obvious." We both roll our eyes as she drops down heavily into a seat across the table from me and Tommy. "Mothers are strange creatures."

"A-freakin-men." Tommy immediately agrees.

"As are mother-in-laws." I add with a sigh.

"How'd it go with Pam? Did you guys fight? We didn't hear any yelling or screams of immense pain."

I shrug faintly, picking at the frayed edge of one of the placemats on the table. "Probably because there wasn't any. It was all very... calm."

"Well... that's good, right?" Asks Avie, her tone hopeful but her expression clearly unsure. "Things have been pretty tense for a while... maybe they're finally starting to settle down?"

"Maybe."

"Or maybe she realized that she did a totally stupid thing that could have blown up in all our faces." Tommy points out bluntly. "She got lucky. She could've made things a hundred times harder on everyone with that gift stunt, and she knows it. That's probably why she's not kicking up a fuss about being told what's best for _her_ grandchildren like she usually does."

"Yeah, it definitely wasn't the sanest idea she's ever had." Avie laughs quietly, shaking her head in disbelief. "You guys really had _no_ idea she was going to do it?"

" _None_. She said she didn't plan on doing it until she was on her way over here, so she didn't have time to mention it to me."

"Wow."

"I don't know..." I heave a deep, tired breath as I slump against the back of my chair, running a hand through my hair and wishing some of the tightness in my shoulders would evaporate. But it refuses to budge. "I think _maybe_ things are improving, but I feel like I shouldn't let my guard down too soon, you know? Just because she hasn't been as hostile to us this visit as she was being before, that doesn't mean it's always gonna be like this. She might just be making an effort because it's Christmas, or she might be missing Natalie too much to hate us as much as usual."

"Maybe, maybe not." Avie offers me a small, supportive smile. "But for your sake I hope it's not just a seasonal thing."

Honestly, if the most I can ask for from her is a break from the bickering over the holidays every year, I'll take it. It might not seem like much, but it's a hell of a lot better than nothing. Obviously Kate isn't feeling quite as charitable, and Jess, Zoe and Mac are still undecided on their opinions of this whole thing.

Speak of the sibling...

"Hey." Mac mumbles less than cheerfully, keeping his eyes downcast as he makes a beeline for the fridge. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You're not." I assure him as casually as I can, watching while he rummages through all of the various Saran wrapped leftovers until he finds a can of soda.

He doesn't respond, or even show any sign of having heard me, and apparently I'm so desperate to keep him from simply turning around and leaving again that I hear myself ask if he can get me a Dr Pepper.

I don't even _want_ a Dr Pepper.

He grabs another can from the back of the fridge and turns around, glancing dubiously at Tommy before walking over to us and hands me my drink. "You want one?"

"Uh... no, thanks. I'm good."

Without so much as a "Merry Christmas", Mac takes his Coke and leaves the room. I'm not going to pretend that he and I have ever been as close as he and Zac are; the two of them have always had a lot more in common than just that crazy big smile they share. But we _were_ friends once. We used to be able to talk about anything and nothing. There was a time, not so long ago, when we could be around each other without it feeling as awkward as every moment we've spent together so far this Christmas has.

"I know it's probably totally unfair of me, but I _really_ wish he'd get over the whole, 'oh no! My big brother is a homo!' thing and start treating me like a human being again." I admit miserably, idly wiping drops of condensation from the side of my soda can. "I'm not contagious, he's not gonna suddenly turn gay if he spends more than five minutes in a room with me!"

"That's not it." Avie tries to console me, but I find it hard to just take her word for it when it's pretty obvious that she's the only one of my younger siblings who doesn't find my sexuality totally disturbing. "No one in this house feels that way about you, Tay, I _promise_. They might be confused, and it might take them a little longer to get used to seeing you with Tommy, but they _are_ trying."

"I just feel like nothing is ever going to be the same again. Everything is different now, they treat me differently, they look at me differently... but I'm _not_ different. I'm the same person I always was."

"They _know_ that." She continues to insist earnestly. "It's not the fact that you're gay that they're having a hard time accepting, not really. I mean, it's hard to rethink everything we were raised to believe, and I know it's been harder on Jessie and Mac than it has on me and Zoe, but at the end of the day... you're our brother. We all love you, and we know you're a good person. It's not up to us to judge what's right and wrong, it's up to us to love you unconditionally. And we do. Whether we completely understand or not, we will _always_ love you."

I reach out across the table, linking the tip of my pointer finger with hers and giving it a squeeze of sincere thanks. "I love you, too."

"I know."

"But if they all love me so much, why are they acting like they don't know me? You saw the way Mac was just now, he barely said two words to me! It's not like I was expecting to be welcomed back with open arms or anything, but-"

"It's not you."

"Then what is it?" I foolishly ask, regretting the question as soon as it leaves my mouth.

I already know the answer. We all do.

Avie's eyes instantly flit to Tommy's face, and mine follow suit. Even though he does his best to appear unsurprised and unconcerned, I know him well enough to know that he's more than a little offended.

"It's nothing personal-"

"It's fine, I get it."

"But it's really _not_." She promises him, turning her attention back to me. The sadness in her eyes leaves me with an unsettling feeling that I'm about to feel like an asshole. "It's just that... last Christmas we were all right here, just like this... and you were still married to Natalie. And then a few weeks later she was gone, and it completely _wrecked_ everyone in this family."

Yup. Asshole. "I know."

"We were all still trying to figure out what life without her looked like when you announced that you're gay and moved to another state... and now you're here, and you're with someone new. It doesn't matter who it is, it wouldn't be any different if it was another guy or even another woman. It's hard for them to see you with someone who _isn't_ Natalie. They grew up with her, Tay. She was their big sister-"

"But she was _your_ big sister, too." I argue helplessly. "How come you're not treating us like pariahs?"

She gives a vague shrug, a single shoulder raise to illustrate that this doesn't make complete sense to her, either. "I guess it's different for them. I _adored_ Nat, you know I did, I'll _never_ have a bad word to say about her. But I was almost Ezra's age when you guys got together, I have memories of life before her, _without_ her. Mac barely has that, and Zoe definitely doesn't. For them, it's like she was _always_ there, you know? She was always a part of this family, she was as much their sister as I am. And even though she and I were great friends, I was never as close to her as Jessie was. Jessie is my big sister, but Natalie was hers. She held her hand through those horrible teen years, she was her go-to girl for advice on life, and love, and how to do just about _anything_... and now she's gone."

I have no idea what to say.

How did none of this cross my mind? Have I really become so fiercely protective of my relationship with Tommy that I automatically assume everyone is against us in some way, even the people I love most? Am I _that_ cynical? Or am I just so self-centered that it never occurred to me that my kids and Pam aren't the only ones still grieving Natalie's death?

I knew they all loved her, I knew losing her devastated them. But life slowly went on, they all went back to their jobs, and their relationships, and their school work. They figured out how to carry on without her. I thought they were okay.

My kids weren't okay, they _couldn't_ figure out how to carry on, and my whole focus this year has been on helping them try to learn how to. I've been so wrapped up in them, and then the move, and Tommy, and recovering from that damn accident...

But that's no excuse; this is my family, I should have known what they were going through, I should have tried harder to understand them.

One look at Tommy tells me that he feels awful, too. Though I highly doubt it's for the same reasons. He probably feels guilty for thinking the worst of them, but he had every right to assume their treatment of him came from a place of ignorance and judgment rather than confusion and grief.

It's what _I_ assumed, after all, so how was he supposed to know any better?

None of that matters anymore, though. Now that I know what's really going on, why they've been so uncharacteristically standoffish ever since we got here, I can try to find a way to make them understand that I haven't simply forgotten about Natalie and I don't expect them to, either. I don't want everyone to pretend she never existed just to make Tommy feel accepted, I don't believe it has to be an either or choice.

She's gone, and I can't bring her back.

I also can't and won't stay single until they all feel as though they've mourned her an appropriate amount. But I can and will make sure they know that it's okay to talk about her in front of me, that they can recall memories of her with me just like my kids do all the time. Even if Tommy is sitting right there with us, it's okay. I _know_ he understands. He's insecure about a lot of things, but he's not insecure about this. Not anymore. He's okay with my past because he knows that he's my future, and _nothing_ is going to change that.

If only I can find a way to help my family come to the same resolution that he's reached. If I can help my past be okay with my future, then maybe we can all begin to move forward together.

Maybe...


	116. Chapter 116

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have to say this almost every time I update, but I am SINCERELY sorry this took so long. I've been busy helping a friend a lot the past few weekends, and working, and just not having the time or energy to sit down and write. Plus, this chapter got lengthy. lol
> 
> But I promise to try harder next week! Hopefully chapter 117 won't take anywhere near as long as this one did.
> 
> Only a handful of chapters left until The End...

  


 

 

I haven't had to deal with going up and down stairs too much since the accident. Tommy won't _let_ me. If I needed something from our room, he would insist on getting it for me. He basically picked out my clothes for me for the first few days after I came home from the hospital. And when I complained about his outfit choices, he packed half of my closet into duffle bags and brought it down to the movie room so I could make my own style decisions. But even after I was given the okay by my doctor to use crutches, and I could have _tried_ navigating the stairs, Tommy threatened to put me back in the hospital if I so much as suggested it. Whenever I have to deal with steps into and out of buildings he's right there by my side, ready to catch me if I lose my footing. I've tried telling him that he's _not_ going to catch me, I'm more than likely going to knock him over, fall on him, and break _his_ leg instead. But he's too stubborn to listen.

We have that trait in common.

And today his stubborn streak is no match for mine. Today I am going to ascend an entire staircase, no matter what he says. Because my kid is somewhere at the top of those stairs. If he won't come to me then I'm going to him, and no power on this Earth can stop me.

Not even pretty little guitarists who use their feminine wiles _way_ more than it can possibly be fair for them to!

"You guys go ahead." I tell Avie and Tommy nonchalantly as we make our way out of the kitchen, having finally agreed that hanging out in there any longer than we already have would probably be considered rude in most cultures. "I gotta use the bathroom."

I knew Avie wouldn't be a problem, she just smiles and keeps walking. Tommy, on the other hand, isn't so easy to shake. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"The bathroom."

"Uh... down the hall." It's technically not a lie; it _is_ down the hall.

The hall just happens to be upstairs.

He peers over my shoulder at the hallway we're stood in. "Where?"

"That way." I nod my head vaguely in the direction of the non-existent downstairs bathroom. And the stairs. "Why?"

"Just wondering." He replies with a shrug, but we both know I'm fully aware of the real reason for this interrogation. "I piss sometimes, too, ya know? Never hurts to know where the nearest bathroom is."

"Okay, well, unless you need to go right _now_..."

"Nah, I'm good." He smirks faintly, turning and walking in the direction we'd previously been headed.

I take a few slow steps down the hall, glancing behind me at the exact same time as he does. We offer each other another small, inconspicuous smile, and then he disappears around the corner. I'm not foolish enough to go straight for the stairs, though. I know him too well for that. Instead, I hobble over to the coat closet nearby and open the door. It's a little tricky squeezing myself and my crutches inside, and it's especially hard not to trip on the piles of boots and shoes scattered all over the floor, but I somehow manage to  avoid falling before successfully closing the door behind me.

It's so _stupid_ that I have to do this; I _finally_ came out to the entire world, and yet here I am hiding from my boyfriend in a fucking closet! But "unfortunately" for me, I've gone and found myself a guy who loves me so damn much that I'm forced to do dumb things like this to keep him from worrying about my wellbeing.

After counting to ten, I quietly push the door open and check that the coast is clear. There's no sign of Tommy or anyone else lingering nearby, so I make my way back into the hall and over to the stairs. They suddenly look a lot more daunting than they did before. I swear they never used to be this steep or narrow. But that's not going to stop me.

I've watched youtube videos on how to do this, I'm ready!

Carefully resting one of my crutches against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, I take the banister in my hand (and attempt to wiggle it, just to be sure it's not loose). But the second I settle my other crutch on the first step I hear Tommy's voice, and it surprises me so much that I almost lose my balance entirely.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Going upstairs." I inform him defiantly, repositioning my crutch and gripping the banister a little tighter as I take a breath and begin to lift myself onto the bottom step of the stairs before he can reach me. "I need to talk to Ez."

"Fuck that! You need to get down before you _fall_ down."

"I'm not gonna fall, Tommy."

"You don't _know_ -"

"Stop." I snap at him more impatiently than I intended to. I can't help it, though. The longer we stand here arguing about what I'm capable of doing, the higher the chances are that my mom is gonna come looking for us. I don't need both of them treating me like a child! "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do. I know you're worried about me, but right now _I'm_ worried about my kid. If you're really that concerned about me falling, you can come with me. But you can't stop me, and if you try to we're gonna have a big problem. And I don't want to have a problem with you, not today, of all days."

For a _very_ long moment, I really don't know which way this is going to go. I don't think he does, either. At first I just stand here and watch him struggling to make a decision, but eventually I decide that him not answering me is pretty much the same thing as him giving me the go-ahead (kind of), so I lift my crutch up to the next step and prepare to lift myself up onto it. That small movement is enough to snap him out of the internal debate he was stuck in, and with a roll of his eyes he grabs my discarded crutch from beside the staircase and positions himself behind me.

You know, in case I need someone to land on.

If I'm being completely honest... this looked a lot easier when the people on youtube were doing it. It's not rocket science, but it's sure as hell _exhausting_. It's the most exercise I've had in months! By the time we finally reach the landing (with Tommy reminding me to "be careful" _every_ step of the way), I'm out of breath and there's a light sheen of sweat across my forehead. I feel embarrassed to be so worn out, and I silently vow to myself that as soon as I'm capable of working out, I'm going to get in the best shape of my life.

Never again will I take my health (or my legs) for granted.

I quickly wipe my brow on the sleeve of my shirt before accepting my other crutch from Tommy, who seems torn between sympathizing with my pain or saying something along the lines of "I told you so". In the end, he does neither. And both. He wordlessly steps forward, cradling my jaw gently in his hand and drawing me closer for a much-too-short kiss.

"Dumbass."

"Guilty."

"I'll be here." He tells me simply, gesturing to the top of the stairs behind him. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

I hope I won't need it.

I take another couple of seconds to catch my breath and convince myself that this isn't an awful idea, and then I make my way down the hall towards the guest room, which I assume is now Ezra's. My first knock is met with silence, which makes it ten times harder to knock a second time. When there's still no sounds or signs of life from the other side of the door, I can't help but feel like I should just give up and leave him alone. That's clearly what he wants. But I don't believe it's what he _needs_. He might not know how to deal with his emotions when he's around other people, but he doesn't deal with them any better when he hides from us all, either.

He doesn't deal with them at all.

Knowing it could be a big mistake, I reach out and turn the handle, pushing the door slowly open and cautiously stepping inside... to find him sound asleep on his bed. I guess he was telling mom the truth when he said he was tired.

Either that or he's faking it in the hopes that I'll go away.

Is it bad that, if that is the case, I'd at least feel as though he's making progress from the days of sitting there with his 3DS and openly ignoring me?

Maybe the right thing to do here is to give him the benefit of the doubt and leave. But I suck at doing the right thing, and I don't want him sleeping Christmas day away. He's been up here for a couple of hours, that's a decent nap by anyone's standards. If he sleeps for too long now, he'll be up all night. Really, I'm being a responsible parent by waking him up.

I'm just worried about him messing up his sleep schedule, that's all!

As I quietly approach the bed I can see that he has a personalized photo pillow just like the one his younger siblings received from "Natalie", and he's hugging it tightly in his sleep. He looks content, but I _know_ that's not really the case. It makes it nearly impossible for me to bring myself to wake him up, to put an end to this small semblance of peace he's found. He put the world on pause, and here I am forcing him to press play and go back to the drama and tragedy that real life is all too often filled with.

He's only ten years old.

It's not fair.

I haven't even begun to lift my hand to gently shake him awake when he stirs in his sleep, squirming against the comforter he's lying on and pulling his knees in even closer to his chest. It's as though some part of him knows that someone is here to drag him back to consciousness, and his whole body is trying to withdraw from the intrusion.

Damnit, I _can't_ do it.

So what if he sleeps until it's dark outside and everyone else is getting ready for bed? He's probably happier wherever he is right now than he would be here with the rest of us. He deserves to hold onto that for as long as he can. I do my best to hoist myself back onto my crutches without jostling the bed at all, and I think I do a pretty good job of it. But halfway to the door I'm stopped unexpectedly by Ezra's groggy voice.

"Dad?"

"Hey... sorry, I was trying not to wake you up."

He shrugs one shoulder, rubbing his sleepy eyes and pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Is it  really late?"

"Nah... a little after two, I think."

"Oh."

"You don't have to get up if you're not ready. I just wanted to... check on you. Make sure you're okay."

"I'm okay." He tells me somewhat apologetically, finally meeting my worried gaze as I sit back down beside him. "I... I'm sorry I went home with Nana Pam this morning."

"There's _nothing_ you need to be sorry for. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't know what else to do. I was okay before we went to see mom, but then I felt..."

"I know, buddy." I assure him, giving his shoulder an understanding squeeze. "It's okay, I promise. I'm not mad or upset or anything. If you needed to be by yourself for a little while, that's totally fine. No one wants you to do anything that makes you feel bad, especially me." I watch as he nods, and even though he no longer seems willing or able to look me in the eyes, for some reason I'm still certain that he actually believes me. "How're you feeling now? Do you think you might wanna come downstairs and hang out with us for a little while?"

He glances over at his bedroom door, and when he eventually answers me, his voice is tinged with notable trepidation. "Is everyone else here?"

"No, it's just us."

After deliberating his options for another moment or two, he takes a deep breath and begins to shift towards the edge of his bed. I feel as though I should ask him if he's sure he wants to do this, but  I think I'm afraid that if I give him the chance to change his mind that's exactly what he'll wind up doing.  Hopefully everything I just said to him made it clear enough that he's free to excuse himself at any time, if that's what he needs to do.

Tommy looks almost surprised to see that I'm not alone when Ezra and I exit his bedroom and make our way towards the top of the stairs, and he quickly turns his phone screen off and stuffs it back into his pocket as he stands up to meet us.

"Your mom came looking for you." Of course she did. "I was gonna lie and tell her you were in the bathroom, but I figured she'd know where you really were."

"Probably."

"And lying is wrong."

God, he's _so_ fucking full of it. And I love it, so I can't even keep a straight face. " _Completely_ wrong. I'm glad you didn't compromise your integrity."

"You're not gonna get any Christmas cookies now, though."

"Can I share yours?" I pout pitifully.

"Hell no." He scowls back at me in total indignation. "You're never gonna learn to behave yourself if you still get cookies even when you do stupid sh... tuff." His eyes dart down to Ezra for a second, and I automatically glance at him, too. As usual, he's completely unconcerned by Tommy's near-cussing. Maybe even a little amused by it (or by his terrible attempt to cover it up). "Besides, I'm probably not gonna get any cookies. She thinks I'm like your co-conspirator or whatever."

"I'm sorry I led you astray." I tell him insincerely, heaving an exaggerated sigh of regret. "I never should have let you put your reputation on the line for me."

He shrugs, helping me to get situated on the edge of the top step of the stairs. "I don't really like cookies anyway."

"Freak."

"Ezra, you should probably go first, dude." Tommy advises him, still holding me back by my elbow in case I lose my balance or something (which, let's be honest, isn't entirely out of the question). "Unless he falls, it's gonna take him forever to get down."

"Can I help?" Offers Ezra hopefully.

"There's not really a whole lot we can-"

"You can carry my crutch for me, if you want?" I cut Tommy off quickly, smiling gratefully as I hold out the crutch I won't be needing in order to get down the stairs.

If Ezra is going to volunteer to help me in some way, I'm not going to turn him down. Even if I _didn't_ need someone to hold my crutch, I would have made something up. The fact that he _wants_ to do something like this is such a huge improvement from the way things were only a month ago, and I want to do anything and everything I can to encourage these steps he's making towards being who he used to be. Being happy.

It takes us all a couple of minutes to figure out how this whole getting _down_ the stairs thing is going to work. As with getting up the stairs, it looked much simpler and safer on video than it actually is when you're faced with doing it yourself. Tommy insists on standing in front of me and backing his way down the stairs, one hand on the banister and one hand poised between us to right me if I start to lean too far forward. I know he's trying to protect me, as always, but I wish he'd realize that my desire to protect _him_ is just as strong. Having him in front of me only makes me _more_ nervous than I would have been if he wasn't there at all.

I'd rather fall and break my neck than break his _anything_!

The conversation(s) taking place in the family room quickly die out as soon as we enter. I'm not sure if everyone is staring at me and Tommy or Ezra or all three of us, and it takes a lot of internal self-talk to silence the paranoid voice in my head that's trying to convince me that they were all talking about us.

Mom scowls at me playfully as I make my way over to one of the only available seats still left in the room. "I thought I told you _not_ to go upstairs on those crutches."

"You're not the boss of me." I reply lightly, casting my sassiest smirk at her. "Tommy is."

"Then how come you never do _anything_ I say?" He asks, perching on the arm of the couch beside me.

"I have behavioral problems, remember?"

He snorts softly and rolls his eyes at me. "Right. No cookies for you!"

Dad laughs in confusion. "Cookies?"

"Cookies?" Viggo exclaims excitedly, his ears almost literally pricking up at the word. "I want cookies!"

The room is quickly filled with demands for cookies, and not all of those demands are being made by my kids. It's a nice, simple distraction from the tension that seems to accompany me and Tommy into any room occupied by a member of my family. My mom and sisters disappear into the kitchen to fetch everyone Christmas treats and drinks, and my dad does his best to initiate some kind of conversation to keep the awkward quiet at bay until they return.

It's not the easiest task anyone has ever undertaken; the man deserves a medal!

"When is it you have to head back to L.A.?" He asks Tommy amiably. "Tomorrow?"

"Day after."

"And then you're headed to... Bali, was it?" Tommy nods, forcing a smile that probably looks entirely genuine to everyone else in the room, because they either don't know him well enough, or they're too young to know better. "Have you been to Bali before?"

"First time." He confirms with a quiet, nervous chuckle. "I'm excited. Everyone says it's awesome."

"It's _gorgeous_." I declare enthusiastically, wishing he could let go of his worries about leaving me behind and allow himself to truly enjoy this opportunity. I keep thinking that if I can just get him amped up about everything that's waiting for him on the other side of the world, it'll take his mind of off everything that's making him feel like he should stay here instead. "It's probably one of my favorite places we ever visited, honestly. It totally takes your breath away."

"What does?" Asks Avie curiously as she and Zoe re-enter the room with plates of sugar cookies, ginger bread men, and peppermint brownies in their hands.

"We were just telling Tommy how beautiful Bali is." Dad informs her, eagerly taking a handful of each festive goody as soon as they come within grabbing distance. "Tommy's heading out there in a couple of days to play a New Years Eve concert."

"I barely remember much about it anymore." Avie laments disappointedly. "Just that it was _so_ pretty there."

"Well I wasn't even born yet." Remarks Zoe as she somewhat awkwardly holds out a plate of Christmas Tree shaped cookies to me.  

"I don't remember any of it." Mac mumbles dismissively before taking a bite of his brownie.

"What about the Monkey Forest?" Dad prompts him. "You _loved_ that place. You were so at home with all those baby monkeys; we almost had to leave you there!"

He shrugs. "I was four, dad. If I remember _anything_ from back then, it's only because you followed us all around with a video camera _all_ day, _every_ day."

"Hey, now, don't act like that wasn't a blessing!" Teases dad with a wink. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be as comfortable in front of a camera as you are now. You owe your budding acting career to your dear old dad and his diligent video documentation practices."

"It _definitely_ helped prepare us for life under the lens." I agree semi-seriously. "But I'm pretty sure it made us ten times more obnoxious than we would've been otherwise."

"Who said you were obnoxious?" Demands mom, clearly offended that anyone would label one of her children as such. "You weren't obnoxious, you were just... quietly confident."

That assertion is so ludicrous that I'm not the only one left laughing out loud. "Quiet?! In what universe were we _ever_ quiet about _anything_?"

"Come on, mom, you've met Zac." Chuckles Avie, shaking her head in disbelief. "He's _never_ quiet, not even when he's asleep. He snores louder than anyone else in this family!"

"But he's not _obnoxious_!" She continues to insist defensively.  "None of you are."

"I don't know... I think Mac kinda is." Zoe grins at him, _finally_ convincing him to crack a smile.

"You learned from the best, Zozo." He retorts effortlessly as he reaches over and mockingly ruffles her hair, leaving her screeching in horror and swatting at his hand.

" _Don't_ touch the hair! It took me _forever_ to get it this cute!"

"You know," Begins dad in that 'I've got a brilliant idea' tone that we all know and _fear_. "I had all of those old tapes put onto DVD years ago, and I feel like we haven't watched any of them since."

Oh God. "Dad-"

"What? I think it'd be fun for Tommy to see a little bit of Bali before he jets off!"

"That was fifteen years ago, honey." Mom reminds him with a patronizing pat on the arm. "I doubt Bali is exactly as we left it."

"But it'll give him an idea! Besides, the kids haven't seen a whole lot of stuff from when Tay was younger. At least, not home movies." He protests, already getting out of his seat to find his precious DVD collection. "What do you think, guys? You wanna see some videos of your daddy when he was a little boy?"

"No!" I answer for them, but I appear to be the lone voice of descent in the room as everyone else choruses a cheerful "yes".

Even _Ezra_!

The only person who remains silent on the matter is Pam. But judging by the far off look on her face as she cradles a cup of untouched coffee in her hands, I'm guessing she's not really paying a whole lot of attention to anything that's going on around her. She's elsewhere. I wouldn't be surprised if all of this late-nineties nostalgia and talk of what I was like as a kid has taken her back to her own past and to Natalie's childhood.

By the time I'm done staring at her, the TV is on and dad is carefully selecting a disc from the _dozens_ of home movies he's compiled over the years. I'm really not sure if there's a significant moment in our careers that _hasn't_ been captured on film in some form, he was there for almost _all_ of it.

He was always so present and _so_ proud.

For a moment, I stop worrying about how much cringe-worthy footage from my past I'm about to be subjected to (in front of Tommy, no less!) and simply appreciate the fact that I had such a dedicated, hard-working father who put his own career, his own _life_ , on hold again and again and _again_ so that he could support my dreams and help me to achieve them. So many kids have parents who hold them back for fear that they're too young or because they don't believe in them enough. Some even have parents who force them into the spotlight so that they can live vicariously through them, never caring if it's what their kid wants. Our parents were _never_ like that. We somehow wound up with a mom and a dad who cheered us on every step of the way, who were there every step of the way, but never once tried to make our fame or fortune their own.

I know I've told them before how grateful I am for everything they've done, but I don't think there really is anything I could ever say or do to make it completely clear just how much it truly means. And in their minds there isn't anything we need to thank them for; they were just doing what any good parent would do.

And I guess letting my dad have this embarrassing little home movie viewing session is what any good son would do.

It's not long before we're all settled comfortably in our seats, cookies, candy and cocoa within easy reach, and the blinds drawn. Viggo invites himself up onto Tommy's lap, and Penny makes herself comfortable on the floor at my feet, wrapping her arm loosely around my unbroken leg and resting her head against my knee as I soothingly comb my fingers through her silky blonde hair. A strange sound fills the room as soon as dad presses play on the remote, it's like strong wind or rolling waves. And when the video flickers its way into focus on the TV screen above the fireplace, it turns out to be both.

It's footage of a beach in Bali, one that was peaceful and undisturbed... until the Hanson clan showed up.

The camera pans around, revealing an endless expanse of open ocean and blue skies filled with fluffy white clouds. The serene sounds of waves and wind are periodically interrupted by the shrieking and shouting of young children, and eventually the camera turns from the water over to the sandy beach, revealing myself, Ike and Zac attempting to play soccer with one of our bodyguards while mom helps Jess and Avie build a sandcastle nearby. Mac is, as he always was, off in his own world, doing his own thing.  Usually that involved finding a large stick to attack inanimate objects with, and that's exactly the case in this particular video. He mercilessly swipes a small piece of driftwood into the sand, sending it flying in all directions, and mom can be heard warning him that he's going to get it in his eyes if he's not careful (He ignored her, of course, and got sand in his eyes, of course. But thankfully that screaming fit wasn't caught on camera).

After a few more seconds, the video cuts to the 'backstage' area at one of the hundreds of promotional appearances we did over the course of our whirlwind world tour back in the summer of ninety-seven. Ike is talking to the camera, explaining where we are and what we're doing, and inevitably he's interrupted by Zac yammering in some over-the-top, made-up accent about nothing that makes _any_ kind of sense.

"See?" I turn to mom, gesturing triumphantly at the screen. " _Obnoxiou_ s."

"Oh, stop it." She smiles, waving my point away.

I'm next to be 'interviewed' by my dad for posterity's sake, and I chatter away about what I think of Bali so far and what I'm most excited to see next. My long hair is falling out of the imperfect ponytail I often had it pulled back into, but I never cared enough to do anything to fix it beyond tucking stray strands behind my ears from time to time. I've honestly never put much thought into how I looked back then; I always figured that everyone probably hates watching their younger selves on video. All you do is see your flaws, and you wish you'd worn a different outfit or had a different haircut, and it's pointless fixating on it when there's nothing you can do about it. So I learned to just let it go and accept that I looked how I looked and I sounded how I sounded, and that's just the way it is and always will be. I also very quickly learned to care even less what other people think of how I looked back then, and I've rarely ever let anyone else's opinion of my appearance bother me.

Except for right now.

Right now, I can't take my eyes off of Tommy. I can't stop wondering what he thinks of my fourteen-year-old self, whether he thinks I look lame, or sound stupid. It's hard to tell from the soft smile curling his lips, I don't know if it's amusement or affection I see in his expression. Maybe it's a combination of the two...

As soon as the video cuts to another random shot, his intense focus is broken and he turns to look at me, therefore catching me staring right at him. The smile on his face grows wider as a wave of warmth invades my cheeks, and I pointlessly pretend to be paying attention to the TV instead. I feel his shoulder nudge mine as he shifts a little closer to me on the couch, leaning in and practically purring in my ear.

"I forgot how damn _pretty_ you were." I immediately shoot a scathing glare at him, but it does nothing to diminish the smug gleam in his eyes. If anything, it only fuels it further. "What? It's a compliment."

"Shut up."

"It is!"

"Whatever."

Even after I've resumed my efforts to act as though I'm engrossed in the video, I can still _feel_ his eyes on me. It makes it impossible to eradicate the blush from my cheeks, and I'm convinced it encourages him to keep staring at me.

The next couple of hours pass pretty much exactly as those first few minutes did, only the atmosphere becomes more and more relaxed as more time passes. Every so often someone will openly comment on what's happening in whichever home movie it is that we're watching, asking questions about things that they can't quite recall the details of, and making fun of people's fashion choices and eccentric behavior.

Ike, Nikki and the boys show up right after Avie has taken her turn to select a disc from dad's 'library', opting for a Christmas-centric one from the year Zoe was born. Everyone makes room for them, and mom briefly retreats to the kitchen to retrieve yet _more_ snacks for us.

Ezra is the only kid in the room still paying any attention to the videos while we stuff our faces with sandwiches and potato chips. Viggo is snoring quietly against Tommy's chest (and Tommy seems as though he's on the verge of joining him), Penny's attention has turned to the Disney coloring book and colored pencils that she got for Christmas from Pam, and River has disappeared with his cousins to no doubt stir up some kind of mischief. Asta began fussing when mom refused to let her throw Pringles all over the floor, and I was the only person she was willing to be held by after that. Not that I mind at all; it's not often I'm her go-to snuggle buddy when Tommy is an available alternative. She's developed a unquestionable partiality for his hugs. I'd be jealous, but it'd be a _tad_ hypocritical of me to hold it against her.

Besides if she always cried for _me_ to hold her, then moments like this one probably wouldn't be quite so gratifying.

Once Avie's chosen disc comes to an end, Mac is offered the chance to make the next selection. Keeping the festive theme going, he picks out a home movie of Ezra's first Christmas. I'll admit, part of me wonders if he did it as some kind of test. He could have gone with any other Christmas DVD, there were literally a dozen of them to choose from, but he chose one with Natalie in it. And not only is it one with Natalie in it, it's probably one of the ones where I'm doing my utmost to be the perfect husband. It was only six months after our wedding, mere weeks since the birth of our first child. I was more committed to her at that time than I ever had been before, and possibly ever was after.

It's weird to see her up on that screen, living and breathing in vibrant color. It's haunting to hear her voice and her laugh, it fills me with so many mixed and conflicting feelings. But my own emotions aren't my concern right now. I'm much more worried about how my kids and Tommy are taking this turn of events. Viggo is still oblivious to his surroundings, but Penny has paused her artistic endeavors and turned her attention back to the TV. Her hand is frozen mid-scribble, the tip of the pencil hovering over the page. Her big brown eyes are glued to Natalie's face in fascination, her lips parted in awe. It's like she's seeing her for the first time, and she's never seen anything more beautiful. Ezra's expression is much more difficult to read, but I really don't get the feeling that he's angry or even hurt as he watches his mother lovingly cradling his eight-week-old self in her arms.  He's sad, that much is devastatingly clear, but he has every right and reason to be.

And Tommy...

At first I assume he's horribly uncomfortable and wishes he could find a good excuse to leave the room without everyone knowing the real reason he can't stand to be here. He watches the video for a little while, his gaze drifting anxiously to Penny and Ezra every so often, just as mine does. When the camera captures an especially loving moment between myself and Natalie, the two of us sharing tender kisses as we marvel over the little life we've created, my stomach churns with overwhelming guilt. I don't want Tommy to have to sit here and watch this. It's one thing to listen to people talk about how amazing she was, to sit through a slew of warm memories and sentimental anecdotes... but to have to _see_ it happening right before his very eyes? It just seems _cruel_.

I'm so busy trying to think up a way to get him out of this situation that I become completely unaware of my surroundings. So when I feel his fingers intertwine with mine, and his head comes to rest lightly on my shoulder, it almost makes me jump out of my skin in alarm. My whole body tenses for a second, until he gives my hand a gentle squeeze to let me know that it's okay. And that's when it hits me that it really _is_. Watching this video isn't easy for _anyone_ in this room, for various painful reasons... but it's still okay.

We're all going to be okay.

Pressing my lips to Tommy's forehead, I murmur an "I love you" so hushed that I'm sure he couldn't have possibly heard it. I know he felt it, though. I know he feels it constantly, because _I_ feel the same from him. I never could have imagined that I would have this. This person, this moment. I used to hope for it, _desperately_ , but I gave up that hope long before he and I ever met. Sometimes it's still hard to believe that he's real, that I _really_ have him.

That this is forever.

Here I am, sitting in my present, surrounded by my past and clinging to my future... and in some strange way it all seems to fit. _Finally_. There's a place for all of it, all of these pieces of me, and even though the edges are still more than a little rough, and it's going to take a while for things to settle down and feel make sense, by some miracle it's all slowly coming together.

My fractured little family is actually beginning to heal.

Of course, just as I let myself believe that everything is going to be alright, Zac and Kate walk into the room. She looks from me and Tommy, nestled on the couch with Asta and Viggo snuggled up on our laps, to the image on the screen of me doting on her dead best friend, and then she storms right back out of the room without saying a word to anyone. The front door slams shut so violently that the walls actually shake, and Zac immediately turns and hurries after her as poor little Junia begins to cry in confusion and fear. Mom instinctively scoops her into her arms without hesitation, holding her close and promising her that everything is okay. But an air of palpable discontent has already descended over everyone in the room, and nothing feels okay to any of us anymore.

Just like that, the slowly healing wounds of my fractured little family have been ripped wide open all over again.


	117. Chapter 117

 

  


 

 

We can't go on like this forever.

I _refuse_ to go on like this forever. I don't want to spend every family get-together walking on egg shells and barely speaking to my own brother just to avoid pissing Kate off. I'm already tired of biting my tongue and trying to ignore all of the disgusted looks she casts my way. Penny and Ezra can see right through my "No, Auntie Kate isn't mad at me" lies, it's only a matter of time before their younger siblings realize the truth, too.

It needs to stop.

"Can you take her for a minute?" I ask Tommy, carefully shifting Asta off of my lap and onto his before he has a chance to respond.

"Where are you going?" He frowns at me apprehensively as I reach over him and grab my crutches from beside the couch. "Taylor-"

"I'll be right back."

"Honey, I _really_ don't think it's a good idea." Begins mom knowingly, worriedly. But even though I'm inclined to agree with her completely, I _have_ to try. "Let Zac handle it-"

"He doesn't know how."

"And you do?"

I haven't the slightest clue. I'm making it up as I go, just like everything else I do.

When I open the front door and cautiously navigate my way over the threshold and out onto the porch, I'm half expecting to see Zac standing alone in the yard, staring off down the street in the direction that Kate drove off in with his car. Instead I find him attempting to stop her from doing just that. He's refusing to give her the keys, which is only making her more furious by the second. His patient and rational attempts at telling her that she's in no state to drive and that she needs to calm down are being met with nothing but demands that he get away from her and petty threats of never being spoken to again.

He seems used to it, maybe even resigned to it, which quite honestly breaks my heart.

"Kate..." At the sound of my voice she stops verbally bludgeoning my little brother and rounds on me instead. Despite the anger and resentment burning in her eyes, everything else about her feels cold.

"I have _nothing_ to say to you!"

"I think you have plenty to say, you're just not saying it."

Zac sighs, shaking his head at me hopelessly. "Tay, I know you're trying to help, but-"

"Stop!" Screeches Kate in exasperation. "The _only_ person he's trying to help is himself! Youact like he can do no wrong, like he's _God_! _Why_ can't you see what he's really like? Why is it _always_ everyone else's fault but _his_?!"

"That's not what I said, and it's _not_ what I meant." He corrects her plainly, his hands still held up in search of some kind of time-out or truce. But not surrender. "He's my brother-"

"I'm your _wife_!" She retaliates furiously. "Not that that means _anything_ in this family!"

He opens his mouth to counter her scathing comment, but apparently decides that it's pointless trying to reason with her. Watching him rake his fingers through his hair in powerless frustration leaves me _so_ disappointed. Not in Kate, but in myself. I can hate her all I want but even in moments like these, when she's completely out of control and over the line, it's impossible for me to blame her entirely. She wasn't always like this, and she didn't wind up where she is now without a little nudge from yours truly.

"Leave him alone." I tell her as authoritatively as I can, not because I believe I have any right to tell her what to do, but because I'm hoping that it might just get her attention anyway. "It's not his fault. He's not the one you're mad at."

"I told you I don't want to talk to you." She snaps back at me as I step down off of the porch.

For a moment, I swear she's actually afraid of me getting any closer than I already am. I almost feel bad for her, she's like a cornered wild animal. But just as quickly as I saw the panic in her eyes, it's gone. Like any cornered wild animal, she's poised to attack.

Maybe that's _exactly_ what she needs to do.

"Don't talk to me, then." I shrug, coming to a stop a few feet away from her and planting my crutches firmly on the snowy ground, just in case she takes me up on the offer I'm about to make. "Hit me."

"What?!" Zac exclaims fretfully as she exhales a bitter laugh. "Tay-"

"Slap me, punch me, hell, you can push me off my damn crutches if that'll make you feel better-"

"You think me hitting you is going to magically fix everything?"

"No." I reply simply, honestly. "I don't think it'll fix everything. I don't know that _anything_ ever will at this point. But I'm not going to stop trying, because this is my family. They're everything to me-"

"You know _nothing_ about family, you don't know the meaning of the word, you're too selfish." She accuses venomously. "The only person you care about is _yourself_ , Taylor. You've always, _always_ put yourself first. Before Zac, before Natalie, before your parents, before your kids-"

"That's _not_ true! I know I've made _a lot_ of mistakes in my life, and I know I never treated Natalie the way she deserved to be treated. But there was never a day that I didn't feel _wretched_ for it-"

Rolling her eyes, she throws her hands up in mock defeat. "Oh, well, as long as you felt bad about it then I guess it's okay!"

"I never said it was okay!" Fuck, _how_ does Zac live with this?! I've been talking to her for less than five minutes and I already want to throw myself in front of another SUV! "You act like I'm this heartless, soulless monster, like I have no conscience and don't give a shit who I hurt, and it's _not_ true! I've _never_ in my life _tried_ to hurt anyone, or taken even the _slightest_ pleasure in hurting anyone! I've felt nothing but guilt over all of the pain I've caused and the lies I've told, sometimes so much so that I didn't even feel like I deserved to _live_!"

"You _don't_!" She immediately retorts, but despite her merciless words, her voice wavers with the threat of tears. "It should've been _you_ , not her! She should be the one spending Christmas with _her_ children! She should be the one they grow up with, not you!"

"Kate, that's enough!" Zac commands her, taking her by the arm in a futile attempt to hold her back from saying or doing anything else that might hurt me.

I wish he'd just let her get it out of her system, though. I know he thinks I shouldn't have to hear any of this, but it's nothing I haven't already thought inside the confines of my own head a million times before. He's the only one with any objections here; she'll get no arguments from me. I've always felt that there was some terrible mix up, that the universe struck down the wrong person the night Natalie died.

It _should_ have been me.

"You're right." I concur, leaving them both momentarily speechless.  "She should be here. And if this kind of thing was ever decided based on who actually _deserved_ to live or die, then she would be and I wouldn't."

Zac shakes his head weakly, the very idea of it too distressing for him to bear. "Don't say that."

"It's true. She didn't deserve to die."

"Neither do _you_!"

"But he doesn't deserve to just get away with everything he's done, either!" Argues Kate, her words dripping with sheer resentment. "It's not right! She's gone, she _died_ , and he's off in California raising _her_ children with another man! He has less respect for her wishes now than he did when she was alive! It's like she was never here at all! And you all _let_ him get away with it! You just _forgave_ him and _forgot_ her!"

"That's not true!" He protests earnestly, but she isn't listening. She has already turned away from him and is glaring daggers at me again.

"You _ruined_ her!"

I nod faintly, swallowing hard to dislodge the lump in my throat. But it's composed of unbearable shame and regret, and there's nothing I can do to rid myself of it. "I know."

"She could have been _so_ much more. She was smart and beautiful... she was talented and popular and _happy_. We were supposed to go to college together..." She sobs in absolute desolation, mourning not only the loss of her best friend, but of a future they never had. Because of me. "And then you came along, and all she could see was you. All she cared about was _you_! She gave up _everything_ to be with you-"

"I never wanted her to, I never meant for her to! I tried to make it right, I _tried_ to let her go-"

"You tried to _dump_ her like trash, like you were so much better than her! You never wanted her, and she knew it. Deep down she always _knew_ it, and it _killed_ her. I told her she was better off without you, but she couldn't see it, she couldn't _believe_ it. She thought you were something special, and if you didn't want her then that meant she was _nothing_. You broke her down; you break _everyone_ down! You're toxic, _poison_ , you destroy _everything_ you touch!"

"Kate, _please_..." Zac tries again, much more gently this time than before. When he reaches out to her it's not to hold her back, it's with the hope that she'll allow him to comfort her. "This isn't helping-"

She shrugs his hand off immediately, as though she can't stand to be touched. Everything about her is so _raw_ right now, she's like one giant exposed nerve. And even though she's just said some of the harshest things anyone has ever said to me, I don't think I've _ever_ felt so sorry for her before.

I hear footsteps on the porch behind me, and I'm not all that surprised to see Pam standing there when I glance over my shoulder to find out who has joined us. I'm just glad it's not one of my kids. And I'm admittedly a little disappointed that it isn't someone I can count on to calm this situation down rather than fan the flames.

"What's going on?" I can already see her trying to decide how much of the blame for Kate's tearstained face lies with me. "Kate, honey, are you okay?"

"I'm sorry." Kate weeps forlornly as Pam hurries down the porch steps and tries to console her. "I'm _so_ sorry..."

Unlike Zac's efforts, Pam's aren't met with rejection. But they're not exactly successful, either. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I should have tried harder." She insists, clutching at Pam's arms as though she's trying to relay the most important piece of information she's ever shared with anyone. She _needs_ to be heard. "There must've been _something_ , I... I was her best friend, I should've tried harder. Why couldn't I make her see it? She'd still be here. If we'd never gone to that concert, if we hadn't gone backstage... I should have said no, but she was _so_ excited..."

"Oh, sweetheart, you can't do this to yourself." Pam implores her tearfully. "None of this is your fault-"

"I just wanted her to be happy." Explains Kate, her pleading tone returning to one of pure hatred as she looks at me once again. "She said that _you_ made her happy, but all you really did was hurt her. She was convinced that if she was skinny enough, or if she grew her hair a little longer, if she made more of an effort to be like the girls out in L.A., _maybe_ you'd want her as much as she wanted you. But you kept pushing her away and it broke her heart! She was terrified of losing you, you were all she wanted! She threw her _whole_ life away to make you stay with her. I told her not to, I _told_ her you weren't worth it... I should have tried harder, I should have found a way to _stop_ her!"

I think I've done a pretty good job of following her frantic train of thought up until this point. Everything she's said has made sense, for the most part, I knew what she was talking about. But now I'm completely lost. And judging by the look on Zac and Pam's faces, they're as puzzled by Kate's choice of words as I am.

 _What_ was she supposed to stop Natalie from doing? Coming backstage after the show the night we met? Dating me? Changing the way she looked and behaved in a needless attempt to be more attractive to me? Holding on to me so tightly?

And _how_ exactly did she throw her whole life away to make me stay? Losing weight and growing her hair out was unnecessary, but hardly life altering. And it didn't even work anyway! I didn't stay with her because of how she looked, I stayed with her because...

 _No_... she didn't.

She wouldn't have...

"Wait, did she... was she trying to get pregnant with Ezra?" I ask, my own voice sounding empty and foreign to me.

But right now that's how _everything_ feels.

"How _dare_ you!" Barks Pam in absolute outrage. "She would _never_ have done such a thing!"

That's what I used to believe, too.

People insinuated it back when the news first broke. Hell, our fans have flat out _said_ that Ezra wasn't as unplanned on Natalie's part as he was on mine. I never listened, though. I chalked it up to jealousy and some pathetic desire to create drama where there was none. Just like Pam, I never suspected that Natalie would even _consider_ doing something like that just to keep me from leaving her.

But the moment Kate's eyes meet mine, I know the truth. I _see_ it. The burning rage is all but gone, and in its place is guilt, _horror_. The look on her face is that of someone who has just divulged a deep, dark secret that they _never_ intended to share.

"I-it wasn't her fault."

"Was she _trying_ to get pregnant?" I repeat more impatiently, resisting the overwhelming urge I have to grab Kate by the arms and shake her until she admits it. I don't want excuses, I want the truth.

I won't believe it until I hear her _say_ it. I _can't_.

"Don't try to blame her! She wasn't a bad person, she just wanted you to love her. That's _all_ she ever wanted from you, and you couldn't do it!"

As realization sets in, I see the blood drain from Pam's face in a heartbeat. Just the way I _felt_ it drain from mine only a moment ago. It makes this all the more real. "Oh, God..."

"She didn't know you were a freak, she wouldn't have done it if she'd had _any_ idea who you really were. But you lied to her! You made a fool of her, you let her believe you were normal. If you'd just told her the truth, she wouldn't have wanted you. She'd still be alive and _none_ of this would have happened!"

None of this would have happened.

_None of this would have happened._

I can't breathe... this isn't real.

 _How_ is this real?!

How could she have done this to me? To _herself_? How could she have made such a massive, irreversible choice for the both of us when we were still just _kids_?! And how could she have kept it from me for ten fucking _years_? I know I have no place to talk when it comes to keeping secrets and lying to people, and I'm in _no_ way blameless in all of this, as Kate has just made abundantly clear.

But this...

"Tay?"

 _Everything_ could have been so different...

"Hey, Taylor, come on."

My whole damn _life_...

" _Look_ at me."

I suddenly feel something soft against my cheek and I instinctively blink, bringing myself back to the here and now and out of the spiral of 'what ifs' and 'whys' that my mind was dragging me down into. When everything stops spinning enough for my blurry eyes to focus on the face in front of me, I see Zac gazing at me anxiously. His own eyes are shimmering with sympathy, and as his thumb compassionately strokes the apple of my cheek I feel it brush away tears that I didn't even realize I'd begun to shed. He doesn't ask if I'm okay; he knows better. He knows what this revelation means, he knows what I'm thinking, and he knows that there's nothing he can say to me to make those thoughts stop.

"Do you want me to get someone? Tommy, or mom, or... someone?"

Do I want him get someone? Do I want someone else to see me like this? Do I have it in me to explain to someone, _anyone_ , what the fuck is going on? "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"I don't wanna just leave you like this, but I need to take Kate home." He tells me gently, slowly, as though he's not sure I'm even capable of understanding simple sentences at the moment.

When I eventually manage to tear my eyes from his, I dazedly search my surroundings for any sign of Pam and Kate. They're right where they were before. At least I think they are, it's kind of hard to be sure of anything right now. And it's hard to be sure who is comforting who as they stand beside Zac's car, arms wrapped around one another, shoulders shaking with sobs.

"It's okay." I tell him stoically, lacking the ability to think of a more meaningful response.

"You should go back inside."

It may have been phrased as a suggestion, but his tone is so firm that it comes across as an order. And like a good little soldier, I abide. "Okay."

"I don't want the kids to see Kate like this... can you ask mom and dad to keep them for the night?"

Kids...

"Tay?"

I shake my head numbly, trying to force myself to concentrate on whatever it is he's saying."Yeah?"

"Did you hear me?"

"I..." Did I? Fuck, it's like I have _no_ clue what's going on right in front of me! I need to get it together. "You're taking Kate home."

"And I need you to ask mom and dad to take the kids for the night." He repeats calmly. "Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah... sure." I just have to remember how to move first.

"I'll call you later, okay?" I nod, watching as he takes a slow step away from me, his eyes never leaving my face for a second. "You know where I am if you need me."

"Okay..."

"And Tay?"

"Yeah?"

"It's gonna be alright." He promises me, even though I don't know how he can possibly know that. He _sounds_ certain, though. Like he's in on some secret that I haven't been made privy to yet.

After tonight, I'm not sure I want to know anymore secrets. I'm used to keeping them, not having them kept from me. I guess this must be karma. I finally got to see what it's like on the other side. I finally got a taste of the shock treatment I've been inflicting on my loved ones over and _over_ again this year.

I don't know which feels worst, to be absolutely honest.

I swear Zac's moving in slow motion as he turns and walks back over to Kate and Pam. He puts his arm around Kate's waist, guiding her towards the car, and she doesn't appear to put up any kind of a fight. My eyes follow their every move as he opens the passenger side door for her, and she almost mechanically gets into her seat. Once the door is safely closed behind her he turns and says something to Pam, but I can't hear a word of it from over here.

Come to think of it... I can't hear _anything_. It's like the whole world is on mute. Or maybe it's that I'm so overwhelmed, I can only use one of my senses at a time.

Whatever it is Zac says to Pam, I'm assuming it had something to do with her accompanying them. She nods her head faintly before getting into the backseat of the car, and Zac casts one last look my way as he walks around to the driver's side. He pauses for a moment, holding my stare, and I know he's wishing that there was something more he could say or do for me. Leaving me here like this probably feels entirely wrong to him; I know it would be agony for me if I were in his shoes. He might be my little brother, but that's never stopped him from trying to protect or defend me if he felt the situation called for it.

Right now Kate needs him, though. He's all she has, so he has to go.

I have no idea how long I stand out in the front yard, staring at the tire tracks his car left in the glistening snow. Every so often I hear his voice telling me that I should go inside, and I know he's right. But getting my body to co-operate isn't as simple as it should be. It's as though I'm detached from my own muscles, I can't feel _anything_. Not the cold air on my skin, not the ache in my arms from holding myself up on my crutches for so long, not the pounding in my head from trying to separate and silence all of the thoughts that are screaming at me.

I'm aware of it all, but I don't really _feel_ any of it.

Eventually one of the instructions my that my brain sends to my limbs actually reaches its destination. My grip on my crutches tightens, reassuring me that I have something sturdy to hold me up as I turn back towards my parent's house and carefully make my way back towards the porch. I barely have the energy to get up the three steps separating me from the front door; it feels as though it takes me almost as long to ascend them as it took me to get up a full flight of stairs just a few hours ago, and it leaves me even more drained. Or maybe it's the thought of having to go back in there and face all of those inquisitive stares and prying questions that's leaving me so exhausted.

It's not like I have any other choice, though. I can't leave, and I can't stay out here forever.

Just as predicted, all eyes turn to me as soon as I set crutch into the family room. Every man, woman and child is gazing at me expectantly as all conversation comes to an abrupt halt. I look from my dad's concerned expression to my mother's almost fearful one, but I can't think of anything to say to put their minds at ease. I can't think of anything to say to put my _own_ mind at ease.

Until my eyes fall on Ezra.

I swear I see his entire life flash through my mind in an instant, from the moment he was born right up until this very second. I remember the way it felt the first time he grabbed my pinky finger in his tiny little hand, it was like no one had _ever_ needed me so badly before. I remember watching him sleeping in his crib, night after night, studying the rise and fall of his chest because his breathing was the most soothing thing in my life. It was my _reason_ for living. Being there to see him grow up was a privilege, he was the best thing I'd ever done. I was more proud of him than any lyric I'd ever written, any award I'd ever won, any challenge I'd ever faced and overcome.

He was _never_ a mistake; he was always a miracle to me.

"Is everything okay, sweetheart?" My mom bravely inquires on behalf of everyone present.

I'm unwilling to tear my gaze from my son's face in order to look her in the eyes as I speak. I _need_ to focus on him right now, his face is the only thing keeping all of the chaos in my head from rising up and devastating me.

But even if she can't _see_ my sincerity, hopefully she can hear it.

"Everything's fine."


	118. Chapter 118

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one that got away from me. But I'm glad it did (sorry it took so long to post, though).
> 
> Only a couple more chapters to go...

  


 

 

To say that Kate's "little" outburst put a dampener on everybody's holiday spirit would be a gross understatement. Even those who had only witnessed her storming out of the house and hadn't been present for all of her yelling and harsh truth-telling couldn't escape the residual sense of turmoil. They may not have been in the immediate vicinity when Kate had finally exploded like the ticking time bomb I knew she was, but they'd felt the resulting shockwaves.

I dutifully relayed Zac's message to mom and dad, and as always they were more than happy to have Shep and Junia spend the night. It took a while to get Junia to settle down and stop asking for Kate, but thanks to mom's expertise when it comes to comforting distraught children, her tears eventually subsided.

A few Christmas cookies may have been involved, also.

We resumed our prior DVD viewing, but dad very wisely switched out our old family films for a classic Christmas movie. It was a much safer choice, given the circumstances. Although, no one over the age of five was actually paying all that much attention to the TV by that point. We were all staring at the screen, but I could just tell that everyone was as lost in their own thoughts as I was. And they were all probably _dying_ to ask me what had happened between me and Kate that had caused both Zac _and_ Pam to escort her home without so much as saying goodbye. I was grateful that no one was willing to bring the topic up while there were so many children present; I really didn't want to talk about it.

Not with anyone but Tommy, anyway.

I didn't want to be rude and leave too early. Even though it felt to me as though we'd been there all day, it had really only been a few hours, and I knew my mom would be disappointed to see us leave so soon. Especially on Christmas day. So I stayed put, until the very last of the credits had rolled on 'Elf', and then I politely declined her half-hearted offer for us to help them finish up some of the leftovers from last night's dinner. It was pretty obvious she'd been expecting us to leave, but she couldn't simply let us go without at least _trying_ to tempt us with food first. Just like I couldn't go without asking Ezra if he wanted to spend the night at the hotel with  us again.

I won't deny that, for a brief moment, I felt as though I was suffocating when he quietly declined the invitation. I had to stop myself from flat out _begging_ him, I didn't want to guilt him into doing something he didn't want to do. It didn't even seem like he was upset or mad at me, he just didn't feel like joining us. It had been a long day, he was tired, and he probably just wanted to go back up to his room and try to sort through everything that had happened. Sharing a hotel room with his brothers and sisters wouldn't really allow him the opportunity to do that.

It hasn't allowed _me_ the opportunity to do it, either.

Between ordering dinner, then eating dinner, and helping the kids figure out how to get some of their new toys working, I haven't had a second to stop, take a breath, and process the events of the past twenty-four hours. Let alone talk to Tommy about it all. Which might actually be for the best; thinking about it too much isn't going to help me. It's probably much healthier for me to stay busy and not focus on it. But I know that _not_ knowing is driving Tommy crazy, and I feel awful that he's been in the dark this entire time. I've done my best to assure him that I'm okay, even if I can't fill him in on the details right now. I think it helped lower his anxiety levels, but it hasn't stopped him from worrying about me.

I doubt anything ever could.

It's always a toss-up on Christmas night between whether or not the kids will be ready for bed super early, or if they'll be up much later than usual. Sometimes the excitement of the day fuels them, and sometimes it tires them out. Tonight they're _completely_ wiped out, and as hard as they're all trying to fight it, trying to keep their eyes open just a little longer so that they can spend some more time with their toys, it's not long after dinner when the yawning becomes almost constant.

"Okay, time to brush your teeth and put your PJs on." I announce through a yawn of my own, turning off the movie that no one was actually paying any attention to anyway.

"But it's _Christmas_." River whines, unable to put any real effort into sounding persuasive. "I don't _wanna_ go to bed, I'm not even tired!"

"Say that again _without_ yawning." I taunt him with a playful smirk, nudging him off of the end of the bed with my foot. "Come on, all of you, it's bedtime."

River continues his grumbling, but it doesn't stop him from following Penny and Viggo through the adjoining door and into their bedroom, leaving Tommy and I alone (except for Asta, who is already sound asleep) for the first time in hours. I'm not surprised when he starts questioning me the _second_ he's sure that they're all out of earshot; I'd probably do the exact same thing if I was the one with no clue what was going on, and I don't blame him at all. But I can't give him the answers he wants, not right now.

"Later." I tell him apologetically, maneuvering myself to the edge of the mattress and groaning wearily as I reach for my crutches. "Let's get the kids to bed first."

"Taylor-"

"I _know_. Believe me, I'm not doing this for fun. I don't get a kick out of leaving you hanging, but I _can't_ tell you while they're still awake."

It's obvious that he doesn't want to let it  go, but he also knows that I'm right to make him wait until there's little to no chance that one of the kids will overhear us. Seeing the concern in his eyes and hearing the resignation in his sigh makes me _want_ to tell him, though, regardless of who might hear. I'm so tired of stressing him out, it feels like that's all I ever do.

"Just...  should I be worried?" He asks fretfully, and I can't help but smile at the question. It never seems to matter whether or not he _should_ be, he is anyway. "I mean, are you okay? _Really_?"

Am I? I feel as though I shouldn't be, but... "I think I am."

"Okay..."

"I _promise_ I'll explain once the kids are asleep."

"Then let's do this thing." He replies, suddenly full of energy and very determined as he shifts off of the bed and carefully gathers Asta up from her pillow nest. "Don't you _dare_ wake up. I don't wanna have to hate you."

I snort softly, shaking my head at him in amusement. "She could scream her head off all night and you _still_ wouldn't hate her."

"Well, shit, don't tell _her_ that."

"Okay, how about I just tell her that you're a total dork instead?"

With an unconcerned shrug he makes his way over to the kid's room, and I follow closely behind. "I've been called worse."

"I bet."

He's barely gotten Asta settled in the travel crib when my cell phone starts to ring. It surprises me more than usual, because it seems as though no one has called me in days. Probably because I've actually been spending time with the people who would usually be calling me. But the fact that it's Ike's ringtone is even more unexpected. Maybe it shouldn't be, maybe I should have known he'd be calling me to find out what the hell was going on.

Come to think of it, I'm surprised more of my family members haven't already attempted the same call.

"Answer it before she wakes up!" Tommy scolds me playfully from across the room.

"I'll be right back."

I quickly hobble back into our room, pulling the door closed behind me before fishing my phone out of my pocket and accepting the call.

"Hey, Ike."

"I was starting to think you weren't gonna pick up."

"Sorry. It takes me ten times longer to do simple stuff now."

"Right." Rather than cracking some joke about how I've always been slow, he merely breathes a deep sigh. I guess he's not in the mood for small talk or pleasantries. "Listen... I just got off the phone with Zac."

"Is he okay?"

"He's... dealing." What does that mean? "He'll be okay, I think."

"You _think_?" I ask worriedly. "What did he say?"

"Not much. Not about how he's holding up, anyway. He said Kate's doing a little better. And... he told me what happened between you and her today."

Even though I'm sure I know what he's talking about, I don't want to assume it and say too much. I didn't realize until now that I plan on keeping Natalie's secret. It's not like I was going to tweet it or anything, but I hadn't ruled out telling my family if they asked. Apparently this is me doing just that.

Except that some of them already know...

"What did he tell you?"

"That Kate was really laying into you about how you ruined Natalie's life, and how she'd always deserved better..."

"She definitely had a lot to say on that subject." I mumble, wedging the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I awkwardly try to take a seat on the end of the bed. "Was that all he told you?"

"No." Figures. "He told me what Natalie did. That she got pregnant with Ezra on purpose..."

"Yeah."

I still can't believe it. Just hearing it said out loud again leaves my head spinning with questions I'll never have answers to; the only person capable of providing them is gone. Luckily, I think I can live without them. I don't need to know the hows and whys of what she did.

It won't change anything; it doesn't matter anymore.

"I don't even know what to say. I just... I'm _so_ sorry, man."

"It's okay." I shrug, unable to think of any other response to his heartfelt compassion. "It's done now."

"I know, but... shit, I mean, it changed _everything_ for you." He points out, like the thought would have never crossed my mind if he hadn't voiced it.

"I'm okay, Ike. I know you probably don't believe me, but I _honestly_ am."

"Well _I'm_ not."

"Why?"

"Because! It shouldn't have happened, it's not right.  And when I think about the way I handled things back then, and the way I've been handling them ever since... I was _so_ damn hard on you, Tay. I wasn't even a little sympathetic when you told me she was pregnant, I just called you stupid and irresponsible and tried to come up with ways to spin it so the rest of the world wouldn't think the same thing."

"Yeah, but to be fair, _I_ thought I was stupid and irresponsible, too. I _was_ stupid and irresponsible."

"You were _lied_ to." He insists, and I almost have to laugh at how strange it is to have him trying to make me feel _better_ about my choices for once. To have him telling me something _wasn't_ my fault rather than making me feel bad about it. "She trapped you."

"Now you sound like one of our fans."

He chuckles softly, but there's still something undeniably sad about his tone. "Yeah, well, who knew their theories weren't as idiotic as they sounded? I never thought for a second..."

"Me either."

"If she hadn't done what she did, maybe you wouldn't have had to pretend to be someone you weren't for so long. You wouldn't have gotten married, and you wouldn't have cheated, and-"

"And I still wouldn't have had the guts to 'come out'. Maybe I would have done it sooner than I did, but it's not like I would have just been out and proud this whole time. And you know you wouldn't have been okay with it even if I _had_ wanted to tell the whole world the truth years ago. You still would have been worried about how it would affect the band."

"I know." He admits ashamedly. "Which is why I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Ike. I mean... I wish things were different, but I understand why you've always been so afraid. _I_ was scared for the same reasons. I didn't want to jeopardize the band, either, the thought of it terrified me."

"Right, and I didn't make it any easier on you. I keep thinking about the way I treated you and the things I said... I thought I was justified at the time, I thought I was protecting our family and everything we'd worked for... but now I feel like I was basically forcing you to stay in the closet just so I wouldn't have to deal with all the crap that might come at us if you came out. I was selfish-"

"So was I. I've done a lot of selfish, stupid shit in my life. What you did and what Natalie did doesn't even compare-"

"But you wouldn't have done a lot of the stuff you did if she hadn't lied to you." He continues to object adamantly. "And it doesn't even matter who did what to who. You've apologized to me, to _everyone_ , again and again. I never wanted to hear it, I was too wrapped up in how I wanted things to be."

"Can we just agree that we both fucked up _a lot_ , and we wish we hadn't said and done a lot of the things we did, and move on?" I ask him, hoping that this isn't going to be one of those things that he refuses to let go for years.

Kinda like the very things he's apologizing for.

"No." Damn. "Not until you accept my apology."

"I just did!"

"No, you keep saying I don't need to be sorry, or it's okay, or you messed up, too. That's not accepting my apology, that's brushing it off."

Trust Ike to nitpick my acceptance of his apology. "So what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to actually _say_ that you accept my apology, and that we can put the past behind us and start over so we can find new things to judge and resent each other for."

"Well when you put it like that, how can I _not_ accept?" I laugh quietly to myself. "Seriously, Ike, if you think you can put everything behind us and move on, I'm _all_ for it."

"Good. And as a gesture of good faith or whatever, I figured I'd offer to take the kids off of your hands tomorrow so you and Tommy can have a break from all of the insanity before he leaves for Bali. Unless you guys already had plans with them or something?"

I'm honestly too stunned to speak. Ike offering to babysit isn't all that unusual, but offering to do it so that I can spend time with my boyfriend is definitely new! "Uh... no, I don't think we have anything planned. I thought we might take them out to breakfast or something, but other than that we hadn't really talked about doing anything specific."

"Okay, well, the offer's there, so..."

"I'll see what Tommy wants to do, but I can almost _guarantee_ you we'll be taking you up on it."

"Just text me later or give me a call in the morning, whatever you decide."

"I will. Thanks, Ike."

"Yeah, sure." He replies so awkwardly that I just _know_ he'd be shrugging and avoiding my eyes if we were having this conversation in person.

 _If_ he ever could've brought himself to say any of this to me in person.

Ike and I have always done much better having conversations like this over the phone rather than face-to-face. Zac and I can say pretty much anything to each other, no matter how personal or difficult it might be to put into words. But for Ike and I... it just doesn't come easily. It never really has, but it's definitely become more and more of a challenge as we've gotten older. He doesn't like to discuss his feelings with me unless we're potentially turning them into song lyrics, and even then he never admits that the feelings we're writing about are his own. And I haven't felt confident enough that he would truly _hear_ me to be able to tell him anything meaningful for a long time now.

Who knows, maybe it's not too late for that to change.

Despite his awkwardness, we seem to have found ourselves sitting on the phone in somewhat comfortable silence. I don't know if he's replaying our conversation over in his mind and trying to convince himself that it actually happened, but that's exactly what I'm doing.

Our little moment of peace and clarity is brought to an abrupt end by Viggo barreling into the room, begging me to come and kiss him goodnight. This is _exactly_ why I wasn't willing to get into any deep discussions with Tommy until all four kids were out for the night; it's never safe when they're awake! And judging by the sheepish look on Tommy's face as he comes racing through the adjoining door in pursuit of my youngest son, I think that reality has just hit home for him all over again.

"Sorry, he got away from me." He stage whispers to me, hoisting Viggo into the air and effortlessly flipping him upside down. "Maybe I should like put you in a suitcase or something next time, huh? That'll keep you from running off!"

"No!" Squeals Viggo through his giggles. "Don't do it!"

"What? Sorry, I can't hear you all the way down there, dude. Did you say 'do it'?"

"That's what _I_ heard." I chime in with a smirk, and Tommy winks back at me before carrying Viggo out of the room.

"As you wish!"

"I gotta go." I chuckle, shaking my head at them as they disappear from view. "It sounds like Tommy's about to experiment with some very unorthodox methods of keeping my kids detained. And as much as I kinda wanna see if he actually can fit a four-year-old into his carry-on, I should _probably_ stop him."

"Probably." Agrees Ike, his tone tinged with amusement. "But if you're too late, and he's already packed your kids, I'd appreciate pictures."

"You got it."

I'm not at all surprised to find that Tommy has Penny, River and Viggo tucked snugly into bed by the time I make it into their room. He's almost better at this whole bedtime routine than I am at this point. They mumble sleepy goodnights to me as I kiss them and wish them all one last 'Merry Christmas' for the day. Watching them drift slowly off to sleep right before my eyes, I realize all over again just how _lucky_ I am to have these remarkable little people in my life. To be their father and to have them to inspire me and to give me a reason to get out of bed day after day.

I think maybe I'm more aware of it now than I ever have been.

Even though he's had to wait hours for this moment, and he just got the kids to bed in what could potentially be record time, Tommy doesn't immediately jump on me and demand to hear the whole story as soon as we're alone again. He collapses onto our semi-made bed with a worn out sigh, combing his fingers through his hair and taking a few seconds to simply _breathe_. The sight of him stirs such a conflicting mix of emotions in my chest. An initial swell of affection and gratitude is overwhelmed by a swift surge of guilt and sadness. I want to tell him that I'm sorry, but I know he'll only shrug it off and tell me to stop being stupid.

It doesn't feel stupid, though.

"Was that Zac?"

"Huh?" I blink dumbly, clearing the freeze frame of his fatigued face from my mind to find him staring at me from the bed.

"The call you got before?" He elaborates with a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Was it Zac?"

"Oh, no. It was Ike."

"Huh. For some reason I figured it'd be Zac."

Me too. I _want_ Zac to call, because I want to know that he's okay. But I don't feel like I can call or text him. I don't want to cause any more of a disturbance in his marriage than I already have, and who the hell knows what mood Kate is in right now. She could still be a vulnerable, sobbing wreck, or she might have snapped out of it already and be ripping him to shreds again. He knows where I am and how to contact me, and I just have to hope that he knows he can call or come over if he needs to.

Until then, I have to accept the fact that the most helpful thing I can do for him is stay out of the way.

"Was Ike calling to find out what happened?" Tommy asks, obviously dying of curiousity but still trying not to push me too much.

"Actually, he already knew. He was just calling to apologize for every horrible thing he's ever said or done to me."

Tommy's eyes widen so suddenly and so drastically that it's almost comical. I think I may have cracked a smile. "Because of what happened with Kate? What the fuck did she _do_?"

I open my mouth to begin trying to relay the details to him, _finally_ , but I haven't even gotten a single syllable out before I'm hit with another batch of over-paranoid nerves. After glancing at the door of the kid's room again, I gesture for Tommy to follow me into the bathroom. Which he does without question (but the thoroughly bewildered look on his face says it all anyway). Once we're inside, and the door is locked, I reach into the shower and turn the water on. It's overkill, I'm not even going to pretend that it's not, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

"Okay, look, I'm all for taking another shower or whatever, but not until you tell me what happened." He informs me, folding his arms resolutely across his chest. "I'm not letting you distract me with sex. I'm not _that_ easy and you're not _that_ fuckable."

"Thanks."

"Fine, so you _are_ that fuckable, and I _am_ that easy, but you're still gonna tell me what the hell is going on before I put out."

"I didn't bring you in here for a repeat of this morning." I chuckle softly, leaning against the vanity so that I can stop wasting valuable energy holding myself up on my crutches. "I just don't want the kids to hear."

"They're asleep."

"They could wake up. Or one of them might've been faking; it wouldn't be the first time."

He rolls his eyes at my paranoia, resting against the countertop beside me. "Well, no way can they hear us now. Not unless they like bugged the bathroom or some shit."

"Nothing would shock me anymore."

"Taylor..."

Enough stalling.

He's been more than fair and I've been less than forthcoming. I can't keep him guessing any longer.

"Okay, so... I went after Kate this afternoon because I thought that maybe if I just let her yell at me, like _really_ let me have it, then it might help somehow. She clearly hates my guts, and in her mind she has a lot of very valid reasons to, so I thought that if she said whatever it is she wants to say about me to my face, and I just let her, then maybe it would like... get it out of her system. A little." I can tell from the 'poor, naive idiot' look he's giving me that he doesn't think my idea ever stood a chance of working. "So... I let her. I let her tell me what a selfish, thoughtless, awful human being I am, I let her tell me I should have died instead of Natalie... I even offered to let her punch me if it'd make her feel better."

His expression instantly takes on a distinct darkness as his brow furrows in concern. "She didn't do it, did she? 'Cause I have a rule against hitting women, but I'll mess that bitch up if she-"

"No." I smile softly. "She didn't punch me. Not physically anyway..."

"What does that mean?"

"She was ranting at me for never treating Natalie right, and for never really wanting her, and she was telling me how much Natalie had given up to be with me, and all these things she'd done to make me want her more. And she kinda let it slip that... Ezra wasn't an accident."

It takes Tommy a moment of thought to really understand what it is I'm telling him, and when that realization sinks in for him his mouth literally falls open in astonishment. But nothing comes out. No words, no profanity, not a sound.

"Yeah. That about sums it up."

"But... how... I mean... what... I..."

"Natalie knew it wasn't going to last, she knew I was going to break up with her. So she did the only thing she could think of that would convince me not to leave her."

"She didn't _convince_ you not to leave her, she fucking manipulated you into staying by getting knocked up!" He exclaims furiously. "That's the kind of dumb shit that lands girls on Jerry fucking Springer!"

"Yeah, well, thank God I didn't find out about it on some white trash talk show. My reaction wouldn't have garnered great ratings, I basically just stood there and tried not to pass out."

"I would have flipped the fuck out! You don't fucking _do_ that to people, it's totally messed up! I mean, shit, you were _eighteen_ , for fucks sake! She sabotaged your whole fucking _future_ , she ruined your life, and for what? Because she couldn't handle being dumped? And then she did it over and over again for _years_ just to make sure you definitely wouldn't go anywhere!"

"That's _exactly_ what I thought." I nod in solemn agreement, fighting back the same barrage of negative thoughts I had as I stood out on that snow covered lawn and wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. "As soon as Kate admitted what Natalie had done, all I could think was that if she hadn't lied to me and tricked me into staying with her, _everything_ could have been different and none of this would have happened."

"Right!"

"But then I came back into that family room, and I saw you, and my kids, and all I could think was... _everything_ could have been different and _none_ of this would have happened."

Seeing the indignation and anger drain from his face right before my eyes is like witnessingthe emotional shift I experienced in that moment at my parents house playing out in front of me. I went from feeling as though reality was crumbling around me and nothing was what I thought, to feeling more sure of everything than I had been before. I stopped wondering how Natalie could have done something like that to me, and I started thanking a god I no longer believe in that she did.

I never wanted to marry her, I didn't _want_ to have a family with her. But the second I heard Ezra's heartbeat, the second he became undeniably real to me, it didn't matter anymore. He was worth it. And the same has been true for all of my kids, no matter how many private panic attacks I had every time she got pregnant. I may not have wanted them as wholeheartedly as you should when you're trying to have a baby, but I wanted them with my whole heart and soul as soon as I saw their first ultrasounds, or heard their heartbeats. And there are no words to describe how completely and unconditionally I loved each and every one of them as I watched them being born.

So instead of being outraged by what she did to me, I'm grateful to her for it.

Tommy shakes his head slowly, seemingly at an absolute loss for anything to say. And eventually he gives up on trying to find the words, and he hugs me tightly instead. I had _no_ idea just how badly I needed to be held until his arms were around me; it feels like the first time I've been able to _breathe_ properly in hours.

"Never a dull fucking moment, huh?" He exhales a muffled chuckle against my shoulder, overwhelmed by all of these revelations and defeated by this day.

But even though I know he's trying to make light of it, his words don't bring a smile to my face. They leave me feeling wretched all over again, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I hold him a little closer than before.

"I'm sorry."

"I was kidding."

"I know, but I'm still sorry." I insist, trying to stop him when he begins pulling away from me.

I don't have the energy to put up a fight, though, and he's much too determined to look at me.

"Why are _you_ sorry?" He questions in frustration, unwittingly making the feelings of shame and self-loathing I'm struggling with even stronger. "None of this is your fucking fault, Taylor. You _can't_ always be sorry for _everything_."

"I can be sorry that everything is always so fucked up." I argue. "I can be sorry that you're so tired all the time because you're constantly having to deal with how messed up my life is."

"That's not-"

"Your life was simpler before I came along-"

"My life was _emptier_ before you came along." He protests adamantly. "Aside from my family and friends, and working with Adam, I had _nothing_ going on. I was just... drifting."

"And now you're drowning. Sometimes I feel like being with me is just dragging you down."

"Where the fuck is all this shit coming from?"

"I just... I see how tired you are all the time-"

"You're tired all the time, too!" He throws his hands up in exasperation, making me wish I'd never said anything. I'm just making it worse, taking more out of him, which is the _exact_ opposite of what I wanted. "And you know it's not always like this, it'll be better once you're off those crutches and you can do more stuff."

"Just... forget it-"

"Fuck that. _You_ wouldn't 'just forget it' if I was the one saying your life was better before you met me."

"Because it wasn't! You _know_ it wasn't. Being with you has changed _everything_ for me, and it's changed it for the better. But all it's done for you is make things more complicated."

"That's not true!"

"It is! Because that's who I am, Tommy, that's what I do. I complicate things! I mess everything up, and I fuck everything up, and I break _everything_ I touch. My kids, my family, the band, Natalie, you-"

"You think I'm broken?"

Damnit, _why_ can't I ever say the right thing?! "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"You're just... you're different." I try to explain, wishing I could hit some kind of pause button until I've figured out how to word this without offending him even more than I clearly already have. "I don't mean that in a bad way... not really. Not unless _you_ think it's a bad thing."

"I don't know _what_ to think right now. I have no fucking clue what you're trying to say!"

" _Please_ don't get mad."

"I'm not mad." He snaps impatiently.

"You seem mad."

"Well what the hell else _should_ I be?! You basically just said that you 'broke' me, that I'm 'different'-"

"You _are_ different! Compared to who you were when I met you, or even who you were when we ran into each other again in Des Moines this summer, you've changed _so_ much. You _had_ to. And if that's okay with you, then fine. But sometimes..." I take a deep breath, preparing to dive head first into an argument I really don't want to have. "Sometimes I think about who you were before, and who you are now, and I feel like... I broke you. I broke you down. It's like I've forced you into this role you never really wanted to play. But you wanted to be with me, so you took it on anyway. And it's just been this constant struggle ever since. Whether it's learning to live with me, or my five kids, or dealing with my family, or my in-laws, or the tabloids, or any other random crap that comes our way because of who I am and what I've done... it's been one thing after another, and it's draining, and I _hate_ seeing you so worn out all the time."

"I don't care about any of that shit, Taylor! I _want_ this. I want to be with you, that's _all_ that matters!"

"Yeah, and it was all that mattered to Natalie. She was different before she met me, too. She was full of life, she was bright and artistic... she could have done _so_ much more, but she threw it away. She never went to college, she gave up dancing and performing, she _settled_ so that she could be what she thought _I_ wanted her to be. She gave up _everything_ , and it literally killed her. I don't _ever_ want you to settle. You don't _have_ to settle, I won't _let_ you."

Apparently I've rendered him speechless again, and I have no clue if what I've just said has made him more or less annoyed with me. I didn't really mean to say most of it, at least not in the rushed, over-emotional way that I did. But, as usual, my mind wasn't working quite as fast as my mouth. The words got away from me before I could assemble them into some kind of rational, reasonable statement that wouldn't leave him staring at me incredulously the way he is right now.

"You're so damn _stupid_ sometimes, it seriously blows my fucking mind." So that would be _more_ annoyed, then? Great. "You really have _no_ fucking idea how far off you are, do you?"

"Apparently not." I shrug hopelessly. "Just forget I said anything-"

"No! No fucking way am I gonna let you walk out of here thinking this bullshit is actually true! The _only_ thing you said that's even slightly accurate is that I've changed. You're right about that, but you're wrong about it being because you 'broke me down'. It's _so_ completely the opposite of that, Taylor. You never forced me to play any kind of part, you never made me be anything I didn't wanna be. It wasn't about me _not_ wanting this, it was about me never believing I _could_ do it. I didn't think I could be this person, I didn't think I could make this work, I thought I was just gonna let you and the kids down. But _you_ didn't. You knew I could do it, you _trusted_ me to do it... and I did. And it scares the shit out of me if I think about it too much, so I don't. It's like looking down when you're walking a tightrope, you know? You can't; you'll psych yourself out and lose your balance. You've just gotta keep looking straight ahead, keep going..."

He takes a breath, a pause to gather his thoughts and remember what it was he was telling me off for. I guess I'm not the only one whose mouth gets ahead of their mind from time to time. I watch him as he silently works through everything that's been said, and everything he probably wants to say. And when he eventually meets my rapt gaze again, it's as though something hits me square in the chest. But instead of the painful blows that Kate dealt me earlier today, the look in his eyes is so entirely compassionate and earnest that there isn't a single cell in my body that's fearful of what he might be about to say to me.

"You think _this_ is settling? You think that having you and those kids is _less_ than what I had before?" Shaking his head at me in amazement he takes a step closer, cradling my face tenderly in his hands as he draws me nearer, until his lips barely brush mine when he speaks again. "You're crazy. I haven't given up anything, baby. You've given me _everything_."

"I'm sorry..." I murmur, my voice faltering, forcing me to stop and temper my out of control emotions. "I didn't mean to do this... I don't mean to do this to you, I just got scared. Kate said something about how I ruin everyone, and I was watching you before and you looked so tired..."

"I _am_ so tired." He replies quietly, and I feel his lips curl into a small smile against mine. Just for a moment. "But I'm not tired of you. I'm tired of people trying to blame you for things that aren't your fucking fault, and telling you that you're a shitty person when you're not _at all_. And I'm tired of you believing them and not me."

"I don't-"

"Yes you do." He argues stubbornly, pulling back just far enough to look me in the eyes once again as his fingertips lazily trail their way from my jaw to my chest. "We're gonna fix that."

I smile faintly, hoping for his sake that my self-worth isn't so beyond repair that it'll be a waste of his time and energy trying to convince me that I'm all of the wonderful things he seems to believe I am. I want to see even a hint of what he sees in me, I don't want to doubt myself as much as I do. I want my kids to grow up with a father who's as poised and confident in his day-to-day existence as he is when he's up on stage, putting on a show, playing a part, being the person that everyone expects him to be. And I want Tommy to have a partner who's strong and secure so that he doesn't have to have conversations like this one all the damn time. I want him to know that I _do_ hear him over all of those cruel voices, both real and imagined, that tell me I'm less than nothing.

I want him to know that his opinion matters to me more than _anyone_ else's, because it _does_.

"But we're not gonna fix it right now." After granting me one more lingering kiss that's still nowhere near long enough for my liking, he reaches into the shower and turns off the water, filling the room with some much needed quiet. "Right now, we're gonna go back into that bedroom and I'm gonna take all your clothes off...and we're gonna _sleep_."

I didn't think I'd have anything to laugh about anytime soon, but somehow that's exactly what I'm doing as he curls his fingers in the front of my shirt and gently tugs me towards the door, giving me time to turn on my crutches before he begins backing out of the room with me in tow.

"Tell me more..."

"We're gonna sleep for _hours_ , in every position imaginable, over and over and _over_ , until we can't possibly sleep anymore. It's gonna be the best sleep you've _ever_ had."

"God, _yes_."

Under normal circumstances, I'd be highly turned on by the sensation of him nimbly unbuckling my belt and unbuttoning my shirt, especially given the way he's holding my stare so unwaveringly with those sultry brown eyes of his. It sends a shiver down my spine, just like it always does, but for once that shiver doesn't venture elsewhere. It dissipates and disappears, washed away by a wave of warmth.

This morning we were all over each other, we couldn't get enough, and we promised each other that tonight we'd pick up right where we were forced to leave off. Now we have the chance to do just that, and we're passing it up in favor of falling asleep. It seems insane... but there's honestly nothing I'd rather do.

I want to get into bed with him and fall asleep beside him, simply because I _can_.

And if you ask me, that's nothing short of incredible.


	119. Chapter 119

  


 

 

I wasn't expecting to sleep well at all last night. Not to be pessimistic or anything, but generally when I find myself on the receiving end of a piece of news as big as the one I had thrown in my face yesterday, I end up dreaming about it.

I guess it's my mind's way of continuing the process of... well... processing.

But that didn't happen last night. I don't recall having any dreams about Natalie _or_ my confrontation with Kate. I don't remember having any dreams at all, actually. I slept like a baby. But apparently _my_ baby didn't sleep like a baby, because when I wake up I find her snuggled amongst the pillows between me and Tommy. She must have woken him up at some point during the night, and he brought her in here in an attempt to stop her from disturbing everyone else.

Whether or not he invited her three older siblings to join us, I have no idea. But they seem to have made themselves very at home on our bed regardless.

At first, I daren't move. I don't want to do anything to risk waking any of them up. Eventually I can't resist the urge to grab my phone from the nightstand, though. I can't help it; I live to document the moments that matter to me, whether it's through music, writing, drawing, or photography. And since I don't have a better camera within arm's reach, my iPhone camera is going to have to suffice. But once I have it in hand, and I've opened the camera app, I realize that there's no way I can get a good shot of the scene before me unless I get out of bed first. So, with some very creative shifting and squirming, I somehow get off of the mattress and onto my crutches in one piece.

Not only do I succeed in not falling on my face, but I also manage to avoid waking Tommy or any of my kids. Penny doesn't stir in the slightest, she remains completely still and serene. Viggo grumbles a little and rolls over, stuffing his face into the comforter, but he doesn't open his eyes. And River stretches lazily beneath Tommy's arm, which is carelessly draped so high across his little chest that it's mere inches from his neck. But he seems perfectly content right where he is, and as soon as Tommy feels River moving he instinctively curls his arm around him. He's probably trying to hold him still because he's not ready to get up yet and he doesn't want River to, either. But to the untrained eye, it simply looks like he's hugging him in his sleep.

It just makes this early morning moment even more picture perfect than it already was.

After capturing it on camera and admiring the shots I've taken, I have a momentary internal debate over whether or not to upload one of the pictures to Instagram. I haven't shared anything on there in _so_ long now, maybe not since Natalie died. And I rarely ever shared anything too personal, even when I was making more frequent posts. It was always just pictures from tour, or pictures of food, or the occasional selfie. I've _never_ posted a picture of my kids on there before, but there's just something about this one...

I want the world to see what we _really_ are.

I want everyone to know how blessed I am, and how breathtaking my family is.

And yeah, okay, I kinda just wanna gloat.

No sooner have I hit the 'share' button, my phone starts to buzz in my hand and Zac's face appears on the screen. For a nanosecond I consider declining the call until I can get myself over to the kid's room and call him back in private, but I'm honestly _way_ too eager to talk to him. I'm just going to have to be incredibly careful what I say, and hope that none of my kids wake up and overhear anything they shouldn't.

"Hey!" I answer, trying to find that delicate balance between keeping my voice down while still talking loudly enough for him to understand me. "I was hoping you'd call this morning."

"Sorry I didn't call sooner. I wanted to, but things were kind of a mess around here."

"Yeah, I figured..."

"Plus, I wasn't sure if you'd even wanna talk, you know?"

"I always want to talk to you, idiot." I smile faintly, sadly, wishing there'd never been a passing doubt in his mind about that. "Are you okay?"

" _Me_?" He asks in surprise. "Who gives a crap about me? I didn't have my whole world turned upside down yesterday!"

"I don't know, I think your world got at least a little turned around. And it doesn't matter anyway, _I_ give a crap about you and I'm asking if you're okay."

I hear him inhale a long, deep breath, but I can't tell if he's simply trying to let my stubbornness go without comment, or if he's about to tell me something that's less than true. "I'm okay."

"Are you lying?"

"No." He laughs quietly, and thankfully I know him well enough to tell his genuine chuckles from him fake ones. That one sounded mostly sincere. "I'm fine. I mean, last night _sucked_ , and for a while there I seriously wasn't sure what was gonna happen. I almost packed a bag and left about a dozen times..."

"But?" I prod anxiously. "You didn't?"

"No."

I don't know how I'm supposed to take that response. I don't want him to leave Kate if that's not what _he_ wants, but I sure as hell don't want him to stay married to her if that's not what he wants, either. I've been there, and it's no way to spend your life.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" I ask, immediately regretting my decision to voice the question, and hoping  that he doesn't take it as badly as he has every right to. "I'm honestly not trying to talk you into _or_ out of anything-"

"I know." He assures me, the soft smile on his face evident in his tone. "I've asked myself the same question a lot over the last few months. And if nothing had changed last night, I'd probably have a different answer right now."

"So... what did change?"

"Kate _finally_ agreed to see someone."

"Like... a therapist?"

"Yeah."

"Wow..."

It's hard for me to imagine Kate sitting down and talking openly about her emotions with _anyone_ anymore. She's _never_ done it with me, that's for damn sure. Our conversation yesterday, if it can even be called that, was possibly the most candid one we've had in the twelve years that we've known one another! I know she confided in Natalie all the time, and I'm sure she and Zac had a much deeper connection before the events of this past year left their relationship on such shaky ground. But since Natalie died, Kate's been behaving like she's lost the ability to empathize with any other living being. She's cold, detached, insensitive... sometimes downright cruel, depending on the person she's interacting with. And whenever Zac has so much as suggested that she might need to see a grief counselor, or that they might want to try couples counseling, she has been adamant that _nothing_ is wrong with her and that any problems in their marriage are his alone.

"What changed her mind?"

"I told her I was done if she didn't. I said I couldn't stay married to someone who keeps shutting me out the way she has been all year. I told her that I understood that she was hurting, and I would be there for her in whatever way she needed me to be, but if she wasn't willing to at least try getting some kind of counseling with me then I wasn't willing to do _anything_ else for her. I said either she could _promise_ me she'd see someone, or I'd move out."

"But... hasn't she been threatening you with that for months? Why does she suddenly care if you stay now?"

"Because it's not _her_ choice anymore, I guess? She knows I don't want a divorce, she's known the whole time, so she throws the threat of one in my face whenever we argue about all this stuff 'cause she knows I'll back down. But she knew it wasn't just a threat when _I_ said it, she knew I was completely serious about it. And I guess she doesn't really want a divorce any more than I do, because when I told her that there was no way I was staying if nothing changed, she broke down and agreed to get help."

"Well... congratulations?" I tell him with an uncertain chuckle. "I know you've wanted her to do this for months now, so... I really hope it helps, for both your sakes."

"I hope so, too." He sighs tiredly. "I want my wife back."

"I know. I'm sorry she hasn't been the same since... everything."

"Yeah, well, with all the guilt she's been carrying around, I'm not surprised. I know she's made it clear how much she blames _you_ for what happened to Natalie, but I had _no_ clue she blamed herself at all. I mean, how could I have known that?"

"How could _anyone_? She's been the least emotionally accessible person on the planet. No one knew what she was thinking. No one could have even _guessed_!"

"True." He acknowledges in a near whisper. "Which kinda brings us back to yesterday..."

"Right."

"So... how are you?"

"Better than anyone expect me to be, apparently." I answer honestly, my eyes drifting back to my bundle of still snoozing children just in time to see Tommy slowly opening his eyes. "I know it seems like what she did should be the worst thing that anyone has ever done to me, but... I think it might have been the best."

"How the hell did you come to _that_ conclusion?" Asks Zac in bewilderment.

I watch as Tommy yawns, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand the way River does when he first wakes up. He blinks bemusedly, taking in the sight of the slumbering bodies littering our bed, before his eyes eventually rise to meet mine. Then he smiles this dopey little smile that makes him look entirely drunk, and he nuzzles his face into the pillow as though he intends to block out the rising sun streaming through the drapes behind me and go right back to sleep. But judging by the increasing amounts of squirming that Viggo is starting to do, I don't think anyone is going to be falling asleep _or_ staying asleep for much longer.

"Ask Instagram." I instruct Zac simply, and I can tell from his laughter that he thinks I'm kidding. "No, seriously. It'll explain everything better than I ever could."

"O-kay..."

"I gotta go, the kids are starting to wake up."

"Sure."

"Can you do one more thing for me, though?"

"Yeah, anything." He agrees readily, almost as though he's grateful for the opportunity to help me. Like he hasn't already done more than I could ever possibly repay him for!

"I know Ike knows about all this already, but... don't mention it to anyone else, okay? I don't want anyone to know."

"Okay, but... you do realize it'd probably make your life easier if people knew the truth? I'm not saying you should hold a press conference or anything, but you could at least tell our family. Everyone has Natalie on this pedestal-"

"And she's gonna stay there." I cut him off plainly. "I _want_ her to stay there, Zac. For them."

"Right." He agrees, sealing the pact to keep yet another of my dirty little secrets from the rest of the world. "Consider it forgotten."

" _Thank you_."                                                                                                                                          

Since Tommy apparently had to get up in the middle of the night to soothe Asta, I demand that he stay in bed for as long as possible while I try to corral the kids and usher them through their usual morning routine. Once they've all brushed their teeth and hair, and found some clean clothes in amongst the wreckage that was once a hotel room, they kindly keep themselves entertained with cartoons and toys long enough for Tommy to take a shower and for me to call Ike and make some more definite plans for the rest of the day. During our conversation, he one-ups his already generous offer to watch the kids by suggesting that they stay the night, too. He doesn't _say_ it's so that Tommy and I can have loud, passionate, wall-shaking, bed-breaking sex until the early morning hours, and I resist the urge to mess with him by flat out asking if that's why. I don't want him retracting his offer (besides, it's no fun if I can't see the look on his face). But whether or not either of us says it, it's implied.

Obviously, I'm _completely_ on board with the idea!

By the time I'm done talking to Ike, and Tommy is dressed and ready to go, the kids are entering the early stages of whining about their empty bellies. That problem is easily solved with a trip to Mimi's Cafe for waffles, pancakes, and (most importantly) bacon.

It's hard to tell if I'm imagining it or not, but I get the feeling something is definitely on Tommy's mind this morning. He barely says a word during breakfast, but that could be because the kids don't give anyone else a chance to get a word in. He doesn't seem unhappy, exactly, but there's definitely a feeling I'm getting from him that I can't quite put my finger on. And I can't ask him about it, so I'm left to stare at him and wonder what he's thinking about while _he_ stares at the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table, distractedly drawing figure eights in a puddle of maple syrup on his plate with the prongs of his fork.

It not until we pull into Ike's driveway that it dawns on the kids that this is the last time they'll get to see Tommy until he comes home from Bali. Honestly, it hadn't really occurred to me either. I guess I must have been aware of it on some level; they're spending the night at Ike's place and Tommy's flight leaves first thing in the morning. But somehow I hadn't put those two things together in my mind and come to the realization that they have to say goodbye _now_.

And suddenly I'm certain I know what it was that Tommy was brooding about over breakfast.

Penny is the first to point out his imminent departure as he hands her pink Disney princess backpack to her. She asks if he and I will come and pick them up in the morning so that they can say goodbye at the airport, which immediately leads to River telling Tommy that he doesn't want him to go anywhere. Before Tommy can even begin to explain why he _has_ to go, Viggo starts in with the teary eyes and lip wobbling, _begging_ him not to leave. And all Tommy can do is stand there helplessly and look to me for rescue.

"Come on, guys, you know he won't be gone all that long." I try to reassure them, doing my best to hide the fact that I basically hate this as much as they do. "It's just a couple of weeks and then we'll all be back at home together again, okay?"

"Why can't he just _stay_?" River demands to know, as though it's a perfectly reasonable solution to everyone's problem and we just hadn't thought of it yet.

"We've already talked about this, buddy." I sigh sadly.

I don't know why I think that pointing out that fact will make any difference. They don't care if we've discussed it, or if they agreed to be okay with it at some point in the past. All they care about is convincing him to stay now.

They used to be the exact same way with me almost every time I had to leave town for more than a few days. It never got any easier, and I _definitely_ haven't missed it.

"I gotta go do my job, dude. But you're gonna hang out here with your cousins for a while and have a total blast. I bet you won't even notice I'm not around!"

Penny's forlorn frown turns into an outraged scowl in the blink of an eye, making it clear that she's offended by the mere suggestion.  "Yes we will."

"I just mean you'll be so busy having fun that you won't have time to miss me." He tries again, inadvertently making things even worse.

Rather than telling him off again Penny simply pouts and huffily turns on her heel, stalking off in the direction of Ike's front door.

"Should I go after her or will it just piss her off more?" Tommy mumbles glumly, tearing my gaze from my sulky daughter's retreating form.

"Let me talk to her." I offer with a comforting half-smile. "Why don't you get Asta out of the car and finish unloading the rest of their stuff?"

"Sure."

As I head off in pursuit of Penny, I can hear River continuing to interrogate Tommy about his career choices, wanting to know why he can't just "stop going away" like I did. I'm tempted to turn right around again and try to help Tommy escape this emotional torture he's being subjected to, but I know there's not much I can do. He's just as capable as I am of explaining to them why things are the way they are; it's not the first time either of us has had this conversation with them. We _knew_ they wouldn't want him to leave, and we knew it would be worse if we pretended it wasn't happening until this moment finally arrived. So we've made sure to casually remind them about it every few days for the past month or so, trying to prepare them as best we can. Or possibly trying to prepare ourselves.

Apparently it was a giant waste of time all around.

When I find Penny on the front porch, she refuses to look at me. She stands there with her arms folded defiantly across her chest, staring right past me like I'm not even here. I expected no less. She's _so_ much like her mother in moments like these. It used to be funny, but now it's almost sad. It's like seeing a ghost, being haunted...

"He didn't mean to hurt your feelings." She turns her face away from me, nose in the air to wordlessly inform me that nothing I say matters to her. "He was trying to make you feel better, not worse."

"Well he _didn't_."

"I know." I concede sympathetically. "But you know what? You're both gonna feel bad the _whole_ time he's away if you don't say a proper goodbye now."

Despite her best efforts to shield herself from my words, I can _see_ that I've gotten through to her. I'm not sure if it's the idea of feeling guilty for two weeks that's bothering her, or the thought of Tommy thinking she hates him, but something definitely struck a cord.

 "I don't _want_ to say goodbye."

"Me either. And neither does he, not really."

"So _why_ do we have to? Why can't he just _stay_?"

"Pen-"

"He doesn't have to go!" She insists, her cool demeanor giving way to hints of the sadness she truly feels. "He could stay here with us if he really wanted to!"

"He has to work-"

"He could get a _new_ job!"

"But he really loves the one he has. He worked _very_ hard his _whole_ life to get it, and it wouldn't be fair of us to ask him to give it up now." I try to explain as gently as I can. "When you love someone, you want them to be happy. I know you love Tommy, and I _know_ you want him to have a job that he loves. And just because he might need to go away for work sometimes, that doesn't mean he doesn't love us or that it's not hard for him to say goodbye. He just knows we'll be okay because we've still got each other, right?"

"That's what mommy always used to say when you went away." She murmurs miserably.

I knew it sounded familiar. "Well... mommy was very smart. You definitely get that from her, not me."

Her lips twitch, fighting against a flicker of a smile and ultimately losing the battle. It's not much, definitely not the kind of broad grin I prefer to see on her face, but it's better than the pout she was wearing previously. Finally, she rolls her eyes and heaves a put-upon sigh, grudgingly dropping her crossed arms to her sides.

"I'll say goodbye, but I still think it's _stupid_ that he has to go."

"You and me both."

When Penny and I return to the car, River is no longer harassing Tommy for a good reason why he wants to play guitar for a living. I assume that means Tommy was able to offer him an explanation that he couldn't argue with. But nothing that's been said so far has offered Viggo any comfort. He may not be the clingy, hysterical mess he used to be when faced with having to watch me leave, but that doesn't mean he's taking Tommy's departure _well_.

He's gotten back into his car seat and is _refusing_ to get out.

"Viggo, buddy, this isn't gonna work-"

"Go away!"

"Either you can be a big boy and get out of the car by yourself, or we can take the car seat out with you _in_ it." I threaten in the most patient, even tone I can manage. I don't want to make this harder on any of us that it has to be, but I'm not going to stand here all day and negotiate with him, either. "It's your choice."

"No, I won't come out! _Never!_ "

Oh boy. Never is a long time. "You've got five seconds, dude."

"Leave me alone!" He screams at me, tears gathering in his eyes as he's forced to face the fact that he can't stop this from happening. It almost makes me want to give in.

I'm so tired of him feeling so powerless and afraid.

But giving in and letting Viggo stay in the car as a form of protest isn't going to stop Tommy from getting on a plane tomorrow. And this isn't the last time we're going to have to let him go. It's definitely not the longest trip he's going to take. Sooner or later, Viggo is going to have to get used to this.

We _all_ are.

Counting to five doesn't make any difference, in fact he seems to become more and more determined to continue his sit-in with every passing second. And since I'm not physically capable of taking the car seat out of the car even when there _isn't_ a screaming, flailing four-year-old in it, that means Tommy has to be the one to do it. The guilt he feels is written all over his face, but he takes a deep breath and climbs back into the car anyway, struggling to unfasten the buckles that secure the seat in place. As soon as he reaches across Viggo to get to the one on the other side, Viggo wraps his arms around Tommy's neck and holds on for dear life.

It's an emotional punch to the gut just witnessing it, and I can vividly remember from my own countless past experiences how much worse it feels to be in Tommy's place.

" _Please_ don't go."

"I won't be gone for long, dude." Tommy assures him gently.

"But I don't want you to go _ever_." Sobs Viggo inconsolably as Tommy takes the opportunity to stealthily release him from the car seat harnesses and gently pry him out. "Maybe you won't come back again!"

" _No_ way! That's _not_ gonna happen."

"What if it does?" River asks despondently, watching his little brother clinging to Tommy. "Sometimes people go away and they don't ever come back."

"Not me." Insists Tommy, confidently holding River's stare until the unconvinced look in his eyes gradually begins to fade. "I'll _always_ come back. You're never gonna get rid of me."

"Promise?"

" _Promise._ "

 


	120. Chapter 120

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry, you guys. :( I had so little time these last few weeks, between work and real life, and prepping for Tulsa, and then going to Tulsa. And this chapter wasn't easy to write, because chapters like this never are. :\
> 
> Good news is, this chapter got so long that I split it in two, so the next chapter is almost finished already! And there's only one more after that! 
> 
> So crazy to think that this monster might be done before May is through...

  


 

 

I'm not sure if Ike and Nikki noticed the minivan sitting outside, or if they heard Viggo's crying, but thankfully _something_ prompted them to come outside and see what we were all doing in their driveway. Once Tommy was about as done saying goodbye to Asta as he was probably ever going to be, he reluctantly allowed Nikki to take her from him. The promise of baking cookies is almost always a surefire way to win Penny over, and Nikki didn't hesitate to use that little trick to coax her into the house. River was a little more hesitant than usual to allow his cousins to distract him, but eventually even his attention strayed from his melancholy mood, and after giving Tommy one last hug he ran off to play video games. Viggo was, as I expected, the last one to let go.

And when I say "let go", I mean Ike had to pretty much drag him off of Tommy kicking and screaming.

His fits over this kind of thing are different now than they used to be, though. Before, it was terror. He wasn't just making a fuss for no reason, and he wasn't just sad to see me go. He was deeply afraid that I wasn't ever going to come back. And maybe there's still some of that same fear fueling these freak outs of his. But that wasn't the driving emotion I sensed coming from him as we watched Ike carry him indoors today.

It was loss, plain and simple.

I don't bother asking Tommy if he's okay as we take out seats in the eerily quiet minivan. It would be the dumbest question I could possibly ask; the answer is blatantly obvious. I don't know what else to say, though. Everything feels meaningless. A few times on the drive back to the hotel I open my mouth to say something about a song on the radio, or to comment on how much more confident he seems to be about driving in the snow than he was just a few days ago. But I stay silent every time. I don't want to make silly small talk, and I know the feeling is mutual.

If the minivan was quiet, I'm not sure what word I'd use to describe out hotel room. Every time we've set foot in it since the day we checked in, the kids have gone racing through the door ahead of us, almost tripping us over, jumping on our bed, talking over one another, shouting, laughing, kicking shoes across the floor and throwing coats and scarves onto the nearest available surface. But this time no one pushes by us to be the first one in, no one attempts to basically tunnel their way between Tommy's legs, there's no boisterous chatter, the TV isn't immediately turned on and tuned into The Disney Channel, and when the door closes behind us the sound of absolute silence is deafening.

"This place is a fucking disaster." He eventually mutters, shrugging off his leather jacket and tossing it onto our unmade bed. "We should probably try to like... do something about it."

"Now?"

"All this shit's not gonna pack itself."

"I guess."

It's not how I imagined we'd spend our afternoon, but he's got a point. He needs to pack his stuff before he leaves in the morning, and I need to pack mine before I check out tomorrow. Not to mention all of the toys and clothes the kids didn't choose to take with them to Ike's place...

Besides, I don't think either of us is really in the mood to be doing anything more enjoyable right now, anyway.

We work together without a word for what feels like half an hour, but in reality is probably no more than a few minutes. At first we both focus on locating and folding our own clothes and trying to fit all of the gifts we received into our suitcases. But we keep getting sidetracked by the kid's stuff; it's _everywhere_.

"It's like we moved in or something." He comments, finally breaking the quiet. "Did we leave _anything_ in L.A.?"

"The swimming pool?" I tease with a small smile. "Oh, and my baby grand piano."

"Right, 'cause bringing those would have been overkill."

"Exactly." I reply, playfully throwing one of River's Batman slippers at his head. "We only brought the necessities."

He swats the slipper away before grabbing one of Asta's binkies off of the nightstand and whipping it right back at me. And for the first time in hours, there's a hint of a genuine smile on his face. "Don't start with me, or I'll knock you right off your fucking crutches with one of these hypo-allergenic feather pillows!"

"You break it, you buy it."

"You or the pillow?" He asks, momentarily lowering his weapon as though the answer could change his mind completely.

"Me."

Next thing I know, there's a pillow coming right at my head and I'm forced to practically fall sideways onto the bed in order to dodge it. "I already own your ass."

"What about the rest of me?" I chuckle as he flops onto his back beside me, gazing tiredly up at the ceiling.

"It's on layaway."

"No wonder I haven't been gettin' any."

"Fuck you." He snorts in amusement, unthinkingly slapping me in the chest and instantly regretting it when I cry out in (exaggerated) pain. "Shit! I'm sorry, I forgot!"

"It's okay." I assure him through my laughter. "It didn't hurt. Much."

"I suck."

"Stop, it was nothing. Jeez, considering the number of times you've kicked my broken leg in your sleep these last few nights-"

"I _what_?!"

"Kidding." I point out, the smirk fading from my lips as I realize just how _not_ funny he found that little 'joke'. "Sorry, I can't help it! You know I have a sick sense of humor."

"Like I really need anything else to feel like shit about right now." He grumbles gloomily, letting his arms give out beneath him as he collapses onto his back once again. "Seriously, I can think of very few times in my life where I've felt as cruel as I did today."

"You're _not_ cruel." I insist wholeheartedly, rolling onto my side as best as I can so that I can look him in the eyes when he turns his head to face me. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, well, it _felt_ wrong."

"It always does. But... it's just the way it is. They'll be okay, I _promise_."

"I just didn't think it was gonna be _so_ fucking hard." He admits in a near mumble, a gut-wrenching sadness settling into his dark brown eyes. "I thought it was gonna be like a couple of months ago when I went to Africa. They were bummed out, and I felt bad, but it wasn't like it was a big deal or anything."

"Things are different now." I remind him gently, reaching for his hand on the rumpled comforter between us. "They loved having you around before, but they didn't really _depend_ on you the way they have been since the accident, you know? You were _the_ person they could count on through that whole thing. You were there _every_ day, no matter what. You made them feel safe, you gave them something stable to hold on to when it felt like their world was falling apart. I think that's why it's so much harder for them to let go this time."

"I know you've got it in your head that I was like this hero who held everything together while you were in the hospital, but... the truth is _they_ were the ones who gave _me_ something to hold onto." He corrects me, his fingers grasping mine even more tightly than before. "I _resented_ it, Taylor. I didn't wanna have to go home, and put on a brave face, and tell them everything was gonna be okay. I didn't wanna be the one responsible for taking them to school every morning and making them dinner every night. I didn't wanna be their 'rock' or whatever, I didn't feel like I couldbe _anything_ for _anyone_ at that point. I just wanted to be at the hospital, even if I couldn't be in the room with you most of the damn time, I still wanted to fucking be _there_. But... I think, if I had been, I would have been a total _wreck_. Being with them was hard, it was fucking _exhausting_ , but at least I was doing _something_. I wasn't just sitting around for hours on end, imagining all the shitty things that could happen, trying to figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do for the rest of my life if you didn't come out of it... they gave me a _reason_ to hold it together every time I wanted to say 'fuck everything' and just get completely fucking wasted. If I hadn't had them... I would've totally lost it."

"I'm still _so_ sorry you had to go through _any_ of that." I murmur sadly, my heart screaming in agony when I try to imagine for even a second what it must have felt like for him. I don't know how the hell I would've coped if he'd been the one in the hospital; just thinking about it makes it harder to breathe. It's a good thing I'm already lying down, because I feel as though my whole body might just give out on me if I wasn't. "I wish there was something I could've done differently..."

"It doesn't matter anymore." He forces a small smile, trying to convince me that he's fine, that he's over it. But I _know_ he's not. Maybe he never will be. "I'd do it all over again if I had to, if you needed me to. I wouldn't have a choice. You've _completely_ fucking ruined me, I hope you know that." Despite the quiet breath of laughter he exhales, and his attempt to sound only semi-serious, the reality of his words lands on me like a five hundred pound weight. "You came out of nowhere..." He shakes his head slowly, almost disbelievingly, propping himself up on his elbow as he gazes down at me in silence for a moment. "Changed every-fucking-thing. Changed _me_. I can't go back now... I can't be who I was, I don't know how. I don't know _how_ to live a life that doesn't have you in it. I'd just be..."

"Lost." I finish for him, understanding _exactly_ what it is he's trying to say, knowing exactly how he would feel if I wasn't here anymore. It's exactly how _I'd_ feel if he was gone. "I'd be lost without you."

It's strange to think that there was a time, not all that long ago in the grand scheme of things, where he wouldn't have been willing to hear sentiments like these from me, let alone express them himself. It was like having everything he wanted dangled in front of him but not being allowed to actually have it. Then suddenly everything he wanted was right there for him to take if he wanted to, and he was too afraid of losing it to reach out and grab it. But like he said, everything changed. Now he's holding on to it, to _me_ , so tightly... I don't think anything could ever make him let go.

I know nothing could ever convince me to give him up now that I've finally got him.

At first when he kisses me his lips barely even seem to touch mine. It's as though I can feel his breath more intensely than I can feel the tentative caress of his mouth. It makes me want to hold _my_ breath, to stay perfectly still and focus _every_ cell in my body on nothing but what he's doing. But eventually, I can't stop myself anymore. He's _right_ there; I _have_ to touch him. That's how it's _always_ been for me.

Something else that's always been a given between us is how rapidly things can escalate. We can transition from an innocent, delicate almost-kiss to a fiery, uncontrollable embrace in the blink of an eye. And yet it never feels abrupt or rushed at all; it's nothing but natural. Our bodies move and meld together as though it's the only thing they were ever truly meant for.

My whole life, I never thought that two people could fit together the way we do. Physically, yes, I've "fit" with other people, we both have. And it felt good, sometimes it even felt amazing, I'm not denying that. But with Tommy... it's something else. It's not just physical compatibility, it's _so_ much more. It's the kind of intimacy I always wanted but never believed anyone ever really found. The kind that characters would gush about in the chick flicks that Natalie used to love to make me watch with her. I would always roll my eyes and wonder _why_ people would write schmaltzy bullshit like that. Why did they think that any reasonable adult who had ever actually been in a relationship would buy into it for even a second?

Sex was just sex.

Even if you loved the person you were with, even if you were closer to them than anyone else on the planet, and knew them better than you knew yourself, sex still wasn't some transcendent, world-stopping, life-affirming experience. It was _just_ sex. Good sex, maybe even _great_ sex, but that was all. Of course you're going to feel closer to someone when you're inside them or they're inside you. But to suggest that you could somehow connect beyond that, to imply that something intangible inside of you could tap into something intangible inside of them? It was a nice idea, but at the end of the day I believed it was nothing more than a ploy to get women to buy cheesy romance novels (and, okay, possibly love songs...), or flock to movie theaters to watch pretty people pretending to feel things that no one was _actually_ capable of feeling.

I was _so_ wrong.                                         

"What?" Tommy smirks down at me, his blond bangs tickling my cheek before I lightly comb them away. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

What do I say? If I tell him the truth, he'll laugh at me. I'm a cliché! Everything I think about when I look at him, and everything I feel when I'm with him may as well have been ripped right out of a fucking Nicholas Sparks novel! This is the part where one of us tells the other that we're dying of cancer or something, and then we lie down in bed together, fall asleep, and never wake up.

We were opposites who were overwhelmingly attracted to one another. We've survived a forbidden love affair, the disapproval of our loved ones, and a near-fatal car accident. Not to mention overcoming our own countless doubts and fears on a daily basis to somehow find ourselves here.

Is this what a happy ending looks like?

It sure as hell _feels_ like one.

"Nothing." I lie, knowing full well that he doesn't believe it for a second. And if I don't give him something more, there's a very good chance he's going to refuse to kiss me again. He's a giant tease like that. "I was just thinking about how stupidly happy you make me."

His eyes study mine intently for a moment, trying to decide if I'm telling him the whole truth. And then a pink blush begins to creep across his pale cheeks. "I bet you say that to every guy who sits on your dick."

I glance down between us like an idiot, noting that he actually _is_ straddling me. I was so wrapped up in my own amazement over the fact that he's real, and he's mine, and I get to feel all of these crazy, incredible, impossible things for the rest of my life, I didn't even notice him climb on top of me!

"Only the _really_ pretty ones." I retort mischievously, dragging my fingertips up his jean covered thighs and enjoying the very obvious shudder that runs down his spine as a result. "Seriously, though, sometimes I still can't wrap my head around how you make me feel."

"I know what you mean." He laughs softly. "It's like... I always _hated_ all those shitty, sappy love songs, you know? I'd always turn them off whenever they came on the radio 'cause they made me wanna gag. And I _still_ can't stand them, but... I kinda get it now. I just thought people were making that stuff into a bigger deal than it was or whatever. I never believed you could like care about someone _so_ much that you actually had moments where you couldn't breathe sometimes when they were gone 'cause you missed them so fucking much. Or that you could be in a shitty mood, and just seeing them smile or something could make you forget what you were pissed off about. I mean, fuck, sometimes _you're_ even the thing that's pissing me off. But then you'll  say something stupid or you'll look at me a certain way or something, and I can't stay mad even if I _try_!"

"Really?" I tease. "Sometimes you seem to do a _really_ good job of staying mad at me."

"Yeah, well, sometimes you do a _really_ good job of pissing me off."

"One of my manytalents."

"You have _more_ than one?" He asks with the straightest face he can muster, clearly struggling to maintain his shocked facade for more than a couple of seconds.

"Be nice or I won't be showing you any of the others for a _very_ long time."

"Whatever. I know at least one I can see whenever the fuck I want." I should've expected his hands to go directly to the zipper of my pants, but somehow I'm still not fast enough to intercept it. Maybe because no part of me really wants to. "It's like a dog. You wave a piece of meat in front of it and it'll do whatever you tell it to."

"I thought that was _you_."

His eyes immediately narrow into a scathing glare as his fingers curl around my erection through my briefs and squeeze just a _little_ too tightly. Not enough to hurt, not really, but in a way that was definitely intended to be a warning. All it really did, though, was make me wish I hadn't bothered to put any underwear on this morning, or that he'd take it off already.

Along with everything else I'm wearing, and everything _he's_ wearing...

Suddenly the lighthearted banter we'd been preoccupied with in isn't as engaging as it was five seconds ago. I don't want to throw another witty jab at him, I don't want to say a single word. I just want to kiss him.

So I do.

His response is instant, as always. His grip on me loosens until it's _exactly_ how he knows I like it, and I moan appreciatively through our kisses as my hips jerk instinctively towards his hand. Now I'm the one shuddering and he's the one reveling in it. And at the same time, I can still feel him holding back. Despite the hunger in his kisses and the desperation in his breathless groans, I can tell some part of him is still focused on making sure that he doesn't put any weight on my leg or my ribs. It makes me want to grab him and pull him down closer, to feel the full weight of his body over mine. It's been _so_ long since I have, and I've missed it so much. I'm not sure I even realized just how much until now. Having him right here, right where I want him but still somehow just out of reach, it's making it all too clear how much I _need_ this.

As soon as I make a move to push his t-shirt up even slightly, he reaches down and grabs the hem, pulling it up over his head in one swift move and throwing it carelessly aside before returning his lips to mine. I can't help but smile at the feel of his fingertips hurriedly fumbling with the buttons on my shirt,  his kisses becoming more and more demanding as he grows more and more impatient with them. I'm not going to deny that I get a kick out of knowing he needs this just as badly as I do. After all of the withholding he's done, and the doubt that's crept into my own mind on occasion as a result, it's such a relief to be able to _feel_ how much he wants me. That craving is still alive and well, as strong as it ever was.

Maybe even stronger.

He shifts back a little to help me sit up, and it's impossible to tell if the way he brushed over my crotch was as intentional as it felt or just a happy accident. Either way it makes my longing to be rid of these pants increase exponentially. I think it had the same effect on him, too. He inhales sharply, pausing for just a second to bite his lip and calm his breathing. And that second is more than enough time for me to become completely distracted by that irresistible neck of his. Undressing takes a sudden backseat to kissing every last millimeter of soft skin from his perfectly shaped collar bones to his delicate jawline, losing myself in the incredible sounds he makes as his fingers thread themselves into my hair and he throws his head back to expose even more of his throat to me.

I could very happily do this all damn day, but I start to feel him squirming eagerly in my lap, each movement making it more and more difficult for me to focus on what I'm doing. Eventually all I can think about is how good he feels, how indescribable it always is to be inside him, how extraordinary it feels when we cease existing as two separate beings, and how _badly_ I want that right now.

"Pants..." I somehow manage to exhale between frantic kisses. "Off. _Now._ "

He grins devilishly, pecking my lips one more time before maneuvering off of my lap. "Yes, sir!"

It doesn't take him long to shed the rest of his clothes, it never does. His jeans barely stay up most of the time as it is. Getting me out of my clothes takes longer because of the cast, and I have to resist the urge to tell him not to be so careful. If getting me undressed can be achieved even five seconds sooner without him worrying about hurting me, I'd rather he just ripped my damn pants right off me!

But he more than makes up for the wait as soon as my clothes have been tossed aside. His lips zero in on the nearest part of my body they can find, which just so happens to be my thigh. I guess it didn't register what he was about to do as I watched him lean in, because the second I feel his mouth on my skin I gasp in surprise, gripping the comforter beneath me. His kisses continue their meandering journey up towards my hipbone, making sure to stay clear of my erection. I notice him cast a glance at it, though, stuck in a momentary debate over whether to give in to what we _both_ want him to do, or to tease me a little longer.

 _Of course_ , teasing wins out.

"You're _evil_." I groan, caught between enjoying every second of what he's doing and wishing he'd do something more.

He smirks up at me, baring his teeth just long enough for me to see them before he uses them to nip at the flesh just beside my belly button. "I know."

"You know this is _totally_ unnecessary, right?"

"What is?"

"Foreplay." I tell him bluntly. "Don't get me wrong, it all feels amazing, but I- _fuck_!"

"Sorry, what were you saying?" He asks innocuously, running his tongue over the nipple he just bit.

"A month, Tommy! It's been a _month_ of seeing you day in and day out, having you help me get undressed, and shower, and lying beside you _every_ night, and _not_ being able to touch you the way I want to because you won't let me! It's been _torture_."

The playful smile is instantly gone from his lips, mischief no longer gleaming in his eyes. "Tell me about it."

"You can spend the rest of the day coming up with new and exciting ways to drag this out until you have me so wound up that I _cry_ , in fact I encourage you to! But I _can't_ wait anymore, I just... I _need_ you-"

When he kisses me, I know I've said enough to convince him. But then again given how urgent his kisses are, maybe he didn't need any convincing at all, only permission.

"Don't go anywhere." He murmurs, disappearing from the bed before I can even begin to protest let alone make a grab for him.

"You're _hilarious_."

He casts a cheeky look at me over his shoulder as he quickly unzips one of our suitcases. At first I just sit here and pout like a kid who's had their favorite toy taken away when they were in the middle of playing with it. But it's not long before I'm distracted from my moping by the view he's treating me to. Yeah, sure, I'd _much_ rather have him over here with me. But I know he'll be back as soon as he's done doing... whatever it is he's doing. And until then I get to enjoy staring at his bare back, studying the muscles as they move beneath his skin. He's _so_ damn sexy, everything about him.

But one of the sexiest things is how he doesn't really _know_ it. He's aware that thousands of people worldwide think he's hot, and he knows he's good looking (he's not blind). He's even good at putting on a show when he wants to, making everyone believe that he really is as brazen and self-assured as he acts sometimes. But I know better. I know _him_. I can look him in the eyes when he's playing up his sensuality with me, even when he's writhing on top of me the way he was just a moment ago, and I can s _ee_ that deep down he's nowhere near as confident and cocky as he's pretending to be. His self-doubt only makes me want him more, it makes me want to do everything I can to _show_ him how amazing he is in my eyes.

I listen to him muttering profanity under his breath while he carelessly rummages through his somewhat neatly packed clothes, until finally he finds what he was looking for. Then he holds it aloft triumphantly as he returns to the bed and presents it to me like it's a prize of some sort.

"I _knew_ it was in there somewhere."

"I love it when you hunt and gather." I tease him, flipping the cap on the lube he just gave me. "It's _so_ manly."

He pinches me on the arm, making me yelp like a little girl. "I hope you realize that you're wasting time _trying_ to be cute, when you could be doing us both a favor and fucking me senseless."

 _Damn_.

Just hearing him _say_ it sends a jolt of pure pleasure straight through me! But as much as I'd love to "do us both a favor", I can't let my libido _or_ his run the show here. I want to be sure he's as ready as he says he is. He may not have any broken ribs to contend with, but I still worry just as much about hurting him as he does about hurting me. And he can be just as reckless with his body as he accuses me of being with mine. We sometimes forget ourselves in moments like these. It's so easy to get caught up in what we want and forget to pay attention to what we need.

Desperation and desire take the wheel, and we're just along for the ride.

I easily coax him into another kiss, giving him a moment to settle himself on top of me once again. The second he hears me pour some lube onto my fingers, he's grabbing my wrist and directing my hand to exactly when he wants it before I even have a chance to make a move myself. His eagerness is just another turn on, like I needed one! My heart is still racing from having him take control this way when he lets out that first unsteady moan as I gently begin to slip a single finger inside of him. I'm honestly so fucking overwhelmed by the assault my senses are under right now, I don't know what to focus on. The way he feels, the way he sounds, the way he looks... and even when my eyes finally focus on his face, they're torn between gazing at his long lashes as his eyes flutter closed in contentment, or his delectable pink lips as they part in ecstasy.

"More." He demands much sooner than I'd anticipated, and sooner than I feel I should probably surrender.

But when he doesn't immediately get what he wants from me, those eyes of his fix themselves on mine and the look in them makes me feel completely powerless. So when he _again_ commands me to give him more, I do.

Holding myself together as he begins to come apart is nearly impossible. It's mere moments until I _have_ to close my own eyes because watching him is getting me far too worked up. But with my eyes closed, my other senses are heightened. I can feel every move he makes even more powerfully than before, hear every trembling breath he exhales echoing in my ears, and it's more than I can handle right now. I feel selfish and yet somehow justified when I thrust a third finger into him before he asks me to, and he lets out a wrecked whimper as his body involuntarily collapses over mine.

He catches himself at the last minute, holding himself just inches above me, taking a second or two to steady his breathing and give his brain a chance to contend with everything his body is feeling. Those few seconds are all it takes before he's kissing me frantically, pushing my hand away and positioning himself above me. The fleeting thought of telling him that we should slow down barely has the chance to cross my mind, but the knowledge that neither of us _wants_ to banishes it entirely.

Or maybe it's the sensation of him surrounding me which chases that thought, and all others, from my head. I have no interest in slowing down or stopping when his body is yielding to mine this way, effortlessly taking me in until we're so perfectly matched that I _refuse_ to consider the possibility that we weren'tintended to fit together this way.

He moves carefully at first, and I'm sure it's for my benefit more than his. He's not so consumed by how he feels that he isn't still concerned about hurting me. He's wary of where he puts his hands to steady himself when my slick fingers encircle his erection and purposefully begin to stroke. I know his first instinct is to place them on my chest, to dig his short nails into my skin until that perfect mix of pain and pleasure drives me crazy. But he fights the urge, and his palms scarcely touch me before changing course and landing on the mattress above my shoulders instead.

He watches me touching him, and my eyes follow his gaze, momentarily hypnotized by the rhythmic motion of his body bucking against my fist. His hand slips between us, his fingers curling over mine and moving in unison until I eventually release my hold on him and let him set the pace for himself.

My hands are all over him, shamelessly greedy, pulling him closer, unable to stop or settle until they've caressed every inch of him they can reach. And any opportunity my mouth can seize to kiss his neck or chest or shoulders, it does. I can't get enough of the taste of him, that subtle saltiness on his skin as a fine sheen of sweat rapidly begins to form. It's addictive.

 _He's_ addictive.

"Fuck, I _missed_ you." He practically purrs, his hot breath caressing my face and instantly making me feel ten times more feverish than I already did.

I open my mouth to tell him that I've missed him, too. _So_ much. But the only thing that comes out is a irrepressible moan of yearning that I can only hope he understands.

If the way he kisses me is any indication, he did.

My hips rise to meet each fall of his, and though it requires a little more exertion on my part than usual, it's nowhere near as difficult as I think we both imagined it might be. This has never come anything but naturally to us, no matter what the circumstances.

It's a piece of unwritten music that we were both able to play by heart without ever having to practice it even once.

I feel him starting to hesitate again, fighting to slow every move he makes, but this time I know it has nothing to do with him worrying that he might hurt me. His only concern now is trying to make this last just a little longer, even though I think we both know it's hopeless. We might be able to rein ourselves in and regain control for a second or two, but we lose our grip again in an instant. We _can't_ contain it anymore, that's all we've _been_ doing.

Now the most we can hope to do is hold on to each other and try to remember how to _breathe_.

Something as instinctual as inhaling and exhaling should be simple, but it's not. And not being able to breathe makes kissing such a challenge that every time his lips attempt to find mine, they miss. It's as though every move we make is completely in sync, our bodies are entirely in tune with one another...  but our mouths just can't seem to keep up. And yet we both refuse to give up.

I can't help but laugh softly at the thought of how ridiculous it is, and he doesn't even need to ask what's so funny. I can feel his lips smiling, too, each and every time they brush and bump into mine in another so-close-yet-so-far attempt to forge a lasting connection. And when I look into his eyes I can _see_ that smile, I can see a light in him that's completely untainted by any of the stress and worry that too often clouds his mind.

He's free, we both are.

He starts to unravel faster and faster by the minute, pushing himself up and grabbing a hold of the headboard for support as his head rolls back against his shoulders. I was already teetering on the edge, barely holding on to sanity, and seeing him writhing above me that way, riding me relentlessly as he chases down his own release, sends me freefalling into oblivion.

I honestly can't tell which of us comes first, I just know that when I open my eyes and my world gradually stops spinning, his body is draped over mine and his head is lying limply on my shoulder. I can hear him breathing close to my ear, it's _all_ I can hear besides my own heart beat, and I'm confident that if I close my eyes for more than a second right now those sounds will lull me to sleep in no time...

Which is exactly what ends up happening.

Not right away, but not long after. The room is darker than it was before, and it takes me a moment to realize that it must be late enough in the day that the sun is already setting. It's kind of frustrating because it means that I've just wasted some of my final hours with Tommy before he leaves. I hadn't said it out loud to him, but I'd planned on staying awake with him all night (and _not_ by sleeping the day away!). The last thing I really remember is him coming back from the bathroom with a warm wash cloth for me, laying down beside me, leaving lingering kisses across my shoulder as he gently cleaned me up...

But now he's nowhere to be seen.

 


	121. Chapter 121

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more after this...

  


 

 

"Tommy?"

I push myself up in bed, shifting myself back against the pillows and appreciatively noting the fact that he must have covered me up with the sheets at some point before he disappeared. If only he was here, maybe I could properly express my gratitude for how well he looks after me.

"Tommy?" I call out again, a little louder than before, straining my ears for any small sound that might give me a clue as to whether he's even still in our hotel room at all.

At first, there's nothing. But after a few seconds he appears in the doorway of the adjoining room. He's fully dressed, which I completely disapprove of, and even though he tries to smile as he makes his way back over to the bed, something tells me that it's not an accurate representation of how he's really feeling right now. Maybe it's the low light playing tricks on my eyes, maybe I'm reading too much into things, or maybe waking up without him has put me on edge. It always does. But I can't shake that nagging sense of trepidation in the pit of my stomach.

"Sorry." He tells me, settling himself on the mattress beside me. But I'm too busy over-analyzing the forced smile on his lips and the small amount of space he left between us to respond. It probably wasn't even deliberate on his part, but right now it _feels_ significant. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"Where'd you go?"

"I was just trying to finish packing stuff up, like we were doing before." He shrugs like it's nothing, but the fact that he won't even look at me anymore tells me my suspicions about something bothering him are spot on. "I couldn't sleep, so..."

"Something on your mind?" I ask, trying my best not to sound accusing at all as I move a little closer to him under the sheets, soothingly tracing my fingertips along the stem of the tattooed rose on his forearm.

His eyes follow my hand as he watches it moving slowly back and forth, back and forth... but my eyes never leave his face, and everything I see in his expression leaves me more and more convinced that something isn't right.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore." He finally blurts out, still refusing to look at me.

My fingers come to an immediate halt as I try to figure out exactly what that statement is supposed to mean. This is all _way_ too familiar, so much so that I feel like throwing up. My mind drags me back to that morning in his apartment eighteen months ago, when I woke up without him only to have him come home and tell me that he "couldn't do this".

Couldn't be with me.

Couldn't see us spending our lives together.

Rationally, I _know_ that this isn't a repeat of that. And even if it was, I know now that he was lying to me that day. But knowing that doesn't keep my heart from stopping for a second before the voice of reason in my head can convince it that this isn't him trying to tell me that we're over.

I'm just not entirely sure what he _is_ trying to tell me.

"W-what do you mean? What can't you do anymore?"

"Just like..." With a deep, sad sigh he shakes his head and looks away, turning his attention to his nails as he picks mercilessly at the chipped polish. "The touring and the traveling and... everything."

"We already talked about-"

"I know. And I know you think it's no big deal, and I can't give up playing for Adam, and we can make it work-"

"We can!" I insist wholeheartedly. "I know it seems like a lot right now, but it's just a couple of weeks-"

"This time." He cuts me off, and when he finally looks me in the eyes, the fear and despair I see make it impossible for me to argue with him. "Next time it'll be longer."

"Well... yeah, maybe, but-"

"No, _not_ maybe, it _will_. They're already talking about us playing a bunch of shows in Asia next year, and maybe even Russia and Europe, too. It's not just gonna be a couple of weeks next time, Taylor, it'll be _way_ longer. Like more than a month, probably."

Fuck, I _hate_ this.

And it's so damn hard to pretend that I don't, to sit here and tell him it's all fine when in reality it _hurts_ to think about being without him for that long. But it hurts more to think about him giving up something he loves, something he worked so hard for and deserves so much. Especially if I'm even a small part of the reason he'd be walking away from it.

"It doesn't matter how long it is." I assure him as confidently as I can. "Whether it's a week, or a month, or six months... we'll be okay."

"Taylor-"

"We _will_."

"I know we're not gonna like break up just 'cause I'm gone a lot, but that doesn't mean I _want_ to be away all the fucking time. I don't wanna miss stuff, you know? And I don't want  the kids to feel like I'm always gone." He protests miserably. "I used to love touring, getting the hell out of L.A., I had no good reason to stick around. I looked forward to playing shows out of the country; the longer we were gone, the better. But now... it's just different. Everything's different. It's not a _bad_ thing, it's just..."

"Different?" I offer, trying to summon a hint of a smile. But there's not really a whole lot for either of us to smile about. "I'm _never_ going to ask you to quit playing for Adam. Or any other artist who's smart enough to want to work with you, for that matter. You know that, right?"

"I know."

"And I'm never going to _support_ you quitting, either. Not unless it's because _you_ honestly want to, because _you're_ ready to be done, not because you think you _have_ to be for me or for anyone else. Because you _don't_."

" _You_ quit, though." He points out defensively. "You weren't done, don't even fucking  try telling me you were. But you felt like you had to give it up to be with the kids, so you did."

"Yeah, I did, but that's not the same."

" _Why_?"

"Because their mom was gone and I was all they had left. I couldn't just ditch them with their grandparents all the time and go off playing shows. They _needed_ me to stay. They might _want_ you to stay, and believe me I completely understand where they're coming from on that one, but they don't _need_ you to quit your job and be at home with them. They have me-"

"That's not fucking fair, though. Why should you have to be the only one giving up your dream job to be a stay-at-home-dad?" He questions argumentatively, jumping right in to dispute my only real rationale before I can even present it to him. "And _don't_ use that 'because they're _my_ kids' bullshit on me, 'cause you said you wanted me to think of them as mine, too."

Damnit. "I do."

"So?"

"So... nothing. It's already done. I've already put that part of my life behind me and made peace with the way things are." I lie, unable to come up with any other point to make that he won't be able to shoot down with more of that pesky logic stuff he seems to be so fond of. "There's no reason for you to do the same, not unless you _want_ to."

He _doesn't_ want to, and we both know it. Which is why he doesn't fight me any further on the issue, even though I'm sure he could come up with a dozen valid reasons why it's still not fair for me to give up my career while he goes on touring and performing like nothing in his life has changed at all.

"I don't wanna quit." He grudgingly admits in a near mumble, his gaze still fixed firmly on his own hands. "I just don't know if I can handle another goodbye like this morning. I sure as shit can't do it _every_ damn time I have to go out of town. I know you say I'm not doing anything wrong, but I felt likea total fucking jerk. It was like I was hurting them and I could have stopped it if I'd wanted to, but I didn't 'cause I was too damn selfish."

"That's not how it is, though." I assure him sincerely, lacing my fingers with his and giving them a gentle, comforting squeeze. "You know that. And deep down, they know it, too. They'll get used to it, I promise, it won't _always_ be as bad as it was today."

"But even if they get used to it, and saying goodbye to them gets easier every time... I don't think saying goodbye to _you_ will."

I don't know why it never occurred to me that leaving _me_ was going to be harder on him than leaving the kids. I knew _I_ didn't want him to leave, and I was dreading having to take him to the airport tomorrow morning and watch him walk away. And despite the fact that he hadn't said anything about it, I knew he wasn't looking forward to it, either. I knew he was going to miss me, I just didn't realize that he felt strongly enough about it to seriously question whether or not he could go through with getting on the plane!

It makes sense, though. If the situation was reversed, I know I'd have my share of doubts and second thoughts. It's probably even worse for him, given what happened with his dad, and then what happened to me...

He knows better than most how breakable we are, how unpredictable and unfair life can be. There really are no guarantees; there's no pause button. People you naively assume will always be there might _not_ be waiting for you right where you left them.

 _Of course_ he's terrified.

He can't let that fear dictate how he lives his life, though. _I_ can't let him.

"I'm not going anywhere." I promise him, struggling to keep my expression composed and confident when he summons the nerve to look me in the eyes again.

I honestly don't know how I manage to hold it together when _his_ expression is breaking my heart.

"You don't _know_ that."

"And you don't know that I'm wrong, or that you quitting your job and staying in L.A. with me twenty-four-seven is going to stop anything bad from ever happening to me again."

"But-"

"Listen to me, you're going to get on that plane tomorrow and go and have the most _amazing_ time in Bali with Adam and the rest of the band. And when you come home in a couple of weeks, I'm going to be there waiting to hear all about it." His grip on my hand tightens, and I can tell that he needs something more. He's hearing me, but he's still not convinced. "It doesn't matter if you're gone for two days, or two weeks, or two months, I will always be waiting for you when you come home. _Always_. And I _promise_ I'll take care of myself while you're away. I'll eat healthy food and get plenty of sleep, I'll limit my use of sharp objects and stay away from the bad parts of town... I'll even look both ways before crossing the street."

"That's not fucking funny." He pouts petulantly, trying to tug his hand away from mine.

But I refuse to let him go.

"It wasn't meant to be funny; I meant every word of it. I'm _not_ going anywhere, baby, I _swear_."

Everything suddenly seems to stop as soon as the word leaves my mouth. I didn't call him "baby" to distract him, that wasn't my intention. Calling him "baby" _at all_ wasn't intentional. But just like the very first time he ever used that term of endearment with me, it felt completely natural and it came at the perfect moment. It breaks through the pain and heartache, shatters the anxiety and hopelessness, and leaves him with a small but genuine smile on his face.

"You never called me that before."

My lips twitch into a faint, fond smirk as I recall how I said almost the exact same thing to him. I remember it so clearly, as though it was yesterday. It's crazy to think how much we've been through and how much has changed since that night.

"It just slipped out."

"I kinda liked it."

"Good to know." I grin, gladly meeting him halfway when he  begins to lean in closer.

From the second our mouths find one another, it's done. This discussion, his indecision, all of it. The rest of the world becomes an afterthought, it's all so far from our minds that it may as well not exist anymore. He's all I hear, all I taste, all I see and feel.

He's everything to me, and I know I'm everything to him.

Unlike before, we're in no rush to fulfill some kind of overdue desire or satiate any kind of unbearable craving. This time, neither of us wants to skip even the briefest or lightest of touches, we want to experience every last one of them. Nothing is unnecessary, it's _all_ essential. I _need_ him to kiss me for as long as he can stand to, and he _needs_ me to spend exorbitant amounts of time mapping out every last little detail of his body with my fingertips. I don't think I ever realized it was possible to be so fascinated by something so minor as the dimple of someone's elbow, or the peaks and valleys of their hip bones. I'm captivated by every little bit of him, though. Every soft curve and every hard angle, every irrefutable perfection and every perceived flaw.

He's lucky my camera is well out of reach, and that I'm far too preoccupied with kissing the scar just above his right knee to bother trying to retrieve it, or he'd find himself fending off another impromptu boudoir photo shoot. But no one could really blame me for wanting to spend hours photographing him; he's beautiful. I firmly believe that faces like his are the reason cameras were invented in the first place. And the fact that I get to see this face when I wake up in the morning and before I fall asleep at night, the fact that I'm lucky enough to be allowed to spend countless hours discovering and memorizing every tiny detail of it still _completely_ blows my mind.

The room is entirely dark by the time our bodies are spent once again. But the loss of light was so gradual that my eyes adjusted to it every step of the way, so I can still see him just as clearly as I could before the sun finished setting. For the longest time, we simply lie side by side in the silent, unlit room. Neither of us says a word as we stare at one another, but right now there's nothing that really needs to be said. I think he's doing exactly what I'm doing: committing this moment to memory, clinging to it, savoring it.

This is the kind of thing that keeps us going until we can be together again.

The only reason we eventually break eye contact and force ourselves to turn one of the bedside lights on is because his stomach starts grumbling. He tries to ignore it for a while, insisting that he's not really all that hungry, but it's not long before my own stomach joins in the debate. After perusing the room service menu for a while, we end up ordering _four_ entrees between the two of us. Apparently he can go from "not really that hungry" to "starving" in all of five seconds. But as he so rightly points out, we've expended _a lot_ of energy this afternoon.

I call down and place the order while he's in the bathroom, and I can't resist adding on a brownie sundae for dessert. I doubt either of us will actually have any room left by the time we've polished off our steaks and salads, but the prospect of licking warm chocolate fudge sauce off of his chest is _far_ too tempting for me to pass up...

We spend most of the night alternating between watching whatever sitcom reruns happen to come on TV, and ignoring the TV completely in favor of marathon makeout sessions. Neither of us openly admits that we're trying to stay awake all night, but by three o'clock in the morning it's pretty obvious that we are. Sleeping is a waste of what little time we have left, and I'd rather be a zombie all day than miss another second with him before we have to say goodbye.

Unfortunately, my control over whether or not I stay awake only lasts so long. I feel myself drifting, no matter how many times I try to keep it from happening. I tell him not to let me sleep, but I'm not sure he's going to be able to keep _himself_ awake, let alone stop me from passing out. I think I murmur something to him about setting an alarm, and he tells me it's already done and not to worry about it... so I don't.

But I should have.

The next time I open my eyes I find myself face-to-face with the alarm clock on the nightstand, and the time it's displaying is a mere twenty minutes before his flight back to L.A. is due to take off!

" _Shit_!" I try to sit up quickly, but it feels like my whole damn body is tangled up in the bed sheets, and I almost fall off the edge of the mattress in my attempts to flail my way to freedom. "Tommy, wake up! We oversl..." When I reach down to shake him awake, my hand connects with a pillow in the empty space he was occupying when I was last conscious. "...slept."

At first I tell myself that he must be in the bathroom, but I think some part of me knows better. Besides the fact that there are absolutely no sounds coming from anywhere in our hotel room _or_ the kid's room, one quick glance around tells me that he's gone. His phone and charger are gone, his bags are gone, the guitar I gave him for Christmas is gone...

I can't believe he left without saying goodbye!

Even if I could get dressed and catch the hotel shuttle to the airport, I wouldn't even get there in time to see his plane take off. There's _no_ way for me to see him before he leaves, it's too late. I can't decide if I'm more furious or hurt right now, both emotions are raging inside of me so strongly.

I want to grab my phone off of the nightstand and throw it at the wall!

Or maybe I just want to grab it so that I can call him and ask him why he would do this, _how_ he could do this.

I get as far as picking my phone up, but before I can decide what to do with it, it starts to ring in my hand. Seeing his face on the screen makes my already conflicted emotions even more tumultuous. It's not just anger and distress anymore, it's a dozen other things. I honestly don't know what to say to him right now. I don't want to fight with him, but I don't want to whine like some needy little cry baby, either.

All I know is that I don't want him getting on that plane without me saying _anything_ to him at all.

And he clearly has something to say to me, so...

"I can't believe you did this!" I snap at him as soon as I accept the call. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

He sighs resignedly, obviously not at all surprised by my reaction. "Look, I get why you're mad and everything, and I know it seems like I did a really shitty, selfish thing, but I can explain."

"Really?"

"I just... I couldn't do it." He tells me, his apologetic tone laced with shame. "I know it sounds stupid, but I _couldn't_ say goodbye."

"So you just _left_?"

"I didn't want to! I was going to wake you up so you could come to the airport with me, I really was. But then... I dunno. I was looking at you, and I was thinking about what it was gonna be like, you know? And I just couldn't fucking stand the idea of you being here. I didn't wanna do the sad shuffle through the security line with you watching me the whole fucking time, or the one-last-glance thing where you try not to look completely fucking miserable while you wave me off. I didn't want that to be the last thing I saw, it would've been all I could fucking think about for _days_!"

"But now I don't get to see you at all!" I argue pitifully, wishing his reasoning didn't make me less annoyed at him. I'm stuck in this futile middle ground between wanting to forgive him and wanting to continue bitching at him a little longer. "This _sucks_ , Tommy. If I had known you wouldn't be here when I woke up, I would have at least kissed you goodbye before I fell asleep."

"If I'd known I was gonna leave like this, I would've done things differently, too. It seemed better this way. I left you asleep and safe... it was just easier to leave you like that than it would've been if I'd had to leave you alone in a fucking airport."

"But I'm _still_ alone now."

"I know, I'm sorry. It didn't feel so selfish when I did it. I really thought it was better for both of us. But the more I thought about it on the way here, the more I realized I'd totally fucked up. It was too late to do anything about it, though. You wouldn't have been able to get down here before I had to go through security and everything. I just... I screwed up, and I'm _sorry_."

"I just wish I'd gotten to see you this morning, that's all." I mumble, looking around the too-quiet hotel room which suddenly feels much colder as it hits me all over again that he's not here anymore.

"Hold on a sec."

Before I can ask him what's going on, I hear the double beep of our call ending. It's like a kick in the chest to pull the phone away from my ear and find that it really _is_ over. I guess he got disconnected, or maybe they made him turn his phone off. So now not only do I not get to see him, I also won't get to finish speaking to him, either. I shouldn't have pouted and complained the entire time, I should have let the whole thing go sooner. It was a waste of an opportunity to tell him how much I love him and how much I'll miss him. I know I can call him in a few hours when he lands in L.A., but... it's not the same.

I don't want him to _ever_ get on a plane without hearing an "I love you" from me right before he walks down the boarding ramp. I don't care if he's flying to another city in the same state or to the other side of the world, I need him to hear those words before he goes _anywhere_.

Suddenly my phone is buzzing in my hand again, but this time when I look down at it I see a mirror image of myself on the screen, along with the words "Tommy would like to FaceTime...". I accept the call eagerly, grateful and relieved that I get another chance to do this right.

"Hey."

His eyes are tired and sad despite his attempts to smile for me, and even though it's pointless and stupid, I find myself reaching up to tenderly touch his face on my phone screen. "Hey."

"You said you wanted to see me, so..."

"How is it possible that I already miss you? You haven't even left the city yet."

"'Cause you're a schmaltzy idiot, maybe?" He suggests good-naturedly.

I should probably be offended, or at least pretend to be. But I just can't be bothered. "Guilty."

"Yeah, well, if you're a schmaltzy idiot..."

He looks away from me for a moment and I watch intently as he retrieves something off screen, probably from his pocket, and holds it up for me to see. But he's holding it so close to the screen that I can't figure out what it is.

"Move back a little..." The further back his hand moves, the more clear the object he's holding becomes. It may as well still be out of focus for me, though, because I have _no_ idea what he's doing with it. " _Why_ do you have one of Asta's socks?"

"Why do you think?"

Wow. He really _is_ a schmaltzy idiot! "I feel _so_ much less pathetic now."

"Don't be an asshole."

"You know, you could've just taken one of her socks out of the laundry when you got back to L.A. instead of taking one of the few pairs she had with her in Tulsa." I continue to tease him mercilessly, wishing that FaceTime video was higher quality so I might be able to tell if he's blushing or not.

"It's not like I gave it a whole lot of thought, okay? I saw the damn sock and I took it! Leave me alone."

Yup. He's blushing. I don't need to see it, I can _hear_ it. "If it makes you feel any better, I used to do something similar whenever I went out of town when Ez was a baby."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't steal his socks or anything, but I always took a bottle of the baby lotion we used on him after his baths. It wasn't _exactly_ what he smelled like; there's nothing like that baby smell. But it was close enough."

"Huh..."

"There's an extra bottle of Asta's lotion in one of those little storage baskets under the diaper table in the nursery, if you want it."

"I'm good with the sock, thanks." He smirks. "I _was_ thinking about stealing some of your shampoo, though."

"Aww! You're getting more and more sentimental by the second!"

"Fuck off, or I'll find myself a nice Balinese girl and _never_ come back."

He's so adorable when he's embarrassed. I know I shouldn't provoke him, but it's so hard not to! "Or maybe a nice Balinese _guy_? No reason to limit your dating pool, dude."

"Whatever."

It doesn't matter how much effort he puts into pouting, I can tell he's so close to smiling that he can hardly contain it. And it doesn't matter how much playful banter and mockery we engage in, all we're really doing is delaying the inevitable. We're trying to make this goodbye less painful somehow, but once all of the childish name-calling is done, we're still going to be right back where we started.

One way or another, whether it's in person or via a FaceTime call, we're still going to have to let go.

He sighs heavily, glancing at something or someone off screen. "The airline person is like glaring at me right now. I'm pretty much the only person _not_ on the plane."

"Okay... well... I wouldn't want you falling out of favor with the flight attendants on my account or anything."

"Fuck 'em." He mutters defiantly. "It says the gate doesn't close until ten minutes before takeoff, which means they're trying to cheat me out of two whole minutes, so-"

"Tommy..."

"Whose side are you on?"

"I don't want you missing your flight."I insist earnestly, even though it's not entirely true. Part of me would _love_ it if he got stranded here and I got to keep him a little longer. "Those gate attendants can be pretty vengeful when they wanna be. I speak from almost twenty-years of air travel experience. They get all drunk on their _very_ limited power, and the next thing you know they're ordering the baggage handlers to unload your luggage from the plane and telling you there are no seats available on any other flights for the rest of the day!"

"So? I'll just come back to the hotel and hang out with you." He informs me with a smug grin. "Sounds like a fucking flawless plan to me!"

"Great! I'm sure Adam will be _thrilled_ to hear that he'll have no lead guitarist to accompany him to Bali tomorrow."

"He'll survive. In fact, I'd be doing him a favor."

"How do you figure?"

"I'm not _really_ a very good guitar player. I mostly just get by on my looks."

"You're so full of it." I chuckle softly, hoping he can see me rolling my eyes at him.

"It's true, ask Adam!" He maintains, somehow managing to keep a completely straight face. "He didn't hire me for my musical ability, he hired me for my fabulous hair."

"Just shut up and get on the damn plane, loser."

"Make me."

"I'm hanging up now-"

"Wait!" I almost want to laugh at the sudden panic in his tone. It's like he sincerely believed I would actually end our call without giving him a chance to properly say his goodbyes. "I'll call you when I land, okay?"

"Sure." I smile faintly, swallowing the quickly expanding lump in my throat that developed as soon as this conversation turned serious again. "But if you get too busy-"

"I'll call you when I land." He repeats resolutely.

Fuck, this is hard.

I don't know why it never gets any better; it should be easier by now. Before, when I was still married and all we got were tiny fragments of time together, saying goodbye was pure agony because we never knew for sure when we'd see each other again. But even after we became a couple, and we knew we'd be together again sooner rather than later, it was _still_ painful to be apart for more than a couple of days. And it seems that the longer we spend together in between separations, the harder those relatively short times apart end up being.

"I should go." He tells me glumly. "The gate person just picked up the phone... I think she's telling them to leave without me."

"What a bitch."

His crestfallen expression brightens a little. Not by much, but it's enough to make my smile just a little wider as well. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"See ya'..."

"Yeah... see ya'."

It's not "goodbye", it shouldn't feel so bad. But it does. It doesn't matter what wording we use, it's all the same. And watching his face disappear from the screen sends my heart sinking faster than a boulder.

I let the phone fall out of my hand and onto the pillowy comforter gathered at my waist, my eyes slowly surveying the quiet hotel room around me as I prepare to spend the next few hours wallowing in loneliness and self-pity. Those plans are quickly scrapped, though, when I notice how tidy everything is compared to the way it looked the last time I paid any real attention to it. Not only are all of Tommy's belongings gone, but all of the kids toys have been cleared away, and all of my stuff has been packed up, too.

Everything except for a clean change of clothes sitting in a neatly folded pile at the end of the bed.

All I have to do when it comes time to check out is get out of bed and get dressed. He took care of everything else. He took care of me. Hell, he _packed_ for me, and he _hates_ packing!

I have _no_ right to sit here and feel sorry for myself. I somehow managed to find someone who loves me so completely, he's thinking of me constantly. He's always putting my wants and needs ahead of his own, even when I try to stop him. He'd give up _everything_ for me if I'd let him (but I won't).

He's the most incredible person I've ever known, and for some strange reason I'm his world.

I am so insanely lucky.

And I am _so_ insanely in love.

 

 


	122. Chapter 122

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is it. "The End". It's been swimming around in my over-crowded brain for months and months now, and while I was excited and relieved to finally get to write it, it was also a challenge trying to find the words to describe everything just right. I don't think I managed it, but I also know there's nothing more I can say or add to it that will make me any happier with it. 
> 
> I'm going to try to get the "soundtrack" put together and posted later this week, in case anyone is interested in it. So if/when there is another update to this story, it is NOT another chapter. lol
> 
> I REALLY appreciate you guys sticking with me on this crazy journey. When I started FUBAR, I didn't think it would even be 30 chapters long. Then I thought maybe 50... maybe 70... maybe 90-something... 
> 
> I hope this final installment answers any lingering questions (and doesn't pose too many more!). You can let me know on twitter if there's anything you wanted to know that wasn't covered (@SNAFUFIC).
> 
> A special thanks to pyrosgf, because she's been cheering me on since the start of SNAFU, and sometimes I think she loves Tommy/Taylor even more than I do. lol Her encouragement has meant the world to me. <3 (Check out her Tommy/Taylor one-shots: http://archiveofourown.org/series/59946)
> 
> Again, THANK YOU!!!

  


 

 

_ New York City, New York - June 18th, 2013 _

__

For some people a year is a long time.

Each day is pretty much the same as the next, they drag on, nothing ever really happens. Some people try to make the weeks and months pass faster by counting down to special events, longing for significant moments to break up the monotony.

My life has _never_ been like that. My days don't drag on, they blur together. I don't count down to special events because half the time I don't even know what day of the week it is. I've often longed for a little monotony to break up the overwhelming number of significant moments that seem to come my way!

I used to think it was the music. Between writing, recording, producing, touring, promoting, and running our own record label, there was never a dull moment. I thought that maybe things would slow down when I gave all that up and became a full time, stay-at-home father. But it _really_ didn't. This past year has been one of the most insanely hectic of my life, if not _the_ most insanely hectic.

I'm talking nineteen-ninety-seven, post-'MMMBop' hectic!

And this next year is probably going to be even busier for us. I try not to think about it too much, to be honest, because thinking about it would likely result in me losing what little is left of my mind. I just have to take each day as it comes, get as much rest as it's possible to get when you have five kids and a boyfriend who is far too tempting for his own good (or mine!), and be grateful that I have everything I could possibly want.

For example, right now, I'm lying in an incredibly comfortable bed in an awesome hotel room in New York City, one of my favorite places on Earth. My kids are all sleeping soundly in the next room, the rest of my family is one floor down, my best friend is flying in from L.A. to join us later today, and the love of my life is currently doing yoga right in front of me. Because he's a tease and he knows it drives me crazy. He does it most mornings at home, too. I'll wake up, and roll over, and be greeted by the sight of him in downward facing dog or cobra pose or some other animal that shouldn't be in _any_ way alluring. He frequently wears nothing but a pair of sweat pants, or sometimes just his boxers, which would be enough of a turn on for me on its own! But watching him flow slowly from one pose to the next, bending and stretching and arching his back... he makes it looks like sex! And I swear he does it intentionally, even though he's adamant that he doesn't.

The looks he casts my way over his shoulder once he realizes I'm awake tell a whole other story.

He's not the only one of us who has become more physically active and health conscious these last few months, though. I might not be a 'yogi', but that's mostly because the few times I tried attending a class with Tommy and Isaac, I couldn't get myself to stop making to-do lists in my head long enough to concentrate on my breathing or my balance. It just wasn't for me.

But I wasn't lying when I promised myself that I would take better care of my body once my leg was healed enough for me to do any kind of exercise. After months of being way too sedentary for my liking, I was more than ready to start getting in shape as soon as my cast came off. Unfortunately for me, it wasn't that simple. I still had _a lot_ of physical therapy to contend with in order to be able to simply _walk_. And once my physical therapist cleared me for "non-strenuous physical activity", I started walking _every_ day.

Owning a home less than a mile from some of the most popular hiking trails and breath-taking views in Los Angeles makes it a _crime_ not to take advantage of them. So every morning I'd get up at sunrise, corral Duke (our family's over-excitable Boxer-Terrier mix), and we'd make the two mile hike to the Hollywood sign and back. I _had_ to get up that early because it took me twice as long as any normal person to make the round trip! I felt weak and pathetic, I hated how out of breath I was before I'd even really made it to the more challenging parts of the trail. But with Tommy there telling me I was doing great (while also making sure that I didn't push myself too hard, of course), I slowly built up more and more stamina and strength. And when I was _finally_ allowed to do more than just walk, we started running the trail together instead.

Well... we ran some of it (it's fucking _steep_!) and walked the rest. I was a little self-conscious about it at first, I'll admit; I've been told I look stupid when I run. But then I thought about everything Tommy had seen of me up until that point. The good, the bad, the ugly, _and_ the stupid. And I realized that not running in front of him because I was worried about what he'd think of how I looked was _way_ more stupid than my running form could ever be. Besides, he's not the most graceful runner in the world, either.

And teasing each other about little things like that is great fodder for sexual tension.

At first we'd return home every morning and collapse onto our bed in a breathless, sweaty heap (and not for any fun reasons), too tired to even take a shower until we'd had time to recuperate. But again, it got easier and easier every day, and it was amazing to be able to feel my endurance increasing and my body not only returning to the state of physical health it had been in before the accident, but _surpassing_ it. Now when we return home from our morning runs, we collapse on our bed and channel our runner's high into a _much_ more pleasurable form of cardio. I'm kind of addicted to it. I'm in love with life, with being alive and _feeling_ alive.

For the first time ever, I can honestly say that I wouldn't change a thing.

Well... maybe _one_ thing.

"When you're all done sticking your ass-ana in the air, I'm gonna need you to bring it over here."

He glares at me playfully, wriggling his butt around just to spite me. "Fuck off. I'm trying to focus."

"So am I! I'm trying to focus on your ass-ana."

"Stop calling it my ass-ana! It's totally fucking inappropriate." He chastises me as seriously as he can.

But it's impossible to take him seriously when I _know_ that he isn't at all concerned by me disrespecting yogi speak. He's doesn't do yoga for the spirituality, he does it because he likes the definition it gives him in his upper body! And I won't deny that I'm a big fan of that also. Not to mention how much more flexible he is now than he was just a few months ago...

"Seriously, can't you just do what you're doing right now _on_ me? I'll lie really still, you won't even know I'm here!"

"You wanna be my yoga mat?" He snorts in amusement.

"Yes, please."

"Can you guarantee I'm not gonna impale myself on your dick every time I Chaturunga?"

Have mercy! "I'm totally blanking on what that is, but you make is sound _really_ hot."

"So that's a no, then?"

"Probably." Hey, at least I'm honest.

I can see him shaking his head at how pathetically horny I am as he bends his arms and lowers himself slowly to the ground, leaving me staring unapologetically at his triceps. "I'm almost done."

"So am I!"

"Hey, my practice isn't meant to be free porn for you."

"Don't pretend you don't _love_ the fact that I get off on watching your 'practice'." I accuse teasingly. "You live to find new ways to get me worked up, and you _know_ it. I wouldn't be surprised if you made half of these poses up just to torture me! You probably wake up every morning and think ' _how can I make my ass look even more appealing today?_ '"

Despite the fact that his face is completely turned away from mine, I _know_ there's a smug little smirk on those gorgeous lips of his. Just picturing it is almost enough to make me moan out loud. I have absolutely zero self-control when it comes to this man, and I'm pretty sure it's only getting worse and not better as time goes on!

After a few more minutes of gazing longingly at his shoulders, and back, and arms, and legs in the early morning light, marveling at every little muscle I can see beneath his skin, he finally finishes his "practice" for the day and makes his way back over to our bed. I'm still blatantly staring at him, studying every move he makes, and I can tell that he's torn between his natural tendency to be self-conscious, and the self-confidence boost he gets from driving me crazy. There's a sultry look in his eyes and a faint blush on his cheeks.

He's a tangled mess of contradictions and I never get tired of trying to unravel him.

"Why you gotta be all naked and fuckable?" He groans, kissing his way up my bare chest as I stretch languidly beneath him and thread my fingers through his hair. "You _know_ we've gotta get ready to leave like... ten minutes ago."

"I wasn't the one sticking my ass in the air like a cat in heat."

"You didn't have to watch. You coulda gotten _your_ ass out of bed and taken a fucking shower or something else productive."

"Nuh uh!" I protest with a pout. "It's the best part of my day. It's like foreplay!"

"Good, 'cause now we don't have time for _actual_ foreplay." He informs me with a wicked grin, pecking my lips before grabbing me by the hand and tugging me towards the edge of the mattress. "Get in the shower, perv, or we're gonna be late _again_."

It doesn't matter if we skip the "actual" foreplay, or if we have sex in the shower rather than taking a shower _after_ sex, we're still late. We usually are, for one reason or another (it's not _always_ sex related...).

But that doesn't stop Ike from expecting us to show up when we're supposed to. You'd think he'd know better by now, but I guess he enjoys being eternally frustrated with me. Some things never change. Thankfully he's not awake enough to give us one of his usual lectures on punctuality, and we all pile into the car that's waiting to take us over to the Good Morning America studios without anyone so much as mentioning our tardiness. Though the telltale eye roll and smirk I receive from Zac as the driver pulls away from the hotel just about says it all.

It's been a long time since we were on the promo circuit, getting up at the ass crack of dawn to rehearse and record performances for morning talk shows, running back and forth all over New York and Los Angeles and every city in between to do radio interviews, news segments, and photo shoots. Even last summer when we were trying to get back into touring, things were pretty low key.

 But when you have a new single out and you want it to be at least somewhat successful, low key won't cut it.

GMA is the first in a _long_ line of engagements we have scheduled for this week. We're booked on talk shows of every kind all over New York for the next couple of days. Being back in front of the camera again is pretty nerve-wracking, even to someone like me who has a lifetime of experience with being in the spotlight. I'm completely out of practice! But the thing I'm even more anxious about is the show we're playing tonight. It's kind of a 'comeback' show, I guess. It's the re-launch of our band, an attempt to reconnect with our fans after being absent for the last year. It's not even that big of a show, not compared to some of the ones we've played in the past. We could have gone bigger; the demand for tickets was definitely there. But we wanted to keep it small, not only to ease ourselves back into performing for an audience, but also to give our fans the more intimate show they deserved. Almost all of the ticket holders tonight are fanclub members. They stuck with us, they believed in us, and we want them to be the first to hear what we have in store for this summer.

After running through a quick rehearsal with our two backup musicians, we head "backstage" to change into something less comfortable and let the hair and makeup team fuss over us for a while. Tommy stays off to the side, hanging out with Nikki by the catering table and trying to keep to himself as much as possible. He's been through this a thousand times as a performer, but never as the significant other of one. Luckily, Nikki has plenty of experience in that department, and she's more than happy to help distract him from any inquisitive stares and attempts by the hosts of the show to make seemingly-innocent small talk.

There's really no such thing in this industry.

We've politely requested that our interview focus _only_ on our music and not our personal lives (my personal life, to be more specific). But we've been doing this long enough now to know that somehow, some way, they're going to figure out how to make it about me and Tommy and not the music. I guess I should cut them some slack, just this once. This is the first TV interview I've done since the world found out I was gay, after all. Other than the letter I had published in the Huffington Post last year, and the paparazzi photographs of us and the kids that have cropped up in various gossip magazines and on Perez Hilton's site sporadically over the last six months, we've stayed silent on the subject. Good Morning America is poised to receive first dibs on any little relationship tidbits they can get me to divulge. There's no way they'll pass that opportunity up, and I'd be a fool to expect them to.

When it comes time for us to perform our single live on the air, I find myself struggling with one of the biggest cases of pre-show jitters I've had since we were kids! I try telling myself that it's basically just a sound check, a warm up for the concert tonight, no big deal. I've sung this song hundreds of times over the past few months. Between recording our new music and rehearsing in Los Angeles the last couple of weeks, I know it by heart. But it would be _so_ like me to forget the damn words for the first time today, in front of millions of Americans who have tuned in to see if we're worth a second chance. I think Zac senses that I'm losing my cool because he quickly grabs me and Ike, putting his arms around our shoulders and pulling us into a huddle just like the ones we've shared before almost every show we've ever played.

"This is it." He tells us determinedly. "No going back now."

"Not helping." I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut tightly against the sudden onset of panic. "Say something encouraging."

"Your hair looks _awesome_ today."

"Something else!"

"Remember that show we played on the 'This Time Around Tour', where the sound system kept cutting out, and Zac's drum kit started to come apart, and you fell on your ass in front of an entire state fair?" Ike recounts coolly.

I wish I had _any_ idea where he's going with this, but I'm kind of afraid to find out. "Yeah..."

"Well, this probably won't be any worse than that."

"That... was _almost_ inspiring." Snarks Zac, receiving a playful glare from our older brother in return.

"I'm just saying, we've survived some really shitty shows. We've survived, _period_. This is cake!"

"Mmm... cake..."

One of the crew taps me on the arm before informing me that we're "on in five".

And now I can't feel my legs.

"Let's do this." Ike concludes semi-confidently, patting us both on the back before making his way over to his guitar, leaving me stood staring at my keyboards like a deer caught in headlights.

Zac gives me a gentle nudge towards them, which snaps me out of my stupor. He smiles at me sympathetically when my terrified eyes meet his. "Break a leg."

Oh God. " _Never_ again."

With a deep breath, I take the three steps necessary to place me right behind my keyboards, and as soon as I settle my fingertips on the keys I feel myself relax. It's as though something passes through me, something reassuring emanating from the familiar instrument in front of me, flowing up my arms, into my chest, and radiating to every cell in my body.

Lara Spencer, one of the show's anchors, introduces us, and the small studio audience and gathered crew cheers and applauds as the cameras all turn to us. I begin playing the opening bars of the song, focusing at first on every move my fingers make, ensuring that they don't slip and hit a false note. But then I look up, and my eyes find Tommy's, and I realize I have nothing to worry about.

I could _never_ get this song wrong.

_"I've got a feeling that I cannot contain_

_I can't believe this moment_

_You've got your eyes locked on me..."_

"Ladies and gentlemen, Hanson!" Lara announces enthusiastically, applauding as she approaches us after our performance and we each step out from behind our instruments to greet her. "It's _so_ good to have you guys back on the show with us, it feels like it's been forever since we last saw you!"

"It feels like forever to us, too." Ike agrees with a soft chuckle. "But it also kinda feels like we never left, you know? It all kinda comes back to you, like riding a bike."

"Well, you're definitely still the incredible performers that I remember you being."

"Thank you."

"Now, you're here in New York not only to play us your new single, 'Lost Without You', which I'm sure we'll all be humming to ourselves for _days_." She smiles charmingly. "You're also here to play your first show in the States in... _eleven_ months, is that right?"

Zac nods, letting that unsettling fact sink in all over again for a second before forcing one of his usual ear-to-ear smiles. "Yeah, it's pretty crazy that it's been that long already. We're _more_ than ready to get out there again and let the fans hear what we've been working on."

"Speaking of which, you have a new album coming out soon."

"We do! It's called 'Anthem'." Beams Ike proudly, always eager to discuss it with anyone who'll listen. We all are. "It's not _quite_ finished yet, but it's getting closer every day. With Taylor living in Los Angeles, the band is kind of in a long distance relationship, I guess you could say. So we've had to adapt to that, and figure out new ways to write and record with each other without always being in the same room, which is trickier and more time consuming than it might sound."

"Oh, it sounds _very_ tricky." Laughs Lara, sounding way more impressed than I'm sure she actually is. "So the album isn't available yet, but you're still touring to promote it? Is there a reason you decided to do things that way?"

"That would be my fault, too." I reply sheepishly, raising my hand as though I'm owning up to some terrible wrongdoing.

"Everything is his fault, always." Jokes Zac.

"Obviously, things are a lot different for me now than they used to be. I didn't wanna just go off on tour in the fall when the album is ready to be released and leave my kids behind for a couple of months. But I didn't wanna pull them out of school just to have them on the road with me, either. So we decided we'd tour now, while they're on summer break, even though the album isn't done yet."

"We're kind of doing the album release process in reverse this time." Ike elaborates. "Instead of releasing it and then promoting it, we figured we'd get everyone excited for it by touring first and _then_ release it once we've got people's attention."

"Sounds like a good plan! Maybe it'll catch on with other bands."

"You never know." I shrug, offering her a genial smile. "We could call it 'The Hanson Method' or something."

"There's an idea!" She laughs over-enthusiastically, which is so obnoxious that it makes me want to cringe. But I know she's only doing her job. And by smiling a little wider, I'm doing mine. "So the whole family will be on the road with you, huh? Your partners are all _very_ brave!"

"Brave is one word for it." I chuckle good-naturedly, casting a quick glance in Tommy's direction. "Crazy is another. We're just _incredibly_ lucky to have people in our lives who support us and are willing to take on all of the insanity that comes with being part of this family."

"And Taylor, your partner is a musician himself, isn't he?"

Here we go. "Yeah, he is. He's Adam Lambert's lead guitarist."

"So he must be used to all of this by now?" She pries, and I notice one of the camera's nearby turn towards him. Thankfully he's pretty much done rolling his eyes before they cut to a brief shot of him. "The life of a touring musician is nothing new for either of you."

"Yeah, we both have plenty of experience with life on the road. I'm not worried."

"How do the two of you juggle his touring schedule and yours?"

"Well, so far we haven't had to do a whole lot of juggling. Adam isn't on the road this summer, so it worked out pretty perfectly." I explain as pleasantly as I can, wishing someone would signal for her to wrap this little interrogation session up already. "We're just figuring it out as we go. That's all we really can do."

"Like Taylor said, we're all _really_ lucky to have partners who get what it is we do and are willing to do whatever it takes to support us." Ike chimes in, earning himself a grateful smile from me. "And vice versa, you know? If our wives need us at home, we do whatever we can to make sure we're there. And if Tommy needs to be on tour, Taylor will figure out how to factor that into whatever we've got going on with the band, or whatever they have going on with the kids and stuff. We've been doing this for years, so we're pretty much _expert_ multi-taskers by now."

"I'm sure you are! Now, tell me a little more about what we can expect from this new album of yours?"

A question about the one thing we're actually here to talk about? Shocking! "Well, it's got a lot of energy to it, a lot of fight."

"Because we fight a lot!" Jests Zac proudly as he pretends to elbow me in the nose. He's never been one to resist the opportunity to crack an inappropriate joke.

But somehow, even though it's too close to the truth of the past year for it to really be funny... I find myself with a genuine smile on my face anyway. And when I chance a look at Ike, I see him chuckling to himself, too. Maybe Zac's comment does hit too close to home. But home has been demolished and rebuilt, and it's stronger now than ever. The past is in the past, and we're too focused on the present and the future to let it hold us back any longer.

A few minutes later, once we're done describing the feel of the new album, discussing the inspiration behind it, and promising to come back on the show again soon, we're free to say our goodbyes to the crew, gather our belongings, and head out into Times Square. There are several dozen fans waiting outside the studio to catch a glimpse of us, so Ike, Zac and I spend a little while hanging out with them, taking pictures, signing various CD sleeves, posters, and t-shirts, and thanking them for coming out so early in the morning to support us. Nikki and Tommy make a beeline for the waiting car by the studio doors, narrowly escaping having any candid shots taken of them before they're safely concealed behind the tinted windows. Part of me wants to go and join them, but our fans deserve better than that from me. And I know Tommy doesn't mind waiting in the wings.

Besides, I basically did the same thing for him just a few days ago.

It was my kid's first time attending a Pride festival. Hell, it was _my_ first time attending one! But at least I knew what it was and what to expect. They spent quite a while wandering around with their eyes and mouths wide open. Penny was in confetti rainbow heaven, and the boys _loved_ all of the people and the excitement. I just loved the fact that I was comfortable attending a Pride parade for the first time in my life, that I didn't have to worry about people questioning my reasons for being there. But mostly, I loved the fact that I _was_ finally proud to be out and to have everyone in the world know it.

Tommy spent as much time with us as he could, but I knew he was there to work and I assured him that it was more than okay for him to stop and mingle with fans, or to disappear for a few hours to do whatever he needed to do with Adam and the band. I think it's going to take us both a bit of getting used to; neither of us has ever been the boyfriend of a "rock star" before. But we're quickly figuring out how to play that role for each other, and I'm confident we'll only become more adept at it as time goes on. Because we're both determined to make this work, to have our careers _and_ our family. We know it's not going to be easy, but nothing worth having ever really is. You have to work for what you want, and then you have to continue working if you want to keep it. And we do.

The kids are all wide awake when we get back to the hotel, and we're greeted by the sounds of cartoons and Asta's discontent crying as soon as we open the door to their room. It takes less than a second to recognize her fussy-for-no-good-reason fake wailing, and it only intensifies the moment she sees us (well, Tommy). Rolling his eyes, he waits for her to finish her excessively tearful trek across the room towards us. She practically falls to the ground at his feet in an over-emotional heap, and I try not to laugh as he lifts her into his arms.

Of course, the sobbing cease almost instantly.

"Why you gotta be such a little turd, huh?" He asks her as she stuffs her thumb into her mouth and settles against his chest, looking up at him through big, innocent, watery eyes. "It's _not_ cute!"

"She does it 'cause it works. You can't say no to her, and she knows it." I remark, to which Tommy responds by very maturely sticking out his tongue at me. "It's true! You're a total push-over."

"Am not!"

"Right. You put up a really good fight there for all of half a second."

"I'm just trying to spare Jenna's sanity." He insists defensively. "If devil child here drives her so crazy that she quits, we're screwed!"

"It's gonna take a whole lot more than early-onset terrible twos to scare me off." Jenna chuckles as she picks up stray items of children's clothing from what seems like every piece of furniture in the room. " _Nothing_ could keep me from going on tour with you guys this summer. I don't think I've ever been so excited about anything in my whole life!"

"You _so_ don't know what you're gettin' yourself into." He warns her, his face adopting an exaggeratedly somber expression. "It's gonna be a _total_ clusterf... f word."

"Hey!"

"I'm not talking about the shows, I'm talking about everything else! It's gonna be like one of those dumbass reality show where a bunch of people who can't stand each other are forced to live together for two months!"

"It'll be fine." I lie with a dismissive wave of my hand. "You've been getting along great with Ike lately, and most days you can even be nice to Zac without needing to take a nap afterwards."

"It's not them I'm worried about, it's Pam and Kate!"

Yeah...

I like to pretend they're not coming.

Which actually won't be so hard to do half the time, since Ike and Zac are sharing a separate bus from us, and Pam is going to be traveling with them. Still, there's no way we can avoid spending time together when we're _not_ on the buses. Especially since Pam is going to want to be with the kids as much as she can.

But honestly, I'm not even all that worried about how she's going to behave around us anymore. I wouldn't say we're on great terms, but we're at least able to have civilized discussions about the kids when we need to, and sometimes we even find ourselves making polite small talk. I've been doing my best to make sure that she feels included in their lives. Whether it's via twice weekly Skype sessions, or by flying her out to L.A. to help Jenna take care of them while _I_ jetted off to Minsk for a couple of days in March to surprise Tommy as a thirtieth birthday present to myself!

Though I know she'll never _fully_ accept him as a father figure to her grandchildren, she seems to respect the fact that _they_ see him as one, and she rarely undermines his authority.

At least, not in front of them. 

Kate, on the other hand, still refuses to acknowledge Tommy's existence half the time, let alone acknowledge him as part of our family. Which is actually just fine by him. And I don't really care if she hates _both_ our guts, I only care that she keeps that fact to herself when the kids are around. For the most part, she does. And I do the same, for the sake of my kids and hers, but mostly for Zac. Their relationship is _much_ more stable now than it was last year, which means that he's ten times happier than he was.

So as long as he stays happy and she stays quiet, we shouldn't have a problem.

"I'm betting Kate will be as eager to avoid us as we are to avoid her. If you find yourself cornered, just... smile and say something nice. She'll probably burst into flames."

He snorts in dissent, shaking his head at my simplistic view of the world. "And when I get cornered by Alex, then what do I do? If I smile at him I'm gonna get groped, and if I kick him in the nuts I'm gonna get in trouble!"

"I guess you're just gonna have to stick close by me at all times, then." I grin, pecking him sweetly on the cheek. "I'll protect you."

"How, exactly? By using your body as some kind of a shield? I don't see how me watching Alex grope _you_ is gonna make me kicking him in the nuts any _less_ likely!"

"The only person Alex is gonna be groping is Z."

"Ten bucks says he's grabbed your ass at least _once_ before the first show."

I don't wanna make a bet I _know_ I'm gonna lose, that's no fun! But on the other hand, I don't have time to debate the odds of me being groped by Alex any longer than I already have; we have way too much to do today.

"You're on!"

With Jenna released from her child wrangling duties so that she can spend the rest of the day exploring New York and recharging her sanity, Tommy and I are left alone to get all five kids out of the hotel room and down to the minivan that's waiting to take us all to brunch, and then to Irving Plaza for sound check.

That might sound easy, but it's _not_.

They all insist on taking almost every book and toy they brought with them from L.A.! I want to tell them to pick _one_ thing each, but the likelihood of them getting bored of that one toy within an hour is pretty high. And with me focused on sound check, and Jenna enjoying her afternoon off, that means Tommy will be the one left suffering the consequences. So instead of arguing with them, I keep my mouth shut and let them each cram their backpacks full of as many activities as they can carry.

Our summer is going to consist of hundreds of disorganized moments just like this one. We're a traveling circus, leaving countless toys, tantrums, and bits of trail mix in our wake! But that's been my life for as long as I can remember. You can't grow up with six siblings and not become accustomed to the chaos. And you won't survive as a father of five if you don't know how to pick your battles and let the little things go.

Tommy has learned that part _fast_.

Faster than I think most guys in his position would have, and faster than I probably would have if I hadn't already been aware of it from observing my own father's parenting style. I think it probably came so naturally to Tommy because he's a pretty laid back person in general. He doesn't sweat the small stuff, he doesn't stress out over anything unimportant. He doesn't care if one of the kids spills milk all over the kitchen floor while trying to make their own cereal, or if they get pizza sauce all over the chairs in his movie room. The floor can be mopped, and the chairs can be cleaned. He has an incredible knack for tuning out petty bickering and whining, it's like he's wearing invisible headphones sometimes. And if one of them has an "I want it" meltdown in the middle of the grocery store, he simply ignores it and walks away. As soon as they realize that no one is paying attention anymore, and that they run the risk of being left behind entirely (but obviously not _really_ ), they get up off of the floor and hurry to catch up to us. He's lenient without being the pushover I like to playfully accuse him of being (although Asta really _does_ have him wrapped around her teeny tiny pinky, and she has from day one), but when he needs to be firm with them he's not afraid to do it.

Not anymore, anyway.

He used to hesitate, or look to me to dole out directions and discipline, like it wasn't his place or he thought they wouldn't listen. But they do listen to him, at least as much as they listen to me (sometimes it feels like more). They don't pull any of that "you're not my dad" crap, and they only try to play us against each other as much as they ever did with me and Natalie. It's taken a lot of stops, starts, skips and stumbles, but it feels like this family has finally found a rhythm again. We've settled into "normal", everyday life, and we're comfortable in our roles.

Relocating that rhythm to a tour bus and taking it on a two month road trip around the country is bound to come with a whole new set of surprises and challenges, but I'm confident that we'll figure those out, too.

And hopefully, when we return home in the fall, it will be with five children in tow instead of four.

Letting Ezra move back to Tulsa last year was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but I knew it was for the best. My mom has been homeschooling him, and he's not only been cooperating with her and actually doing his assignments, he has managed to catch up on all of the work he missed last year, which means that he's on track to re-enroll for fifth grade in the fall. He was seeing a therapist in Tulsa once a week when he first moved back, then once every other week, and last month it was decided that he could stop going altogether and only see his doctor on an "as needed" basis. So far, there _hasn't_ been a need. No mood swings, no seething hatred, no desperate desire to be as far away from everyone who loves him as he can get.

He's here in New York with the rest of the family because he _wanted_ to come, because he wanted to be here for the show. For me. And he'll be joining us on tour as kind of a "trial run". He spent spring break with us without incident, and if all goes well this summer, there's a good chance he'll be moving back to L.A. permanently.

I let him go with the hope that he might eventually find his way back, but with the fear that he might never want to try. Watching him take these small steps closer to home is such an immense relief. Whenever I think about the very real possibility of having him back with us, I end up with a ridiculously huge grin on my face.

Sometimes I kinda just want to jump for joy, regardless of where I am or who might be watching me!

Even though I'm insanely nervous about tonight's show, I find it almost impossible to focus on sound check as much as I know I should. Every time I look up from my keyboards, I see River and Viggo chasing their cousins around the venue, or Penny hopelessly trying to teach Junia how to do a perfect pirouette. I can't get enough of seeing them all so happy and untroubled. But by far the most distracting thing of all is the sight of Ezra (and Asta) getting a guitar lesson from Tommy. Ezra has never shown much interest in learning to play guitar before; he was drawn to the piano from the moment he could crawl over to one, just like I was. The fact that he's _choosing_ to hang out with Tommy (and Asta) in favor of sitting alone with a book or a video game is such a _huge_ change from only a year ago. He's come so far, and he's doing _so_ much better, and I sincerely believe that Tommy has played an integral part in helping him reach this place. He's helped _all_ of us without even trying, without even realizing, just by being here and being _him_.

I don't know where I'd be right now if he hadn't come back into my life when I needed him the most.

I'm _certain_ I wouldn't be sitting on a stage in New York City, mere hours away from performing brand new music to a sold out crowd.

I spent a good chunk of my time in Tulsa over Christmas writing and recording with Ike and Zac, and once I returned home to L.A. again, I missed it even more than I had before. It took me a couple of weeks of living in denial and telling myself that I _couldn't_ go back to the band, but eventually I confessed to Tommy how much I wanted it, and how much that fact _scared_ me. It didn't scare him, though. I think he'd seen it coming for months, since I first gave it all up. And ever since I told him how I felt, he's been pushing and prodding and nudging me back to it. Whether by brainstorming ways for me to write and record with my brothers at a distance, or helping me to design the small recording studio we recently had built back home. Every time I question whether or not we can _really_ make this work, whether both of us can make music a career while also making sure that the kids _always_ come first, he assures me that we can. We talk things out, we strategize, and we're _never_ without a contingency plan.

We'd both give everything up for each other and for our family, but we're both determined to make sure that won't ever be necessary. Some say you can't have it all, but we say fuck that. We _can_ have it all.

We already _do_.

Sometime in the early afternoon, my parents and siblings arrive at Irving Plaza to take all of the youngsters to Central Park Zoo before they start getting stir-crazy and climbing the walls. Nikki and Kate opt to head back to the hotel with Asta and Junia to get some rest while the three of us do phone interviews and finish preparing for tonight, but Tommy insists he'd rather hang out at the venue instead.

"You're gonna be bored out of your mind." I warn him, wishing he'd take the very hard earned break he's being offered. "Go take a nap or get a drink or... _something_."

"I'm fine where I am." He shrugs, making himself comfortable on the couch in my dressing room just to prove a point. "If I want a drink I'll just grab one from the icebox in the other room."

"All I'll be doing for the next two _hours_ is making phone calls and answering emails."

"And?"

"And," I sigh, dropping down onto the couch beside him. "As much as I love having you around, I hate feeling like I'm totally ignoring you."

"You're _not_ ignoring me, you're working." He corrects me matter-of-factly. "And I'm getting off on watching you do it."

Okay, he's officially lost his mind. "Seriously? You get off watching me answer the same questions over and _over_ again while trying to pretend that I don't want to reach down the phone and strangle the interviewer for being so unoriginal?"

"I get off on watching you, _period_. But yeah, watching you be all like professional and shit is _really_ fucking hot." Huh... interesting. "And you'd better be prepared for a _lot_ of post-show fucking tonight, 'cause after seeing you perform on GMA this morning, all I wanted to do was climb you like a damn tree."

"It's not like you've never seen me perform before!" I laugh, suddenly more eager than ever to get up on that stage.

"Actually, other than that time you sang 'MMMBop' with JJAMZ, and the song you did this morning... I _haven't_ ever really seen you perform."

I open my mouth to tell him that he's wrong, but when I try to think of an example... I can't. Because there really isn't one. Somehow we've managed to go three years without him _ever_ attending a Hanson show or seeing me play in front of a live audience!

Tonight will be the first time that he's watched me perform an entire show.

There are those insane nerves again!

"You look like you're gonna hurl." He observes, his tone laced with apprehensive amusement. "Should I like... get a bucket or something?"

Before I can tell him that a bucket is (probably) totally unnecessary, the dressing room door flies open unexpectedly and causes us both to jump in our seats a little in surprise. As soon as I see Alex standing in the doorway with a wide grin on his face and his arms outstretched for a hug, any anxiety or nausea I was feeling is gone.

I can't even remember what it was that I was so worried about!

"Who the fuck let you in?" Tommy scowls as I get up to accept Alex's embrace. "I told security no groupies, no hobos, and definitely no combinations of the two."

"Fuck you, skank." He snarks back immediately. Of course, they're both totally oblivious to me rolling my eyes at them. "I'm a V.V.V. _V_.I.P."

"Very, very, very, _very_ irritating prick?" Questions Tommy teasingly. "With a very, very, very, _very_ impotent penis?"

"Can't say I've ever had that problem." Alex informs him with a proud smile, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me closer again. "Right, beautiful?"

I haven't even formed a response, let alone begun to voice it, when Tommy gets up off of the couch and walks over to us, smacking Alex's hand off of my hip and tugging me to his side possessively. "Mention your dick to him again and I'll fucking _feed_ it to you."

"Ooh, touchy. Is someone having problems in that area?" Asks Alex in feigned concern. "You know, I'm _always_ available to fill in if there are any needs you can't quite meet."

"I'm sure Z would _love_ that." I remind him, but he simply shrugs unconcernedly before offering me a conspiratorial wink.

"She's very open minded. It's one of the things I love most about her."

"What the fuck made you think it was a good idea to ask them to open for you?" Mutters Tommy with a disapproving shake of his head, looking Alex up and down in mock disgust. "Now we're stuck on the road with _this_ asshole all fucking summer."

Anyone who didn't know better might think that Tommy and Alex totally _despise_ one another. But anyone who knows them both as well as I do knows that nothing could be further from the truth. It's like some weird, unspoken rule of their friendship that they can't say anything sincere to one another, at least not in the presence of another living being. I've eavesdropped on a couple of their conversations (accidentally!), which is how I know that they _are_ capable of treating each other with genuine respect when they think no one is listening. They _are_ good friends, they just... have a very odd way of relating to one another. And whenever I'm around, they waste a lot of time and energy fighting over me. Even though there's nothing to fight about! Tommy knows there's nothing between me and Alex and no chance of anything ever happening again, and Alex knows it, too.

It's _ridiculous_... but I'd be lying if I said I didn't find it entertaining most of the time.

"Here's an idea: why don't you two take this sickeningly sentimental love-fest out for a beer while _I_ get back to work?"

"I don't wanna get a beer with _him_." Tommy pouts like a two-year-old.

"Yes you do." Declares Alex assertively, throwing an arm around his shoulders and dragging him away from me. "You act like you hate me, but it's only to hide the fact that you _love_ me."

Bingo!

"It's not an act. I can't fucking _stand_ you ninety-nine percent of the time!"

"But that one percent is all that really matters." Alex continues to insist, squeezing his arm affectionately as they leave the room. "A little goes a long way! _You_ should know that."

Pretty much the second the sound of their good-humored bickering begins to die out, I regret telling them to leave. Not because I wish they were still here, but because I wish I could go with them!

There's a good and a bad side to every job, no matter how much you love it. And the downside to mine is the mind-numbing amount of interviews I have to give. On rare occasions, we might be lucky enough to have an interviewer who did their research (or had a team of people do it for them), or we end up on a TV or radio show that isn't quite as "by the book" as all the others. Those are the interviews I actually enjoy, when we get to joke and laugh with the host, and no one asks us if we regret our success with 'MMMBop', or acts surprised to find out that we're not kids anymore.

Sadly, the latter is true for pretty much every conversation I have all afternoon. But I perfected the art of laughing it off a long time ago. I can sound genuinely interested even when I'm bored to tears. I guess everyone needs a few coping mechanisms to make it through the less enjoyable parts of their day, even so-called "rock stars". I just keep my mind focused on the _why_ , on the reason we have to do all of this mundane promotional bullshit. If I didn't love making music so much, it wouldn't be enough. But it's more than just a career or a hobby, it's part of me, part of who I am. I didn't know who I really was without it. The few times when I allowed myself to stop and think about what I was supposed to do with my life without the band, I came up empty. There were countless possibilities, but none of them grabbed me and pulled me in the way music always has.

Once our media obligations are all taken care of, Ike, Zac and I find ourselves with some unexpected free time on our hands. No work, no wives, no kids, no fans. Just the three of us. We briefly debate spending those precious moments relaxing, but ultimately decide that we may as well do yet another run through of a couple of the less familiar songs that we're planning to play during our monster two-hour set list tonight.

That's another thing we've learned over the last twenty-years: There's no such thing as too much practice!

The first ones back to the venue just before dinner are Alex and Tommy, which doesn't surprise me at all; Tommy never planned on straying too far from my side today anyway. But they're followed closely by Jenna, Nikki and Kate, with our parents and kids (and several extra large pizzas) only moments behind. Dinner has the potential to be awkward as hell, given the odd assortment of people gathered together in one room. But thankfully, because there are so damn many of us, there's no real chance for it to get weird. There's too much going on, too many conversations to keep up with. I can only hope that this is a sign of things to come. Maybe, if we're lucky, having us all on the road together this summer will look a lot like this.

Honestly, it feels easier tonight than it has in a _very_ long time.

All too soon, the venue is packed with a restless crowd of fans, and it's time for our loved ones to wish us luck and retreat to their balcony seats. There are hugs and smiles all around, everyone is in good spirits, but I feel like I'm being shipped off to Afghanistan rather than a stage!

I definitely shouldn't have had that third slice of pizza.

"Good luck, Daddy!" Viggo grins up at me as he and River each latch on to one of my legs and squeeze until they almost cut off circulation.

"Thanks, dude." I just hope I won't _need_ it. "You guys have fun out there, okay? And be good for Tommy and Jenna."

"We will." River assures me, easily slipping back into the role of seasoned concert-goer as he flashes me the devil horns and hurries to catch up to my parents.

"Promise you'll sing my song?" Asks Penny once her younger brothers have vacated the room.

"Promise _you'll_ sing it with me?" I counter, offering her my pinky to link hers with.

She does it without hesitation, the smile on her face _so_ wide that I can't help but smile right back in return, no matter how nervous I am. "Deal!"

I make her fight for a minute to wrestle her finger away from mine, which leaves her giggling buoyantly as she practically skips out of the room. And now the only people I have left to say "goodbye" to are Ezra and Tommy. And Asta, who has no idea what's going on and is starting to get cranky as a result. She probably thinks I'm leaving, and she's _not_ happy about it. But hopefully, once I get up on stage in a few minutes and she can see that I'm still here, she'll settle down.

Or she'll throw a fit because she can't be on stage with me.

 _Or_ she'll fall asleep. 

"I'm _really_ glad you're here, buddy." I tell Ezra wholeheartedly, noting the blush that instantly invades his pale cheeks before he bows his head and shrugs one shoulder as though it's no big deal. But it's a _huge_ deal to me; he's taking yet another step closer to us being a family again, and he knows it. "I bet you wish you were watching TV at the hotel, huh?" I tease him lightly. "You've been to more of these things than most of our fans, it's probably all totally unexciting for you."

"It's been a long time since I came to a show."

Yeah, it has. "Well... I hope you have a good time."

"I will."

There's a slightly awkward silence. There always is with us these days, but at least they seem to be getting shorter and shorter. We're still figuring out how to talk to each other again, how to be a father and son after being strangers for almost a year. It's like he was taken from me, and though we've since been reunited, he barely knows who I am anymore. And yet I remember in vivid detail who he used to be, and I miss him _so_ much. It's so hard to hold back, to not rush him to be that person again. Maybe one day he will be. But I've accepted that maybe he won't, and that's okay.

I'll love him no matter who he is, I _always_ have.

He makes a move to leave but pauses for a second. Then he turns back to me, quickly closing the small distance between us to give me a hug. It's so brief that it's over before I can even begin to return it, and I don't have a chance to speak before he hurries out of the room. Not that I have _any_ idea what to say right now.

"That did just happen, right?" I ask Tommy, staring dazedly at the empty doorway. "I didn't imagine it?"

"You didn't imagine it." He smiles knowingly as he instinctively bounces Asta in his arms in an attempt to quiet her increasing fussiness. He doesn't even have to think about that kind of thing anymore, he just does it. And even though I've become so accustomed to seeing it that it no longer causes me to stop and marvel at how far he's come, every now and again it still hits me.

"You nervous?" He asks, taking a deep breath as though maybe _he_ is feeling a little tense himself.

Oh god...

What if he's worried that he's not going to like the show?

Or maybe he's worried that it'll be a disaster and _no_ _one_ will like it!

"Put it this way... if you still have that bucket you offered me earlier, it'll probably come in really handy any minute now."

With a soft chuckle and a roll of his eyes, he steps closer to me and leans in to kiss me lightly on the lips. Or the corner of my mouth, to be more accurate. I don't know if he's afraid that I really might puke, or if he's just being a tease. Probably the latter, knowing him.

"You're gonna _kill_ it."

"In a good way, right?" I query with the biggest smile I can summon (which I'm not sure was even perceptible, to be honest).

He shakes his head at my unrelenting self-doubt, cupping my cheek in his one free hand and forcing me to look him right in the eyes so that I will see how serious he is. "In an unbelievable way."

"What if I mess up?"

He shrugs unconcernedly. "Have you ever messed up before?"

"On stage or in general?" I attempt to joke, earning myself a slap on the arm. "Of course I have."

"Did it ruin an entire show?"

After giving it a moment of thought, mostly because I'm genuinely trying to remember but partly to be facetious, I have to admit that he's got a point. "Not for anyone but _me_."

"Good."

" _Good_?" I almost squeak. "How is that good?"

"No one gives a shit whether or not _you_ have a good time, baby."

"Gee, thanks."

"Welcome."

One last kiss, and one last wink at me over his shoulder, and he disappears from the room with my baby girl in his arms. Now all that's left to do is take deep breaths to suppress any nausea and panic attacks, try not to forget any lyrics (or trip over something as soon as I set foot on the stage), and put on the best fucking show I possibly can.

I can do this...

I'm _almost_ entirely sure I can _probably_ do this...

And, as it turns out, I really _can_ do this!

From the moment I step into that spotlight, and I stare out into the sea of elated faces before me, soaking in the energy and letting the sound of their excited screams wash over me, I know I'm right where I belong. There was never a day when I was _incapable_ of doing this, when it didn't feel entirely natural. There was a time when I _chose_ not to do it so that I could be with my children, but it was never because I stopped wanting this. There were days when I was unsure that I wanted to be in the band anymore, when all of the external bullshit made it hard to see how much I still needed it. But underneath all of the doubt and the discord between the three of us, the flame was still there, still burning.

The spark was never extinguished, it just needed a little fuel.

"Are you guys ready to get 'Fired Up'?" I call out confidently, grabbing the microphone and my tambourine from beside my keyboards as the screams of the audience double in volume.

I'll take that as a yes.

For the entire duration of the first song, I can't bring myself to so much as glance up at the balcony. I _know_ Tommy is watching, and although that thought is an undeniable thrill, it's also still entirely intimidating, too. I need to ease into this, I need to focus on the fans and let their enthusiasm and unwavering passion get me past any lingering pangs of stage fright so that I can find the courage to even look his way!

It's during the opening lines of the fourth song in our set that I finally allow my eyes to wander away from the crowd and up to where my family are seated. Well, most of them are seated, but my kids and Tommy are all on their feet. As soon as the chorus hits, they're singing and clapping along. It's a pleasant surprised to see him chanting the words back to me; I know that he doesn't have many of our songs committed to memory. Being a fan of _me_ doesn't automatically make him a fan of our music. He probably knows our new stuff better than anything I created before I met him, and that's only because he was present when I wrote and recorded a lot of it.

He _inspired_ a lot of it, in one way or another.

As the evening progresses, song by song, I lose any and every care that was weighing me down. I feel one hundred percent _alive_ , and every time I catch Tommy's eye it's as though I've been injected with pure adrenaline. Seeing the smile on his face, the _pride_ , watching my children engaging in their own private dance party high above a room full of our incredible, crazy fans... it's more than I'd hoped for. When I pictured this moment, I never dreamed it would feel _this_ good. I honestly can't remember a time when performing has felt like this for me. I can't remember a time when _life_ has felt like this for me. And I know that it's because of him.

Halfway through the show it's my turn to perform a solo song. The majority of the time I tend to opt for piano ballads when I'm up here by myself, and I'm sure that's precisely what Tommy is expecting. But I still like to surprise him whenever I can; I can't have him thinking I'm too predictable. I've not only managed to keep the song selection a secret from him, I've also managed to keep the _song_ itself a secret, too. The only people who have ever heard it are Ike and Zac, but neither of them had a hand in writing a single word of it. It's one hundred percent mine.

And it's about to be one hundred percent his.

"How're you guys doing out there?" I ask the audience casually, accepting my acoustic guitar from our tech and lifting the strap over my head. "Are you having a good time tonight?" As always, the response is another round of earsplitting screaming and applause. I could ask them just about anything right now and I'd get the same response every time. "We're glad to be here in New York City, sharing new and old music with all of you. It's been way, _way_ too long."

I haven't planned too much of an intro to this song, really. I figured it wouldn't need one. He'd know it was for him, and so would everyone else. They all know our story by now, or the abridged version of it that we've chosen to share with the rest of the world.

Some of it will _always_ remain just between the two of us. I wouldn't have it any other way.

"You know, about three years ago... three years ago _this week_ , actually, I was right here in New York." I tell the rapt crowd, strumming idly at the guitar as I glance up at Tommy. His smile mirrors my own, and there's a significance to the look we share that no one else in this room is privy to. "I wasn't performing, though, I was watching someone else perform. I've been to a lot of amazing shows in my life, but I can't say that any of them have _changed_ my life quite the way that one did."

When I happen to look back out at the audience, I notice that half of the faces in the room are still entirely focused on me, but the rest have all turned their attention to Tommy. I guess that's what I get for staring at him so damn much. But he's too busy watching _me_ to notice how many people are now watching _him_.

"I never would have thought I'd meet the love of my life in a bar that served free popcorn." A soft hum of laughter spreads throughout the crowd, and I smirk as I turn my attention back to Tommy. "But a lot of things have happened to me these last three years that I never thought could or would happen. Some good, some bad... some incredible and some terrible. Call me crazy, but I honestly wouldn't change _any_ of it. Because it all led me right here, to this moment. And this moment is pretty darn perfect, if you ask me."

There's another surge of unintelligible agreement from almost everyone present, but I know that they don't understand what it is about this moment that's so perfect to me, they don't feel what I feel. Only one other person in the room, in the world, knows exactly how I feel right now.

"This one's for you." I tell him, making sure to meet his gaze and hold it for a second before I begin playing.

_"Do you want to be the one I know_

_To be the place I go_

_To be my own_

_To be my own_

_Yeah, I'd do it all over again_

_Yeah, I'd chase you right down to the edge_

_All the mistakes and the heartbreaks_

_All the bad songs and the done wrong_

_If I could do it again, I wouldn't do it right_

_'Cause I might not be here tonight_

_You held me close, close to your heart_

_Once I've sinned, I just want to be that close again_

_Do you want to be the one I know_

_To be the place I go_

_To be my own_

_To be my own_

_I don't care if no one understands_

_I've walked under the stars just holding your hand_

_All the long roads and the sorrows_

_All the broken and the borrowed_

_When it's us against the wind_

_We'll be fine_

_Do you want to be the one I know_

_To be the place I go_

_To be my own_

_To be my own_

_To be my own"_

When my fingers come to a slow halt on the guitar strings, the hushed crowd erupts into thunderous applause. But as gratifying as it is to know that they enjoyed the song (and that I got through the entire thing without any noticeable slip ups), the only reaction I care about is Tommy's. So, taking an anxious breath, I open my eyes and peer back up at the balcony...

To find that he's not there.

I know I shouldn't let it distract me from the show, I should move on and invite Ike out onto the stage to perform his own solo song. But I'm too confused to concentrate on anything besides the empty space where Tommy was standing the last time I looked up at him. The applause dies down, and intrigued chatter takes its place. There are far too many people talking amongst themselves for me to decipher anything they're saying, but I can imagine. They've all probably noticed his absence, and they've definitely noticed my disappointment. And like me, they're all wondering what the hell is going on.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my mom waving her arms around in an attempt to get my attention, and when I frown at her in question, she begins pointing like crazy to something behind me. The fans catch on before I do, and I hear cheering and clapping coming from the people on Ike's side of the stage; the people who have a good view of what's happening on _my_ side of the stage. Like a bemused idiot, I turn to look at whatever it is that's got them all so excited again.

It should come as no surprise that Tommy is standing just off stage with our tour manager, gesturing for me to join him. And yet, I'm still surprised anyway. When I don't make any move to approach him (because that would require my legs to work), he heaves a deep, exasperated sigh and walks over to me instead.

He covers my mic with his hand as soon as it's within reach, turning his back on the shrieking audience as though he's afraid they might try to read his lips if he doesn't. Knowing our fans, he's probably spot on. "What _was_ that?"

"What was _what_?"

"What you just did!"

"Uh..." Is this a trick question? "I sang a song."

"Was it _just_ a song?" He questions skeptically, uneasily, and suddenly I understand exactly what it is he's asking me.

Again, I'm sure I should have expected it. But again, I'm completely taken aback by his assumption. "You thought I was proposing? Here? _Now_?"

The worried look evaporates from his face instantly, and in its place I see the initial stages of total and utter mortification. "Well I mean, you gotta admit... it _is_ the kind of shit you'd pull."

Yeah, okay, it kinda is.

"So... what if I was proposing?" I ask, trying to keep the anticipation out of my tone, like it's no big deal to me either way. Nothing could be further from the truth. "What would you say?"

"I'd say fuck you!" He tells me bluntly. "It's my fucking turn, remember? We had a deal."

"I'm pretty sure that deal expired a _long_ time ago." I laugh softly, totally enamored by his indignance. "You had your chance-"

"That's not fair! I didn't know there was a fucking time limit!"

I shrug nonchalantly, still playing at being indifferent to his objections. "If you wanted to do it, you should've done it."

He glances back over his shoulder at all of the eyes that are studying our every move. There are hundreds of them, _thousands_ ,all watching, waiting with bated breath. It's possibly the quietest I've ever known our fans to be. I think they're hoping to overhear something if they're all completely silent. It's actually pretty funny; anytime someone so much as talks above a whisper they're immediately "shhhed" by about fifty different people.

When his eyes meet mine again, I can see the fear in them. But there's hope there, too, maybe even a little excitement. And as a small, timid smile begins to tug at the corner of his mouth, I feel my lips begin to spread into a smile as well.

"How about we just don't and _say_ we did?" He negotiates devilishly, making it impossible for me not to grin so widely it almost hurts.

And impossible for me to refuse him.

Rather than accepting to his non-proposal verbally, I curl my fingers in the front of his t-shirt and give him a gentle tug forwards. He hesitates at first, but only for a second. He's not one to turn down a kiss, and it's not like he doesn't have _plenty_ of practice with public displays of affection. The difference is, this one is real. This is no act, it's not part of a show, a stunt to get the crowd worked up and screaming their throats raw (although that's exactly the outcome it appears to be having). It may as well just be the two of us on stage in an empty venue, or shut away in private somewhere.

But it's _not_.

This is the first time we've ever done this, the first time we've deliberately kissed in full view of my fans or his, in front of dozens upon dozens of strangers (with cameras). We kiss whenever the hell we want to these days while we're out in L.A.. There's no way in hell we're going to censor ourselves for fear of ending up on some gossip blog. But we don't check for the stalkerazzi or other curious onlookers first, we just go about our lives and hope that others will do the same.

Tonight is different.

Tonight we _want_ everyone to see this, to see _us_.

Three years ago we were in this city, in a dimly lit Mid-town dive bar, sharing our first clandestine kiss on a velvet couch. I was terrified of being caught, I thought it would ruin my life. But that thought still wasn't enough to stop me. And now here we are, in the very same city, on a brightly lit stage, completely wrapped up in one another without a care in the world. I'm not terrified; I have nothing to be afraid of. He taught me to be unapologetic about who I am, not only to others but, more importantly, to _myself_.

I'm not hiding in dark corners anymore; he brought me out into the light.

I hold him close, even as our embrace draws to a gradual end and our lips slowly part. It's like I'm trying to shield him from all of the attention that's still being paid to us, even though there's really no way I can. The best I can do is take him by the hand and pull him quickly off stage and away from the sea of prying eyes. Ike is quick to take our place, making a futile attempt to distract the audience by talking about the song he's about to play. But just like me, they're way too awestruck by what just happened to care much about anything else.

Suddenly I feel guilty for springing all of this on Tommy, whether it was intentional or not. Now that the moment is "over", I don't want him to realize how exposed we were on that stage and freak out about what we've just done.

Because I think we just got _engaged_...

"You okay?" I ask with a small, sheepish smile.

"Yeah." He chuckles breathlessly as Ike begins his solo. "I'm fine."

"I swear I _didn't_ plan this. I don't even know how it happened! One minute I was singing, the next you were on stage, and we were arguing about proposing, and then..." I shake my head helplessly, at a loss for how to explain myself or this surreal situation any better. "I'm _so_ sorry, I-"

He silences my apology by drawing me into a much less impetuous embrace than the one we shared on stage (which will no doubt be on Youtube several times over before dawn). My hands automatically grasp at his hips, pulling him closer as his fingers comb through my sweat-soaked hair and he deepens the kiss even further. I'm completely lost in him, completely oblivious to anything and everything else.

Just as I was only moments ago.

Just as I was three years ago.

Just as I always have been, and probably always will be.

"Don't be." He murmurs. It's such a soft sound, but I heard it loud and clear. And I feel him smile against my lips before he kisses me tenderly once again. "I'm not."

 

 

**The End.**

 


	123. Chapter 123

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT A NEW CHAPTER!!! ;)

As I said when I posted the Epilogue of FUBAR last weekend, there is a little soundtrack to go along with it. You can find it here: [FUBAR Soundtrack](http://darenotlove.livejournal.com/18950.htmll).

I also re-uploaded the SNAFU soundtrack, for anyone who missed it the first time around: [SNAFU Soundtrack](http://darenotlove.livejournal.com/17632.html).


End file.
